Medicus

16

The wolf was very large and very dead. Its skin was splayed against the white wall. Its fangs were bared in a snarl and the lively glint in its glass eyes suggested that it was about to leap up and attack the damp patch on the hospital administrator's ceiling. Priscus, presumably used to the sight, snapped open a folding chair for Ruso. He slid himself into position behind his desk as neatly as if he had been one of his own files on the shelves.

"Ah," he said, smiling in a manner that made Ruso glance back at the wolf for comparison. "I see you've noticed my little trophy, Doctor."

"Is it local?"

"Oh yes. I ran into it a couple of years ago on my way to Eboracum. Quite a fine specimen, don't you think?"

"Very impressive," agreed Ruso, noting that the administrator had a better office than any of the medical staff.

"You'll find there is excellent hunting in Britannia," said Priscus, running a hand lightly over the top of his head, as if to check that the hair was still there. "Although personally I find it rather difficult to set aside the time."

"I imagine you find plenty to do here," suggested Ruso, not adding especially if you don't give anyone else the keys.

Priscus smiled again. "Organization," he said, indicating a large board nailed up above the shelves. Each notice on it was spaced an exact inch from its neighbor. "Organization and teamwork," he continued. "The key to a pleasant and successful hospital. Don't you agree, Ruso?"

"I find a steady hand with a scalpel quite useful, myself."

"Precisely!" Priscus spread his fingers to grasp an invisible quantity of precision that he seemed to think was hovering just above his desk. "Efficiency stems from a clear understanding of our various roles and responsibilities. So perhaps you will allow me to give a brief outline of the administrative arrangements."

The administrative arrangements were impressive in their complexity: so impressive that once Ruso had spotted the underlying theme-that every decision was referred back to the hospital administrator-he stopped listening. He was wondering whether Priscus knew who was responsible for breaking into the linen closet when something caught his attention.

"I'm sorry, what did you just say?"

"As I was saying, a scribe could be extraordinarily useful. I think we can find a suitable man."

Ruso frowned. "A scribe?"

"My men aren't used to African writing, I'm afraid."

The man had only been back for a day, and already he had found time to scrutinize the patient records. "It's the same as any other writing," said Ruso. "The dispensary's never complained."

Priscus's head inclined in agreement. "No, they are very professional. But I took the liberty of discussing the matter with them just now and they agree that a scribe would be the best way forward. And of course, so much more convenient for you. Many of the medical staff with whom I have had the honor of serving have found it very useful. No need to keep stopping to take notes. Nothing to carry Both hands free."

Ruso scratched his ear. "I suppose I could give it a try."

"That's the spirit, Doctor." As Priscus moved to indicate a stack of writing tablets on one side of his desk, a reflection of his hand glided across the polished surface. "I'm sure it won't take long to copy these."

"You're intending to rewrite all my notes?"

"It will give your man a chance to learn what's required. He won't bother you unless there's something he can't make out."

"Is this really necessary?"

"It would be extremely useful for the hospital. There must be a great deal of valuable information in there."

"I suppose so," said Ruso, realizing how neatly he had been outmaneuvered.

"Excellent! Now…" Priscus leaned across the desk and lowered his voice. "Let me tell you, in confidence of course, something I heard in Viroconium. I was told on good authority that not only do the procurator's office have orders from Rome to prepare for a major audit, but it is quite possible that our new emperor may inspect the province in person."

Ruso said, "I see," since the man was clearly waiting for him to express amazement before carrying on.

"In the meantime," continued Priscus, "every unit is to be scrutinized. Any waste and inefficiency is to be rooted out."

This was hardly a surprise. Hadrian was reputed to be the sort of officer much approved by poets and taxpayers: a man who marched bareheaded with his troops, wearing the same clothes and eating the same food, perpetually inspecting and commenting and suggesting improvements. The sort of leader who was either an inspiration or a pain in the backside, depending upon your point of view.

"So naturally, Doctor," the administrator concluded, "we will need to reconcile any irregularities in the hospital books before they are opened for scrutiny."

"Naturally," Ruso agreed. As he was wondering if Priscus really expected the emperor to read his medical records, the administrator reached down beside his desk and brought up a file. Ruso recognized the admissions log from the porter's desk.

"On the subject of efficiency, Doctor, perhaps you could help me with this? We seem to have a duplicate entry. Back on…"

Ruso gazed at the top of the administrator's head as his finger traced down the columns. As if he could read Ruso's thoughts, Priscus lifted his hand from the records and ran it lightly over his hair again as he said, "Five days before the Ides of September… " He glanced up.

Ruso tried to pretend he hadn't been staring. Priscus returned his attention to the admissions log.

"This entry says quite clearly, Female, 18–23 years. Then a word that perhaps you could help me with, then farther down the list on the same day, Female, 18–23 years again-and this time the entry states, to set broken arm."

He's painted his head. That's it. It's not only the hair that's dyed, it's…

"Shall I delete the first as a clerical error?"

"No," said Ruso, "there were two of them."

The eyebrows rose toward the hair. "I see."

Ruso reached for the log. "Dead," he read. "The first one was dead when we got her."

"I see." Priscus sat back in his chair. "I shall have a word. Someone should have explained that we never accept civilian patients here unless we have a reasonable prospect of treating them."

"I've been through this with the second spear. We didn't know who it was. By the time we got her she'd obviously been in the river for some time. Plus, she was stark naked and practically bald."

Priscus glanced up sharply. "I beg your pardon?"

"Bald. No hair." Ruso paused to savor his own tactlessness before adding, "She'd had it all cut off."

The administrator's hand stopped halfway to his head and returned to rest on the desk. He stared at it for a moment, then said, "I shall have to look into this. We can't have unidentified-"

"We know who she was. She turned out to be one of the local barmaids. Somebody had murdered her."

Priscus's hand rose to smooth his hair. "I see. How very, uh.. " He seemed to be searching for a word. Finally he settled on, "Unpleasant."

"Yes."

"I should have been made aware of any inquiry."

Ruso shook his head. "It's over. The second spear dealt with it. Apparently the girl was a runaway and the owner wasn't in the mood to make a fuss, so since they aren't blaming the army, that's probably the end of it."

Priscus's gaze met his own. "You sound a little dissatisfied, Doctor."

"It's none of my business."

"But are you suggesting the officer in charge could have done more?"

Ruso was not going to be led into criticizing the second spear. "He couldn't find any witnesses," he said. "What more could he do?"

"What indeed?" Priscus made a note. "So, the name will appear in the mortuary list instead of the discharge log."

"Exactly," said Ruso, with more confidence than he felt.

"Excellent. So there only remains the female with the broken arm. I am sorry to trouble you with all this, Doctor, but the discharge log has no record of her either, and without the proper records for civilians we are unable to bill the correct fees."

"Are you?" Ruso scratched his ear and wondered whether that should be, aren't you?

He looked the man in the eye. "All this will be very much easier when I have a scribe who knows how the system works, Priscus."

The smile reappeared. "I'm sure it will, Doctor. I'm sure it will."

On his way back to the surgery Ruso walked past the entrance to the linen closet. A carpenter was sweeping up wood shavings. The door had been mended.