The Genius Doctor Who Lives Twice - Chapter 10

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Episode 10
Unlike the chaos around him, his expression was utterly desolate, and the ale before him sat nearly untouched.
Even Bruno, the broad-shouldered proprietor known for his habit of minding his own business and leaving others alone, grew concerned enough to break his silence—wondering if the man might attempt something desperate.
“Say, Pendleton. What’s troubling you? You look like someone’s condemned you to the gallows. Someone dodge a customs levy?”
Bruno forced a bright tone into his joke, trying to lift the mood.
But Arthur Pendleton, Danford’s customs master, only exhaled a long, heavy sigh.
“…The boy’s fallen ill.”
The proprietor’s expression shifted.
“A fever, then? Or… smallpox?”
“Nothing like that.”
Pendleton dragged a hand across his hair.
Bruno’s brow furrowed in confusion.
“Then what sickness is it?”
“He won’t stop itching. There’s not a day he doesn’t cry.”
“…That’s common enough in children, isn’t it?”
“This is different—unusually severe. His eyes itch so badly he rubs them constantly, tears and mucus streaming down his face. His skin’s covered in blotches, and now he’s coughing too. Nothing seems to help. Only getting worse.”
“Have you taken him to a physician?”
“Of course. One tried bloodletting with leeches to reduce the inflammation, another prescribed laxative and emetic treatments for what he called humoral excess. We’ve even burned sulfur smoke in his room and cut out all cold, damp foods. And it wasn’t just one doctor—several of them.”
Even a back-alley healer, at that.
The boy cried all evening, and Pendleton simply couldn’t bear it anymore.
“But nothing works. Only gets worse each day.”
“That’s a hard burden to carry as a father.”
Bruno, who had no children of his own, forced empathy into his words.
“Today he was crying again, and there’s nothing I can do for him. So I came here, thinking at least it might clear my head—but sitting here doesn’t help much either, does it.”
He stared down at his half-empty ale glass with grim resignation.
Bruno regarded the man with genuine pity.
What could he offer beyond the suggestion to seek out a better physician?
But Robinson, the expensive doctor in the Greenhills District, wasn’t someone everyone could afford to see.
“Then, what about this—have you considered it?”
At Bruno’s words, Pendleton slowly raised his head.
“There’s been talk of a place called Edward’s Clinic gaining quite a reputation lately. I’ve heard it mentioned several times here in the tavern.”
He glanced briefly toward the table where the conversation about the fingers had taken place earlier.
“If you haven’t tried it yet, why not pay them a visit? Nothing to lose but the cost of the visit.”
“…I’d heard his reputation wasn’t good.”
“That may have been true before, but something’s changed recently. Could be we’re just seeing things differently now.”
Bruno cleared away the lukewarm ale glass and set a fresh one in front of Pendleton.
“Think it over. This round’s on me. Here’s to your boy’s recovery.”
Pendleton managed a faint smile.
He raised the glass to Bruno in thanks, and after a brief laugh, Bruno returned to his work.
The tavern soon settled back into its usual din and bustle.
* * *
The next day.
Pendleton arrived at Edward’s Clinic looking haggard and drawn.
The boy in his arms had cried all through the night.
“Father, my eyes hurt.”
“Just a little longer. We’re almost there.”
Pendleton patted the child’s back wearily as he spoke.
The boy whimpered and kept rubbing his eyes despite himself.
Pendleton gently caught his hand and lowered it.
Outside the clinic hung that strange advertisement—a cotton cloth banner bearing the words “Full Refund if Not Cured” fluttering in the wind.
‘Charlatans, the lot of them.’
If not for Bruno’s recommendation, he would have turned around and left without a second glance.
Creak.
When he pushed open the door and stepped inside, a narrow hallway revealed several chairs, where an elderly woman sat coughing.
Pendleton settled into a seat with the boy on his lap.
The child grew bored quickly and began swinging his feet idly, then rubbed his eyes again.
“I told you not to rub them.”
“…It itches.”
“I know. But rubbing makes it worse.”
The boy pouted, his lip jutting out stubbornly.
Pendleton pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the child’s nose.
While the old woman was inside receiving treatment, he sat in a daze.
There weren’t many people waiting, and by any measure, this was no renowned physician’s clinic.
Something about it felt oppressive.
“Oh, thank you, sir.”
The old woman’s voice carried from inside.
“Thank you for listening to this old one’s troubles. I feel like something’s actually being resolved. I won’t go anywhere else now. There’s no one quite like you.”
“Take care of yourself, grandmother.”
They exchanged farewells, and the old woman emerged looking satisfied.
Pendleton then lifted the child into his arms and rose somewhat awkwardly from his seat.
The child peeked curiously into the unfamiliar interior, then wrapped his arms tightly around his father’s neck.
He gave a small cough.
Stepping inside, he found two people in the consultation room.
The one sitting was short and stocky, his hairline already receding slightly.
The man standing beside him, by contrast, was tall, fair-featured, and handsome.
‘Which one is Edward?’
He hesitated.
Then he approached the man who looked most like a physician.
“Are you Edward?”
The man he’d chosen was Allen.
Allen shook his head.
Edward, who had been sitting, cleared his throat. “Mm-hmm.”
“I’m Edward.”
“Oh, my apologies.”
Pendleton made a silent judgment.
At the very least, Edward lacked the appearance of a distinguished physician.
“This man is my apprentice.”
“I’m sorry. Your apprentice looked quite mature, so I mistook—”
“Well, it happens. Now, what brings you here?”
Edward lowered his voice and regarded Pendleton.
Seen this way, he did look rather serious after all.
“It’s nothing special. My child is ill, so I’ve come to see you.”
He showed Edward the child he was holding.
The boy eyed the unfamiliar adults warily and burrowed deeper into his father’s embrace.
Edward leaned forward slightly, studying the child.
The boy found his gaze uncomfortable and buried his face in his father’s shoulder.
“Let the doctor see you.”
Pendleton managed to turn the child to face Edward.
The boy’s face was flushed from rubbing, his eyes bloodshot and streaked with mucus and tears.
His arms were covered with a bumpy rash.
He kept trying to rub his eyes again, so Pendleton had to grab his wrist and pull it down.
“This started a week ago, but it’s suddenly gotten much worse.”
Pendleton sighed as he spoke.
“At night he scratches so much he can’t sleep. His nose and eyes run as if he’s been near smoke, his face flushes red—”
While the father slowly described the symptoms, Edward listened in silence, his fingers interlaced.
His gaze remained fixed not on the father but steadily on the child.
His eyes traced the child’s eyes, arms, and face in turn—quiet and thorough.
When the explanation ended, Edward slowly rose from his seat.
“May I take a closer look?”
He lowered himself to one knee in front of the child as he spoke.
The boy flinched and leaned toward his father again.
“It won’t hurt. I’m just going to look.”
His voice was low and blunt, but unhurried.
Edward simply remained there, motionless, waiting for the child to make up his mind.
When the boy slowly turned his head, Edward gently examined the child’s arms.
He lifted the eyelid slightly to check the bloodshot condition, and lightly pressed along the bridge of the nose.
Then he returned to his seat and sat down again.
He made a low sound. “Hmm.”
He fell briefly into thought.
“Is there anything in particular that strikes you as odd, sir?”
Pendleton looked at Edward and asked.
Edward’s eyes were closed for a moment.
Pendleton watched him intently, observing how he furrowed his brow in thought, his lips moving soundlessly as he worked through the problem.
When Edward’s eyes opened again, there was a glimmer in them—like a detective who had stumbled upon the answer.
Or at least, that was how Pendleton chose to interpret it.
“I believe I may have grasped what the issue is.”
“Truly, sir?”
Pendleton asked back, half-skeptical and half-hopeful.
Edward nodded.
“Indeed. Though I shall need time to order my thoughts. And there are several more questions I must ask, if I may.”
“Of course, please. Ask whatever you need.”
“Allen.”
Edward turned to look at his apprentice, Allen, beside him.
“Conduct the Medical Questioning for me. I need time to gather my thoughts, but my ears are open—so do not hesitate.”
“Very well, Master.”
Allen immediately turned toward Pendleton and began his inquiry.
“Pendleton, when does your child suffer most acutely from itching? During the day, or at night?”
“At night. During the day he only whimpers, but there’s something strange—the moment I lay him in bed, he screams and scratches the whole night through. Neither the boy nor I have slept a wink, what with all that clawing at himself till dawn.”
“The bed, you say…”
Allen murmured softly to himself.
“What sort of material are the blankets and pillows your child uses? And where do you keep them primarily?”
“Well, naturally a thick Wool Blanket. Since we’re so close to the Dock, the house is dreadfully damp, so I keep it stuffed in the wardrobe in the corner of the bedroom during the day. But what does that have to do with my son’s illness?”
“It may well be relevant. One more question, if you please: have you recently brought any new furniture or cloth goods into your child’s room? Or anything at all from the Dock warehouses?”
Pendleton furrowed his brow, searching his memory.
“Nothing new that I can recall. Ah, but some months back I did bring home a few Imported Cotton Sacks that arrived at the Dock. I gave them to my wife to use as winter fabric, but…”
“Did you by chance place those cotton sacks in your child’s bedroom?”
“That I did. The room was so damp that I stacked them under the bed.”
Allen’s eyes flashed with sharp understanding.
“One final question: have you noticed any connection between the child’s bouts of sneezing or tears and actions such as your wife shaking dust from the bedding or cleansing the air of the room?”
“…Now that you mention it, whenever my wife shakes out the blankets, the child coughs terribly and rubs his eyes more vigorously.”
“Thank you for your cooperation.”
Allen bowed respectfully and stepped back. Edward, who had been listening with arms crossed gravely, turned to regard him.
“Allen, have you finished your questioning?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Hmm. It seems a touch incomplete, but sufficient nonetheless. Do you have a sense of what might be wrong?”
“…To be honest, I’m not entirely certain, sir.”
“Well then, I shall review it for you. Try writing down what you believe the problem to be, and how you would treat it.”
Edward’s performance was flawless. Allen was grateful he could restrain his laughter.
“Very well, Master.”
Allen immediately seized paper and began moving his pen across it. Edward adjusted his jacket with a thoughtful “Mm-hmm.”
“My apologies. I must see to my apprentice’s education. Without something like this, he’ll never study at all.”
“Not at all. I find it quite admirable.”
Pendleton’s words were sincere. How many practitioners abandoned their apprentices’ instruction altogether? Edward was a true master by comparison.
Though Pendleton could not fathom why he insisted on this written exercise rather than simply telling the boy.
Presently, the apprentice handed over the paper. Edward’s eyes widened as he read it.
He looked at the apprentice, and Allen nodded.
“Hmm… still rough around the edges. You must shed your preconceptions.”
“I understand, Master. If you would teach me, I am eager to learn.”
The apprentice bowed his head respectfully.
Edward folded the paper and slipped it into his jacket pocket, then turned to face Pendleton.
“Now then, let me explain the treatment.”

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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