Chapter Text
Day 6
In which the Haruspex gains something more than usual from the bull’s blood.
Artemy was out of breath and sore by the time he reached the Broken Heart, his lungs aching and vision shaking. The vial of bull’s blood was heavy in his pocket, still warm from the body it had been in only a quarter of an hour ago. He paused for a moment, hands on his knees, before he mustered the strength to pull on the metal door. It creaked as it opened, far too heavy for how little strength he had in his starved arms.
He made his way down the stairs inside, boots thunking against each step in a way that probably would’ve been too loud if it weren’t for the music playing. It felt like it took minutes to reach the bottom of them, his exhaustion slowing his steps and excitement making them feel like they took even longer. Andrey Stamatin and the Bachelor Dankovsky were sitting at a table, drinks in hand and their conversation quiet. Andrey noticed Artemy and shifted back in his chair, raising an eyebrow in the too-familiar, knowing way he often did.
“Dankovsky-” Artemy started, voice still embarrassingly hoarse. The Bachelor turned around in his chair slowly, as if the action took a great deal of effort. “Oh.” Artemy blinked. He looked bad. Wasn’t I only here an hour ago? Maybe two? Artemy had remembered the thanatologist looking more disheveled than usual then, out of his element maybe, but not pitiable. Dankovsky’s hair was ruffled, his eyes dark and the circles under them as purple as fresh bruises.
“What is it?” Dankovsky was as abrasive as ever.
“Are you alright?” Artemy tilted his head. “You look worse than when I left.”
Dankovsky didn’t answer, just shot the Haruspex an annoyed look and took another drink. Artemy’s eyes followed his hands to his bottle and made the connection. When he’d left, the Bachelor had been on the brink of hopelessness already, and now, he was half drunk and two hours more sleep deprived. Likely two hours more starved, as well. With everything going on, all it took was a short period of time for a body to begin to unravel, especially one as overworked as Dankovsky’s. “You look exhausted, erdem. Get some sleep. Twyre is in bloom.” Artemy reminded him, sure the ever obtuse Bachelor would have forgotten about the twyre as soon as he was told of it.
“And why are you here? Have you made progress?” Always only thinking of work. Then again, I suppose I can hardly blame him for it now. Dankovsky’s obsession seemed far more reasonable now that everyone’s life was on the line.
“I got something.” Artemy nodded, swallowing. “Bulls can’t be infected.”
“Are you sure?” There was something new in Dankovsky’s voice, a tiny spark, as if just the mere discussion of science and discovery was enough to wake him up a little. “I had the same line of thinking. At least that’s the first thing I checked.” Dankovsky frowned, looking away. Andrey glanced between them, eyes bored. “I had one delivered to me. I injected it with a strain, intending to collect a blood sample the next day. But the beast disappeared in the night! Any idea who could be behind it?” He looked at Artemy with burning eyes that suggested he’d heard more than a few rumors about Artemy’s reputation. Artemy sighed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, and reached into his pocket. He held the vial of blood in Dankovsky’s face, pinched between two fingers.
“A sample of bull’s blood.” Artemy watched Dankovsky’s reaction, expecting a mild thanks at best (more likely a “finally someone in this town is useful for something” speech). Instead, the Bachelor’s eyes widened, face lighting up and flashing his dimples. They looked much better when they were adorning a genuine smile instead of a smirk.
“Are you a mind reader?” His eyes connected with Artemy’s and he had to take a moment before he responded, so unused to seeing plain excitement on the other’s face.
“No, I just know you have experience with this sort of thing. I’m a surgeon, not a scientist. You should be the one to look at it.” Artemy offered the vial to Dankovsky and he took it in a gloved hand, eyes narrowing as if he could see the microbes with his naked eyes. He tucked it into one of the pockets of his horrible coat, and looked back at Artemy. Any traces of his childlike wonder from a moment ago were gone, replaced with his usual, brisk professionalism.
“Leave it with me, I’ll study it. It will only take an hour or two.” Dankovsky swallowed, a hint of breathlessness in his voice. “In the meantime, you should get some sleep. I’ve seen corpses prettier than you.”
“Do you think a lot of corpses are pretty, Danya?” Andrey smiled into the bottle he was drinking from. Dankovsky gave him an icy look and straightened up. Danya? Artemy found himself wondering idly. I suppose it would make sense that they know each other. In a town with only two enigmatic, capital dandies, it wasn’t unlikely that they’d come to be friends.
“I’ll leave now, get a headstart on this.” He threw down a few coins for his drinks and pushed his chair in.
“Wait-” Artemy watched him start towards the stairs. “I’m heading home, too. We could walk together.”
“I don’t need an escort.” Dankovsky hissed, though his pale face and trembling knees told Artemy it probably wasn’t a good idea to let him walk home entirely alone so late at night. He could easily picture one of the many thieves or drunks who roamed the streets seeing the unmistakable outline of that perfectly trimmed hair and gaudy coat. While he knew a man as slight and smart as Dankovsky was bound to have a weapon hidden on him somewhere, he also knew the townspeople were itching for someone to blame, someone to take their frustrations out on. And even to those uninterested in violence, Dankovsky was grating -- and a symbol of so many things the people of this town hate desperately. Artemy almost shivered at the thought of what they’d do. I’ll walk him as far as the factory at least.
“We’re headed the same way, erdem, no need for hostility.” He held up a hand, walking past Dankovsky and up the stairs of the Broken Heart. The shorter man frowned and hurried to follow, so afraid of being outdone that even the idea of the other man beating him up the stairs was shameful.
“Goodnight dear doctors.” Andrey called after them, half a laugh in his voice.
They made it past the break in the brick wall, where the ferry was, before either of them said a word. It was Dankovsky who spoke first, because of course he would . Artemy had noticed the way the other man looked viscerally uncomfortable, buzzing with energy at not speaking for five whole minutes. It seemed almost unbearable for him.
“Where is it that you even live, anyway? I know you haven’t been in your house since I saw you there.” The words tumbled from his mouth, harsh and out of breath from the toll keeping up with Artemy’s long strides had taken on him. Artemy noticed and slowed his pace.
“Just over there.” He pointed to the factory.
“Where? On the Steppe? In a tent or something?” Dankovsky narrowed his eyes, looking straight past the factory building. Artemy ignored the implication.
“In that building there.” Artemy pointed again. “It was my father’s workshop.” He put his hands in his pockets. “The house felt too… tainted.”
“You live in an abandoned factory?” Dankovsky sounded scandalized. “Though I suppose it’s not abandoned if you live in it.” He barked a laugh. “And to think I was ungrateful for my own lack of a laboratory. At least I have equipment.”
“Maybe it would be better for you if you didn’t.” Artemy said pointedly, in a decidedly bad mood after having his home insulted. “You work yourself so hard, I wouldn’t be surprised if you die of sleep deprivation before you even catch the sand pest.”
“ Ex nihilo nihil fit.” Dankovsky scoffed, as if that meant anything to Artemy. “Your precious town hangs on my work ethic, Vorakh, don’t insult it.”
“ Burakh , my name is Burakh.” Artemy scowled. “At this point, I’m sure-” He paused when he glanced over his shoulder at Dankovsky, who had stopped a few feet away, a hand to his forehead. “Are you alright?”
“Yes, I’m fine .” Dankovsky shook his head, pulling his hand away and forcing himself to straighten back up to his regular posture.
“Are you sure you can make it all the way back to the Stillwater?” Artemy’s voice held the same concern it did whenever any member of the town felt the need to consult him before making a horrible decision. “You need rest.”
“What I need is a cure.” Dankovsky spat. “And so do you.”
“ Tenegh ,” Artemy sighed. “You will die before you get it if you continue like this.” Artemy crossed his arms, waiting as Dankovsky caught up to him, clutching at his side like the few steps took monumental effort.
“You’re far from the first person to tell me that.” Dankovsky’s jaw was tight, his voice a hiss. His eyes were glazed and Artemy opened his mouth to comment on them, to insist once again that his colleague put in the barest amount of self preservation so that they might all be able to use that genius mind of his he was so proud of, but Dankovsky cut him off. “I feel completely fine. Everyone is tired, there’s…” He trailed off, looking startled. “There’s really-”
Dankovsky collapsed in a heap of black leather and red silk. He recovered quickly, faster even than the time it took Artemy to kneel down and offer his arm. Dankovsky pretended he didn’t notice the offer of help and stood up on his own, swaying as he went, and brushing off his trousers. “As I was saying there’s-” His knees gave out again. “Fuck.”
“When’s the last time you slept, oynon?” Artemy’s gaze was soft, careful. He stayed crouched by Dankovsky on the grass.
“I’m not sure.” Dankovsky admitted, eyes closed and eyebrows drawn together in either shame or pain, Artemy wasn’t sure.
“Eaten?”
“Days ago, I think.” He started to get up on his own again, but Artemy quickly offered his hand once more. Dankovsky hesitated before he took it, biting the inside of his cheek when he finally did.
“I have meat, food. A bed.” Artemy felt something swirling inside himself at the words. A crueler, more self preserving part of him told him to stop his offer there, to leave it as a taunt and nothing more. But the same part of him that took in his father’s children and trudged through infected districts to distribute immunity boosters every day was louder. It always was. “Why don’t you stay a few hours? The bull’s blood can wait at least that long.”
“It can’t.” Dankovsky’s voice was pained. Artemy reached an arm under his to help him the last few steps to the factory. His body felt small and bony, softened only by the leather of his coat.
“Yes, it can.” Artemy sighed and pulled the Bachelor along with him to the factory door.
Murky wasn’t waiting outside or in the entrance, hopefully playing in her train car and not doing anything dangerous. “Sticky?” Artemy called down the steps. A few seconds later, the blonde boy appeared with a bewildered expression.
“What’s he doing here?” Sticky nodded to Dankovsky, who made a sound halfway between a groan and a growl.
“Play nice, both of you.” Artemy helped Dankovsky down the stairs. “Sticky, where’s your sister?”
“Out by the trains.” Sticky frowned, tilting his head. “Why?”
“She’s been acting strange lately. Would you go check on her for me?” Artemy was worried about Murky and her ominous little secret friend, but he also knew he would never hear the end of it from either Dankosvky or Sticky if he tried to offer the Bachelor some of their food in front of the boy. Sticky looked Artemy’s face over once suspiciously, before shrugging and setting down the tincture he was holding to walk up the stairs and out the door. When the sound of metal slamming behind them came, Dankovsky’s shoulders relaxed a little.
“I’d heard you had children, but I didn’t believe it.” Dankovsky lifted himself from Artemy’s grasp, leaning against one of the stone walls instead. His eyes were curious, waltzing over the alembic and surgical table. “He looks old. What, were you twelve when you had him?”
“He’s adopted.” Artemy coughed at the implication.
“How old are you, anyway?” Dankovsky glanced at him.
“Does it matter?” Artemy was surprised at the question. Dankovsky shrugged as Artemy turned his back towards him to grab some of the food from his cabinet. He almost reached for the fresh meat he’d been given at the bull ritual, but he thought better of it, taking some smoked fish and meat instead, as well as a bottle of tan. “I only have one chair. The kids usually like sitting on the floor.” He admitted, brushing past Dankovsky to walk into the bedroom. Dankovsky followed him, eyes still darting around, taking everything in. “Do you have a preference between the bed and the chair?”
“That’s a bed?” Dankovsky raised an eyebrow. Artemy remembered seeing his plush, perfectly made bed in the Stillwater and scowled.
“I’m sure it’s better than whatever sleep you were going to get passed out in the grass outside.” Artemy’s voice held a hint of warning. Dankovsky looked to the food in his hands, bit the inside of his cheek, and opened his mouth again.
“I prefer the bed.”
“Good, that’s settled then.” Artemy sat down in his chair and handed the food to Dankovsky, keeping a strip of meat for himself. Dankovsky sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, his feet dangling in a way that might have been endearing if he weren’t Dankovsky. It was always amusing to Artemy when he was reminded of the smallness of the Bachelor, that despite his ability to fill every room he walked into, the man took up hardly any real space at all. Dankovsky stared down at the food warily, as if it would disappear, before he allowed himself an obvious glance at Artemy.
“What?” He swallowed before he spoke, knowing Dankovsky would have something to say if he spoke with his mouth full.
“ Propino tibi salutem plenis faucibus. ” He muttered. Artemy was surprised Dankovsky hadn’t already dug into his food with greedy hands. He had never seemed the patient type, and even if he was, most starving men couldn’t afford to be. With his gloves still on ( does he ever take them off? ), Dankovsky began tearing the meat into small pieces, refusing to bite into it and pull like Artemy was doing. His fingers worked quickly, with the desperation of a near dying man, but he still insisted on arranging his food so he could be graceful while he ate it. There are some things I don’t miss about the Capital, Artemy thought, watching with a frown.
“What does that mean, anyway?” He wondered why Dankovsky still chose to constantly speak Latin, knowing he was the only one in town who understood it. “Some condescending comment about my lack of a dinner table?”
“A thanks, actually.” Dankovsky didn’t meet his eyes, just stared down at his growing pile of meat pieces. He’d arranged them on a handkerchief, D.D. embroidered on it in red cursive. “It’s a way of saying cheers. You’ve never read anything from Plautus?”
“I wasn’t in school to study books.” Artemy frowned. “I only took science courses.”
“He was a playwright, he wrote plays, not books.” Dankovsky corrected. “One of his plays popularized the saying.” Why on Earth would I have read some ancient play? The only Latin Artemy knew came from the Latin words for anatomy, the things he’d needed to know. It wasn’t a language he reveled in like Dankovsky so obviously did.
In Artemy’s silence, Dankovsky finally lifted one of his perfectly torn pieces of dried meat to his mouth. The moment it touched his tongue, the display of Capital niceties was finished. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, his chest stilling. The sensation of nourishment after so long was enough to stall his breathing, his body so captivated by it that he couldn’t do anything else. He ate ravenously after that, pulling multiple pieces at a time from his arbitrary, little pile to shove into his mouth. When it was gone, he reached for the tan, ripping the wax paper from the top and pulling out the cork quickly. He drank like it was air, throat bobbing with each gulp until the tall bottle was empty. Artemy noticed he never stopped for breath, half surprised. He knew the Bachelor drank regularly, but he seemed the type to take dainty sips from crafted cocktails, not the sort of man who could down a bottle in one go.
Dankovsky’s wrist reached to his face, a tiny flash of pale skin peeked from between the layers of black leather of his glove and jacket. He wiped the evidence of the tan from the corners of his mouth and finally paused, eyes flashing to Artemy. Artemy was still thoughtfully chewing on his dried meat, wondering whether Dankovsky would be too offended if he acknowledged the last minute or if he could sneak in a jab at his desperation and get away with it. He thought better of it and stood up. He pointed to the smoked fish.
“You can take that back to the Stillwater if you need it. We’ve got plenty here.” Plenty was an exaggeration, but Artemy knew they had enough to feed Dankovsky. He also knew that as much as it pained him to think it, he was smart enough to realize they were likely doomed without the bachelor. He was the town’s only true scientist, and one of its last doctors. Clara could heal, supposedly, but he had yet to see her do much beyond cause trouble and appear in his nightmares. Rubin was a competent doctor, but he was prideful and difficult to work with, especially since Artemy had returned. Keeping Dankovsky alive -- and not starved -- was an objective Artemy intended to keep up with. “I’ve got some stuff to do, but you’re welcome to the cot for a few hours of sleep. I could wake you up at a certain time if you need.”
“I should get back.” Dankovsky shook his head, a hand grazing his jacket pocket where the bull blood sat.
“Can you make it?” Artemy raised his eyebrows. Dankovsky looked away, jaw clenched.
“An hour. Wake me in an hour.” He said through gritted teeth. Make that two. Or three. Artemy didn’t think an hour of sleep would be enough to get him home on steady feet. Artemy nodded once and stepped out of the bedroom, granting Dankovsky some privacy, and headed towards his equipment. Half the town was infected, he had a long night of making tinctures, if not for diagnosing, then at least for keeping himself away from the Plague’s door.
He reached into the cabinet for a few bottles of water and some of his herbs, when he heard the sound of fabric rustling and saw the shadowed silhouette of Dankovsky removing his trademark coat. He’d almost assumed the Bachelor would sleep in it, with how tightly he always kept the thing wrapped to his body, but knowing Dankovsky, the thought of wrinkling it was probably worse than anything else. Artemy turned back to his herbs and got to work.
─── ⊹⋅ 𓄀 ⋅⊹ ───
Two hours passed, but it wasn’t the ringing of the clock that brought Artemy back from his work. “You said you would wake me.” A voice hissed. Artemy turned around, looking down at Dankovsky. The thanatologist’s arms were crossed and the evidence of sleep was spread across his disheveled hair and wrinkled shirt. Artemy’s eyes widened and traveled lower, surprised to see he hadn’t put the coat back on yet. It felt strange to see the white arms of Dankovsky’s shirt, the red edges of his vest. It felt like an odd surrender.
“You needed the rest, erdem.” Artemy sighed.
“I should have known you would be so presumptuous as to-” Dankovsky paused, rant put off by his sudden distraction. “What are those?” He looked over Artemy’s shoulder to the brewing tinctures. “Is this how you’ve been treating patients?” He didn’t wait for an answer before stepping forward to grab a Yas tincture, holding it up to the dim light of the lair and inspecting it with curiosity. “Fascinating.”
“Thought you’d find it beneath you, if anything.” Artemy took the vial back.
“I’ve seen the evidence that it works, I don’t doubt it.” He pursed his lips. “That doesn’t mean I believe most of what you and this town have been trying to convince me of, but I do trust your medicine. At least this much of it.”
“I’m honored.” Artemy’s voice was thick with sarcasm. Dankovsky didn’t seem to notice.
“Say, I had a question for you.” He looked to the Haruspex, an eyebrow raised. “You told me erdem means a man of knowledge, but I’ve been listening and no one seems to call you that.” There was a note of suspicion that hung on the end of his words.
“You’ve really been thinking deeply about that, then?” Artemy teased and Dankovsky flushed pink, spluttering some comment about how he hadn’t thought twice about the title. Artemy hadn’t thought the other doctor capable of embarrassment, much less blushing. He looked so much more charming like that, like he had any semblance of modesty or self awareness. For a very, very brief moment, Artemy understood all of the excitement the women in town had had over his looks. He felt a laugh bubble out of him, warm and deep enough to make Dankovsky’s cheeks shine an even brighter red. He forced himself to stop, knowing the Bachelor would only let him torture him so much. “You’re erdem to them, I’m emshen. Emshen are healers who-” He cut himself off. He wouldn’t gain anything from explaining the lines to Dankovsky, and he was sure Dankovsky would gain even less from listening. “Follow the town’s traditions.” He substituted instead.
“Hm.” Dankovsky hummed with a frown. “Then what’s moga ?” It wasn’t lost on Artemy how easily Dankovsky seemed to remember and pronounce his language when he wasn’t trying to make an annoying point about how beneath him it was.
“ Moga ?” Artemy snorted. “It means snake. Why? Where’d you hear that?”
“Nowhere, it doesn’t matter.” Dankovsky looked away.
“Did someone call you that?” Artemy couldn’t help his amusement. Dankovsky’s flat frown and narrowed eyes gave him his answer. “Don’t take it too personally. The townspeople talk. They have names for half the town.”
“Yes, I’ve grown adept at ignoring the way they speak of me.” The tilt to Dankovksy’s scowl told Artemy his discomfort didn’t come from the insults themselves (he was sure Dankovsky was too full of himself to believe them, anyway), but instead came from the shock at the audacity of the town to think anything but perfection of the famous doctor. “I’ve come here and practically killed myself trying to spare their lives from this plague and I’m treated like vermin that snuck its way in. Oderint dum metuant , I suppose.” Dankovksy crossed his arms.
“They might think better of you if you dropped the Latin. Nobody understands it besides maybe a few of the Kains.”
“In the same way I don’t understand their language-” Dankovsky started to scoff.
“ No , they all understand our language. Everyone besides you. And they’re not speaking it to you because they’re trying to prove how smart they are, they’re using those words because they find them better than the Russian equivalent you would know.” Artemy sighed. “Dressing more like everyone else might help, too. Or just not insulting everyone you speak to.”
“I’ve never changed how I’ve behaved and I’m loved everywhere else.” Dankovsky’s eyes glinted with something that Artemy couldn’t read.
“Whatever you tell yourself.” He stretched and stood up from the alembic, carrying his leftover herbs to the cabinet for safekeeping.
“You think I’ve kept Thanatica running this long without charisma? You think the connections I’ve made don’t exist?” Dankovsky was never one to let things go. Artemy pinched the bridge of his nose and turned back around to face the Bachelor.
“I think you don’t need charisma. I think you’re very smart, too smart, and that’s let you get farther in life than most people ever will.” He saw Dankovsky freeze. “And I think when that fails you, you’re so confident in yourself and your completely impossible ideas, that anyone who’s easily swayed immediately falls in love.” The Bachelor’s jaw clicked. Artemy paused. “Which is to say, I don’t think you’re not worthy of all the praise you get, I just don’t think it was people skills that earned it for you. And in this town, your achievements aren’t going to get you as far as they do in the Capital.”
“Oh, you want to discuss achievements? ” Dankovsky’s voice was so low it was barely audible. Artemy realized he may have made a mistake in speaking freely with a man who was so clearly completely consumed with himself. “Tell me, Vorakh, what medical school did you go to? Is it one anyone in Russia would have ever heard of? Where did you do your undergrad? What age were you first published? How many articles are under your name? Any back country boy with enough support can go to medical school, it doesn’t mean-”
“See, this is what I mean. Nobody likes you doing this to them.” Artemy could feel his eyes were stormy. “You don’t always have to be an asshole.”
Dankovsky narrowed his eyes and turned on his heel, heading back towards Artemy’s bed without another word. Artemy watched him, confused. Dankovsky grabbed his coat and shrugged it on easily, a practiced action, and turned towards the stairs. “ Thank you for the bull’s blood, Burakh. Enjoy your evening.” His tone was icy and half muffled as he trudged up the stairs as he spoke. Artemy heard the sound of slamming metal a moment later.
“Well,” He said out loud to the alembic. “That could have gone worse, at least.” He went back to sorting his herbs out on the table.