Maskli (Legacy Of Bluebloods 1#)

34

(Matt)

My lord.

"My lord!" I snapped out of my thoughts and tore my eyes away from the newspaper sitting on the wooden table, I could barely shake away the picture of Peter's face below the headlines.

"Do you need dinner? My shift is over." My second assistant asked. I shook my head "You may leave. I'm good for now."

It's been three days and two nights since I left home for volunteering. My hands were numb from all of the stitching and dressing for casualties. Some required surgery. I would have been excited if it wasn't for the lack of technology here. Yet it was a challenge I was willing to take, putting my skills to the test. I wasn't sure whose blood was dried up on my gloves, but the foul odour of iron and opium hit me full in the face. I was mildly grateful for the mask on my face.

"Is that all?" I called one of my surgeon partners.

"Two more left then we were finished." he nodded over two other women, one had an open fracture by her leg and the other one had a head injury.

"Then let's not keep them waiting. Ask a nurse to give the lady a pack of ice for her head."

"I shall do that."

The patient in front of me, an estimation of nine years old lad, lifted his wounded arm. He looked like he was about to bolt to the other side of the exit door. I changed into a pair of new disposable gloves, doing the best I could to calm him "I'm not going to hurt you, boy." I scanned over his arm and drawled "On the bright side, there's no need for needles for your injury."

His eyes widened "You are going to poke me with the needles, my lord?!"

Exactly which part of my sentence told him that I would poke him with needles?

I ignored the chuckle from my partner and rolled my eyes "If you keep looking at the door and flinching, I might consider it to keep you immobilized."

He was still as stone the whole time I was cleaning his wounds and the bandaging process. After another hour of bandaging and writing prescriptions for the other casualties, I finally went to the washing cubicle to wash off the apparatus and disinfect them.

I left the infirmary shortly after artic darkness kissed the horizon. Half of Sembon looked like a deserted kingdom with the ruins of buildings and some houses under construction, there are three men at my left of the crosscut, pulling over a fallen tree with ropes with difficulty. I could have suggested they chop the tree to make it easier to move it since the tree was dead already, but thought the better of it, like the comfort of my bed and a hot fat meal to ravish.

First mission. Shower for two hours. I'm reeked of antiseptic, sweats, and dried blood, I'll be lying if I said I'm not gross now. The half-ruined cubicle back at the infirmary was not my ideal place for a great shower. It was a quiet journey on the way back to the manor after I entered the side of the road, where the territory of the Black Forest had begun.

It was a tempting thought, to enter the lion's den to find meat. To find answers to the questions that were brewing inside my consciousness since that fateful day. It's aching to slip between those skyscraping trees and be lost in sight. It was not like no one would notice.

Out of blue, the hair at the nape of my neck stood, and so were my senses. It skyrocketed as if it could make out rising jeopardy. Perhaps the thought of entering the Black Forest clouded my sixth sense, or an unknown presence invading my sense of safety, it was up to debate. For a safety measure, I still looked over my shoulder, frowning at the cleared road that basked in moonlight, despite a small dot that resembled humans at a further distance where Steelburn Street was, that's where the melody of lute and chatter came from. An icy breeze that brushed passed the locks of my hair was merely a whisper of brittle warning.