Chapter 50 - Meet Mister Sharps

It took three more days for Myria to convince Roustam to let her visit the Free Hospital, and that only after he had made a reconnaissance trip on his own.

The nurse at the front desk took one look at him, filed him under 'not leaking any bodily fluids and vertical' and went back to looking through some sort of paperwork.

Roustam, recognizing the universal sign of bureaucracy in action, gritted his teeth and cleared his throat. "Excuse me. I am told that a Mister Sharps is in residence here."

Paperwork shuffled. "We don't discuss patients, Mister…"

"Roustam Rhezah. Perhaps if I spoke to Dr. Lawn, he-."

"Dr. Lawn is very busy." At least he'd gotten her full attention. The paperwork went down, and the arms crossed as she took her first real look at him. He saw her eyes start with feet and work its way up, face souring as she filed him under 'foreigner' and likely mentally added several features such as sand in his shoes and the smell of camel dung to the picture. "I'm afraid you'll have to come back some other time."

"I am sure he is, O flower of the desert." Her expression went quizzical as she tried to work that into her first impression. "But I am also certain that the Lady Sybil would be most displeased if her friend, Lady LeJean, were unable to visit tomorrow because I was unable to meet with Dr. Lawn."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Mister Rusting."

"It's Reh-Zah. And I am sure you don't. But if you will give the message to Doctor Lawn, all will be made clear."

The woman huffed, stood and straightened her skirts, and bustled through the door behind her, giving him a warning look on the way out, and returned again shortly with a smug expression.

"Dr. Lawn will be here as soon as he is able. As I said, he is very busy." She returned her gaze to her desk, Roustam dismissed.

Paperwork shuffled.

It was nearly fifteen minutes later when Dr. Lawn exited the door, grumbling. "Don't see why-." He stopped as he took in Roustam's appearance. "Ah." He motioned to Roustam. "Please follow me," Lawn's mouth turned up at the corners, "Mister Razor."

Roustam was led to a small, working office and offered a seat. The desk looked like someone's spleen had been removed on it. Or perhaps reattached.[1]

"My apologies. Nurse Ratchet gave me some vague story about a gentleman inquiring about one of our patients and becoming angry and threatening when she, very reasonably, explained our policy on visitation."

Roustam smiled without humor. "I am sure that is exactly what she said, offendi."

Dr. Lawn laughed, and opened his mouth to speak. Instead of the crude tongue spoken in Ankh Morpork, a series of musical syllables spilled from Dr. Lawn's lips, and it was Roustam's turn to be surprised. His face reddened, and he stood and bowed.

"Sayad, it is a joy to hear such proper pronunciation from an unexpected quarter. I must offer apologies for my rudeness. I find in my line of work, in this city, one makes certain assumptions regarding the opinions of the natives regarding Klatch."

"And far too often they are proved correct, are they not? And of course, Mister Razor is not your name."

He bowed again. "Roustam Rhezah ab Nhevah at your service, sayad."

Lawn stood and bowed. "And yours, sayad. You are from the upper Tsort, if I'm not mistaken?"

Roustam blinked. "It is as you say. But how does one from Ankh Morpork become so fluent in our tongue and customs?"

Lawn laughed. "Not easily. I spent several years in Al Khali, learning such revolutionary and controversial medical techniques as not bleeding a patient to death and alternatives to immediate amputation for minor flesh wounds."

Roustam grinned, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. "Ah. An educated man, though clearly heretical. You must be held in much esteem here, with such skills."

"Educated yes. High esteem, that is debatable. I am not nearly as influential as I would like."

Roustam gestured, taking in the office and the facility outside its doors. "But you clearly have status here."

Lawn pinched his nose. "Well, yes. Now. This is all less than a year old. Still, I can't complain. Lady Sybil and Sir Samuel have been most generous. This was all set up in a matter of weeks. I'm still working through which staff will work out and which won't." Roustam had the idea which category Nurse Ratchet was in. "I hope soon to begin training some of the more eager and less infuriatingly closed-minded minor peers in some of the more arcane arts of healing in the next few months or so."

"Arcane arts such as, I would assume, washing with soap and water before sticking your hands in someone's open wound?"

"You are perspicacious."

"Yes, but in Klatch they claim it can be treated."

They shared another set of grins, and spent a few more minutes in small talk before Lawn brought things back to business. "I would love to continue our conversation, but I actually do have a lot of work to do. What exactly does bring you here?"

Roustam spent a few minutes explaining his needs, and why.

"Of course, you shall have full access to the grounds." Lawn's brows wrinkled. "Except of course, any rooms where patients are present."

"I also wish to see Mister Sharps."

Lawn frowned. "That's a bit more difficult. Sir Samuel gave clear instructions that no one was to visit Mister Sharps without his express permission. Only Lady LeJean has been given such permission at this time."

"But you do understand my needs in this."

Lawn put his chin on his fist. "How about this, then. Mister Sharps is let into the inner courtyard each afternoon, for an hour or so. How about we arrange it so that you happen to be nearby when he is escorted from his room. And of course, there's no reason you can't be near a window while he is taking his exercise in the courtyard. Will that do?"

"Admirably, sayad. Thank you."

With Dr. Lawn's blessing going out to the staff, Roustam was free to prowl the grounds. He discovered that the structure itself was a rectangular-shaped building with a central courtyard. There were only three ways in or out of the building itself. One was for patients and visitors, a second for staff, and a third for deliveries. While there were ample windows facing inward, the ones facing the street were smaller and, he was happy to see, barred.

When he inquired, the nurse wrinkled her nose. "This isn't the best area, sir. We had problems, early on, with ner-do-wells breaking in and stealing bits." She lowered her voice. "Doctor Lawn uses some chemicals, to reduce pain, you know. But some of them was stolen. Can you believe it?"

Several times he got suspicious looks from patients, but not much above his normal 'background noise' expectations.

It was growing not long past noon when one of the handful of nurses stopped him. "Doctor Lawn said to tell you, we're about to take Mister Sharps for his airing." She wrinkled her nose. "Much rather give him another bath, but he goes near mad when we try."

The constable at the door had apparently also been notified of Roustam's presence, and nodded warily to him as Roustam found a friendly wall to lean against a few yards from Sharps' door.

The few moments that Roustam was able to view the man as he passed from his room did not give him a good impression.

The man was… odd. Clean but slightly ratty. His beard hung well past his waist, and Roustam could see he was thin, almost emaciated in appearance. When the door opened, he also noted a momentary look Sharps gave the nurse that troubled him. It was a combination of fear and calculation, in that first half second, quickly smothered under a broad smile and a cackle before the nurse noticed anything untoward.

He also noted how Sharps walked. A sort of drifting left and right, as if listing in an invisible breeze. And his eyes wandered around the walls, the ceiling, the floor.

And locked onto Roustam.

There were a few seconds of stillness, and then the eyes were off again on their meanderings, until Sharps passed through the doorway to the courtyard.

Roustam didn't like what he read in those eyes. There is far too much going on behind those eyeballs, he thought, than is given away by the prancing, silly, ratty looking person possessing them.

Moving to a nearby window, he watched Sharps for the next half hour.

Outside, the man seemed a simpleton. There were no others in the courtyard, save a constable, probably by design. But the man pranced and chattered to himself, or unseen creatures. Perhaps to insects or birds, he corrected himself. He was preoccupied with something in his beard, and seemed to sing songs. He peered at the tree bark, and plants. He smelled the flowers in their planters.

The constable merely watched Sharps passively, and otherwise didn't react even when Sharps seemed to be teasing him.

Long before Sharps 'airing' was finished, Roustam had seen enough. He wasn't happy, but he had to admit that the hospital itself was easily secured, moreso than most other locations Myria might wish to visit. He struggled to come up with a reason to tell her, yet again, no. And could not.

The next day he returned, with Myria.

He noted with satisfaction a different nurse in the reception area, and upon giving their names they were immediately admitted inside and made their way to Sharps' room. The watchman recognized both of them and waved them to the door with a nod.

Inside, they could hear chattering and cackling through the door.

Myria knocked on the door quietly, and the sounds ceased.

"Who brings their closed hand in contact with the door?"

"It is Myria, Mister Sharps. May we enter?"

There was another pause, then a slight squeak.

"Myria." A giggle. "Myria Myria at the door. Mister Sharps could ask no more. Enter it bids, with open eyelids, to see her beauty once a more." He giggled again, sounding slightly muffled through the closed door. "But keep feet on the floor, yes?" He found this hilarious, and was still laughing when he opened the door with wagging beard and a broad smile.

The smile and laughter faded quickly when he saw Roustam.

"You are not the LeJean." He turned to her. "But you are. Who is this brown-skinned human. Is he now Mister Brown, since we are not? Has the LeJean brought a replacement?" He peered suspiciously. "You were here before. You will not touch my newt."

"No Mister Sharps. This is Mister Rhezah. He is my majordomo."

Mister Sharps grabbed his beard with both hands, parting it and smacking his fists together while gripping the handfuls, like a pair of bellclappers. "Majordomo? Major domo?" He giggled. "Do you have a minor domo? Or perhaps an average domo as well?" He cackled and danced a little. "Domo. Domodomo. Domodomodomo…"[2]

Roustam gave Myria a look, which she managed to miss completely, and followed her into the room with both hands itching to hold one if his knives.

Myria took a deep breath. "Mister Sharps, I am sorry that I was unable to visit before."

"We had been in this location for 98 hours, 33 minutes, and 15 seconds when you knocked on the door." He stuck his finger in his ear and waggled it. "It seemed longer, but it was not. We are glad you have come."

"I am as well. Do you like this place?"

Sharps smiled and rotated in a slow circle. "We like it here." His face darkened. "Better than the nasty cells with their nasty uniforms." His eyes flicked to the constable near the door, who didn't react. "This is much better. We have a window. And there is sunlight, though it burns our skin. We are able to walk in the courtyard for an average of ninety minutes each day, with Constable Doesn't-Like-Us to spy on us."

Myria glanced at the constable, who didn't react at all. "Would you like for us to go for a walk with you?"

Sharps' eyes lit up. "Yes. We would very much enjoy to walk outside. They only let us walk in the courtyard. And they watch us. It makes us nervous." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "They wish to take our newt."

"I am sure they do not wish to take your newt. Do you keep it safe in your room?"

Sharps eyes widened and his mouth made a large 'O' behind his beard. "NO! The newt comes with us! It wishes to go walkies as well!"

"Anissa…"

Myria sighed. "Yes Roustam. Am I to assume this is not permitted?"

"I am sorry, anissa. To have you walking in public, with no preparation by me, is risk enough. To do so with a man I do not know" who is clearly unstable "at your side and my back, is folly."

Myria closed her eyes for a moment, and took a deep breath before answering. "Mister Sharps is no danger."

Roustam gave Sharps a long look. Sharps beamed back, but Roustam was sure he saw a brief flicker in his eyes. "As you say. But even if he does not wish you harm, his presence is unpredictable. He could cause a scene unwittingly, which others could use to their benefit. For now, please, limit walks to within the courtyard."

Myria felt a stirring of helpless frustration, but could find no credible counter-argument. "Very well. Mister Sharps, would you like to walk now?"

Sharps laughed. "We are always ready for walkies!" He went over to a tank at the corner of the room, and fished inside it for a moment. Roustam saw a flash of smooth and brightly colored skin as Sharps slid it into his beard. "The newt is ready as well!" He exclaimed, and gave Roustam an inscrutable look. "Mister Domo may accompany us, though we do not trust him."

The feeling was mutual.

That evening, Jonathon was surprised when Roustam met him at the door and asked for a few moments of his time. Jonathon gave him a look of disgust.

I have little enough time with Myria, Jonathon stewed, and you want to take it up for what? More of your games?

"Is there a problem, offendi? It will only be a moment, I assure you."

"Fine. What do you want?"

"This Mister Sharps, you have met him have you not?"

Jonathon's irritation faded and his shoulders slumped. Roustam noted his eyes looked everywhere but at Roustam.

"Yeah…"

"This Sharps is an unwell man."

"You're telling me." Jonathon shook his head. "Believe it or not, he was worse when Myria first found him."

"Found him?"

Jonathon fidgeted. "He was… um, homeless, wandering the streets, covered in filth and smelling like a midden. Last time I saw him, he was clean and using full sentences. That was an improvement."

Roustam absorbed this, and added it to the Sharps file. "You have seen that Myria will hear no talk of his being a risk?"

Jonathon made a sour face. "I know."

"Clearly you do not share this opinion."

"No I don't." His fists clinched. "Not that it has done any good. Are we done?"

"Yes offendi. Thank you."

Later, Roustam heard Jonathon and Myria argue, and Jonathon left earlier than usual.

[1] What does the spleen do, anyway?

[2] Arigato, Mister Roboto. (Is ashamed).