The Tides of Avarice by John Dahlgren Page B

people are taking the risks, but as soon as there’s the slightest chance that they themselves might have to—
    His thoughts were cut short by Doctor Nettletree. “Remind me to fire her one day. Well, Sylvester Lemmington, if I haven’t got one of my regular nurses to assist me, I suppose you’d better do your best to fit the bill.”
    Sylvester felt his head begin to swim. Visions of cutting open raw flesh and handling squishy intestines swarmed through his mind. For a moment he wished he could join Nurse O’Reilly stretched out on the floor.
    â€œThere’ll be none of that, lad,” said the doctor, as if he realised what Sylvester was imagining. “You say he’s got a gammy leg, that’s all?”
    â€œThat be being the extent of my suffering, yessir,” confirmed Fourfeathers. He tried to demonstrate his limp while still standing in the same place.
    â€œThen with luck there shouldn’t be any dicing and slicing involved at all,” said Doctor Nettletree. “Unless we have to amputate, of course. I say, are you all right, young Sylvester? You’re looking a bit green.”
    â€œI’m fine,” lied Sylvester.
    â€œThen let’s get to it, shall we?”
    There was a neatly trimmed patch of lawn at the back of Doctor Nettletree’s cottage, and that seemed the best place for him to conduct his examination of the injured fox. With his arms around the shoulders of Sylvester and Doctor Nettletree, Fourfeathers limped valiantly around the side of the building. Once they reached the lawn, he let go of his supporters and sprawled on his back on the grass.
    â€œDo thy worst, sawbones.”
    â€œRight then,” said Doctor Nettletree, putting down the bulging, clanking leather bag he’d brought with him. “Let’s take a look, shall we? How did you do this to yourself?”
    Sylvester answered for the fox. “He was quite a hero, actually. He saved a mole-child from being run over by a cart, but managed to get hurt himself.”
    â€œReally?” murmured Doctor Nettletree, kneeling down beside the flank of the much larger creature. Fourfeathers’s stomach rose and fell rapidly as he breathed. Clearly the fox, for all his earlier bravado, was terrified of doctors. “Where did this happen?”
    â€œA few miles out of town,” said Sylvester.
    â€œAnd he limped the rest of the way?”
    â€œUntil I met him, yes. I was able to help him after that.”
    â€œHe was lucky.”
    Sylvester responded with a blush.
    â€œWell,” continued Doctor Nettletree, kneading the fox’s outthrown leg as he spoke, “I don’t think he has too much to worry about. I can’t find any damage to the tendons or the bone. There’s just a little strain to the muscle down here,” he prodded a finger firmly into Fourfeathers’s ankle, and the fox let out a high yip of pain which Doctor Nettletree ignored, “and it’s making it difficult for him to walk. Other than that he’s got a clean bill of health, at least so far as his leg’s concerned. A few days’ rest should see him right as rain again.”
    â€œPleased to hear thee a-sayin’ that, Docko,” said Fourfeathers, still lying on his back and staring at the blue sky far above.
    Doctor Nettletree winced. “Please don’t call me Docko.”
    â€œâ€™Pologies, I’m sure.”
    â€œAccepted.”
    â€œIt’s good I’ll not be out of sorts for too long, because I’m a fox of many concerns, see, and there’s pressing matters that insist I not be a-stayin’ here in your lovely burg of Foxglove for too long.”
    â€œWhat does bring you here, Mister . . .?”
    â€œFivefeathers. Robin Fivefeathers.”
    â€œHuh?” said Sylvester.
    The gray fox darted him a startled look. “Math was never me strong point,” he muttered. “Fourfeathers, I mean to say,”