I thought persuading the other nobles would be easier after Lord Jude's successful surgery, but I was wrong.
Not all of them accepted my opinions as coolly as he did. At least those who had witnessed the procedure firsthand seemed reluctantly convinced, albeit with uneasy expressions. But for those I treated during house calls? There wasn't much I could do.
What else could I say?
"The carriage is full, so I can't ride."
'I do have money… Should I have bought one in advance?'
It wasn't like I was broke. But I was still mooching off Senior Alfred's family, wasn't I? If I bought a carriage, I'd need space to park it, not to mention hiring a coachman and maintaining horses…
'They probably wouldn't refuse if I asked.'
Of course, both Alfred and his father were good-natured people. On top of that, I'd saved his son's life multiple times and made them a fortune in the process. They were even planning to mass-sell condoms in Paris soon—I couldn't even begin to imagine how much money they'd rake in this time.
'Ugh… I should've prepared earlier.'
Frustrated, I scratched the back of my head vigorously before resolving to focus on what I could do right now.
"Joseph."
"Huh?"
"There's an older man standing in the hallway with a confused look on his face."
"What are you talking about?"
Joseph stared at me like I was the one speaking nonsense.
In my past life, I wouldn't have been used to situations like this—after all, I was the type to only state the obvious. But the me of this era…
I was a mysterious person.
"Just—go bring him in. If we leave him alone, he'll either die or lose an arm."
"Lose an arm? But we're good at cutting those off."
"That's…"
No.
I needed to rephrase.
It wasn't that I was mysterious. It was just…
These bastards were too much.
'Did this motherfucker just say, "We're good at cutting arms off," like it's no big deal?!'
"Why are you making that face? If you've got something to say, say it."
"Just—bring him in. Now!"
"O-Okay? Why are you so mad?"
Joseph still looked clueless about what he'd done wrong, but being the obedient guy he was, he headed outside. Sure enough, he returned dragging along the bewildered patient I'd described.
It was the patient I'd missed earlier while dealing with Lord Jude. Fortunately, he'd returned as soon as I'd left word for him to come back.
"Why am I—"
"Just come inside first."
"But—"
"Tsk."
"…Fine."
Joseph wasn't exactly a small guy, either. Plus, wearing a white coat in a hospital carried weight—even in the 21st century, it was hard for patients to refuse requests from people in those coats. That held true even if the wearer looked as young as me or Joseph.
Anyway, the patient was practically dragged in and made to stand before me.
Finally, I could properly examine his wound.
'Damn, it's rotting…'
It was so mangled I couldn't even guess how he'd originally injured himself.
First off, the bandages were a disaster. They'd looked messy at a glance, but unwrapping them only made things worse.
'Seriously… If you're gonna reuse bandages, at least wash them…'
The old bandages had been left on so long they'd decayed. The pus had seeped through in multiple colors, suggesting secondary and even tertiary infections.
"Uh, that's—"
"Don't even look at it. You shouldn't be using these."
Without thinking, I hurled the bandages into the trash.
Shockingly, the trash can still contained usable items like pencils and paper.
'Why throw those away instead of this filth?!'
I sighed in dismay before turning my attention back to the wound.
Fortunately…
It wasn't completely too late yet.
It hadn't reached the point of requiring amputation—but it was dangerously close.
'Should I give him bread?'
"Bread" referred to moldy bread—Penicillium.
'No, not yet…'
That damn bread had to remain a last resort. Using it carelessly could kill people.
A 19th-century doctor might argue that such sacrifices were necessary, and a scientist might emphasize the importance of experimentation, but…
'What do I do?'
As I mulled it over, I poured water over the wound.
Since it was the same water I'd used on the noble earlier, it had cooled significantly. The patient seemed to find it soothing rather than painful, staying perfectly still.
Good.
"Hmm…"
"Ugh…"
As the pus washed away, the wound became clearer.
It wasn't that deep—likely just reaching the dermis or shallow muscle tissue. In an ER, this would've been cleaned, disinfected, stitched up, and nearly healed by now. But the surrounding flesh was already necrotic.
Leaving it alone would've been better than this…
'If I cut all this out… what then?'
Removing necrotic tissue was a fundamental rule of debridement. But doing so now would be tantamount to amputating.
"Uh, this—"
Just then, Joseph—who I'd assumed was just observing the wound—picked something up from elsewhere.
A maggot.
A white, wriggling maggot.
The fact that these were crawling out of the patient's bedding…
"Ew, gross."
And the fact that Joseph reacted so casually…
The old me would've been too stunned to think straight, but not now. Hell, one had already crawled over the back of my hand while I was examining the patient.
At this point, I was numb to it.
'Wait… wait a minute.'
Instead, my mind latched onto something else.
'Maggots… I did request them before, didn't I?'
It might sound insane, but maggots were used in medicine. They only consume dead tissue, leaving healthy flesh untouched—making them ideal for debridement.
Of course, the maggots used medically were sterilized and bred in clean conditions…
But expecting that in this era? Impossible.
'Still… what if I picked one up right now and placed it on the wound?'
Would I get yelled at?
Maybe even hit?
These people's hygiene standards were… inconsistent, to say the least.
'But if I claimed it got there by accident…'
Lost in thought, I kept pouring water and wiping the wound with a relatively clean cloth. I even scrubbed a little harder to test—no blood, just bits of necrotic flesh flaking off.
"It's nicely 'aged.' What else is there to do?"
Joseph chuckled as he said this.
'You crazy… crazy bastards.'
'No wonder there are so many amputations.'
In a world without cars, how often would people suffer injuries severe enough to require amputation? Sure, industrial accidents were probably more common given the lack of safety regulations, but the technology of the time also limited how badly people could be hurt.
Yet amputations were the go-to—almost the only—surgical procedure. Why? Because wound care was abysmal.
"What do you mean, 'What else?' His arm's about to be cut off."
"Better than dying, right? Otherwise, he'll die."
No?
No, it's not!
You lunatic!
I shook my head vehemently.
"I'll try not to amputate. You… remember Senior Alfred, right?"
"Oh… yeah. Huh, you did handle that differently. Is miasma from corpses more toxic or something?"
Haha.
Should I kill him?
Should I just kill him?
No matter how I thought about it, I really wanted to.
Trembling, I suppressed my rage and spoke.
"Sir."
"Y-Yes?"
"The miasma clinging to you… it's unusually potent."
Ugh, my tongue kept tripping over these unscientific terms, but I had to play along.
"Oh… I see. Should I go home, then?"
"Are you working right now?"
"Of course."
"I see."
I wanted to hospitalize him, but 19th-century London laborers were treated worse than slaves. Unless they were on death's door, they couldn't take time off.
'Well, this should qualify, but…'
Either way, they wouldn't let him rest.
"Then let's treat it for now. I'll… bandage it up."
"What… what kind of treatment? Isn't it already 'aged' enough?"
Yeah, aged enough to lose your damn arm—or your life.
"I told you, it's toxic. We can't leave it like this. You know I'm Dr. Liston's student, right? When it comes to amputations, only he knows more than me."
"Hmm…"
Selling miasma and name-dropping Liston—all to save a life.
"Alright… Will it hurt?"
"It stung a bit earlier, right? It won't be worse than that."
The necrotic areas were numb anyway, though the swollen parts would've been excruciating if touched.
"Scissors."
"Here. But is it okay to cut the flesh like this?"
"It's rotten. It won't bleed."
"Oh… the power of 'aging,' huh?"
Maybe if I made Joseph suffer unbearable pain, he'd improve?
Regardless, I excised the necrotic tissue—but not all of it. Doing it all at once would've felt like amputation. So I only removed the obviously dead parts, then…
Plop.
I dropped three maggots I'd gathered onto the wound.
"Huh?"
"What?"
"N-Nothing. Must've imagined it."
I quickly covered it with a bandage, wrapping it loosely to avoid crushing them.
"Come back tomorrow. I won't charge you, so…"
"R-Really? You'd do that?"
"Yeah, no charge. Just come back."
If the maggots died, I'd replace them. After a week, the necrotic tissue should be gone, leaving only healthy flesh. Then we could talk about full recovery.
'Unless the maggots cause another infection… No, don't think about that.'
I was doing my best but refused payment.
Why?
Because even if this was better than what others were doing, I wasn't sure it was right.
—Do no harm.
The most sacred principle of medicine: First, do no harm.
Until I could stand by that with confidence, I wouldn't take money.
Besides, the condom business was already making me more than enough.
With that, I sent the patient off and headed to the library.
I needed to research whether maggot therapy had been documented before.
'Wouldn't they have used such an innovative method if it existed?'
That naive thought had long since vanished.
These were the same people who'd spent decades throwing laughing gas parties.
Why would this be any different?
'Either way, if I find evidence, I can justify it. If not… this case will become the evidence.'
At least Liston and Blundell might be convinced.