by Treadwell » Mon Jun 10, 2013 2:16 pm
This night, the night of the ninth, into the tenth: visitors.
Treadwell's room is softly lit by glowing, fat-bellied, three-inch-tall visitors.
They are fairies, they are from New Hibera, and they are in his room by way of a fat-bellied mouse's gnawed entryway.
They number one hundred, even: Orin Barrin, court physician and current ruler of New Hibera, with forty-nine white-winged, white-glowing healers, and fifty green-winged, green-glowing guards toting fairy-sized polearms. They are around one-tenth of the total population of New Hibera. They are the entirety of the New Hiberan palace's medical staff and most of its guardsmen.
All one hundred are portly, round little fellows, hopelessly devoted to their Tubbius.
To their Treadwell.
Treadwell stirs in his sleep, his eyes squintily opening at the gentle change in lighting put out by these unusual little folks. Glasses are smudged onto his nose, and then--recognition!
"Doctor?" he squeakily whispers.
"My Lord," the great-tummied physician offers a bow even though he buzzes exhaustingly with overtaxed wings. "Speak not, or very little, Holy One." Pudgy little fairy arms wave about--one directing half of the white-glowing healers to Treadwell's pillow, one directing the others to his hand. He stays fluttering-flapping busily near Aloisius's shoulder, finally landing by his ear.
"These are the obvious injuries, My Lord; even biglings don't let their cheeks and hands suffer that manner of pain! What else ails you?"
"My belly, Doctor," he croaks. "Stitched up, though, mmph."
The doctor fairy frowns. The belly is simply too much to cover!
"We can do nothing about that tonight, I fear. It took us these last few days to read and study bigling bodies and injuries, Holy Tubbius, and then to travel here. We wish to help as we can. Gentle, careful applications of magic, a bit of muscle from our guardsmen to move things about. . . . Oh, dear me. I fear this nudging about of offset and broken bones might hurt considerably."
The frown grows.
"We'll do what we can to numb your pain while we work, and then, My Lord, we will work to mend what we can. We can't guarantee a full healing, but we should be able to get your jaw set aright and a little less swollen, and your hand. . . . Well, ahem."
"Well, mmph?"
"Luckily, bigling hands are the same as fairy hands. We know where things go; it's just a matter of getting everything held in place while we work on it, and doing it all overnight without being interrupted. We can fix your hand well enough, but you will have to take it very, very easy with it for a time, Holy One, or use your own divine magic to finish our job. It will be fragile; you see, we can only do so much, especially in one night, and--"
"Then visit every night!"
An order, a command, a growl.
The doctor sighs and nods.
"Of course. Until your mortal, fleshy body is well, Great Tubbius! By morning, you will look more like your usual self in face and fingers, and both will be considerably more useful to you!"
And then, shrilly barked orders!
"Men! All of you! To work! And no one light on Our Lord's belly, for it is soft and hurt and newly sutured!"
"Looks like a table to me. Do you think it could hold up someone as bulbous as Treadwell?" -- Dr. Brennan, Myrken Wood Rememdium Edificium