London – 1335: The first night in London welcomed me in the way I least expected from this city: an uninterrupted storm throughout the night and a freezing morning as the sun rose (the sky was covered in clouds, and the city, dark). The mud hindered my journey from Greenwich to here, so I arrived practically at the end of the day. Fortunately, the carter pointed me to a good place to spend the night, and the rain only started after he left. I'm likely to spend my next few days here if this place is not too far from the workshop.
At breakfast, I was treated to scrambled eggs and fresh milk. Now, I pack my bag and prepare to search for Dr. Crab's workshop. 'Just follow the smell of rot,' the carter replied when I asked how to find the famous doctor. It shouldn't be too difficult to find him here in the center. I am eager to put into practice what I have learned so far.
When I left the inn, a large two-story, four-room house, I went in the opposite direction we came from the night before, approaching people and asking where I could find Dr. Crab. Half of the Londoners pretended not to hear me and went on their way, and the other half scowled and walked away when I finished asking. Only when the sun appeared in the sky did a vegetable merchant in a large tent on the sidewalk near me shout that the workshop would be further ahead. I couldn't hear him well, so I went to him. 'You'll follow this street until you find a red tavern on a corner, then turn left and go straight until you smell it... you can't miss it.' I thanked him and followed the path, thinking about how the smell of corpses was striking for people, at least for those not accustomed to medical lessons.
It wasn't hard to find the big red tavern; then I turned left on the street until my legs started to ache, increasingly certain that I had passed the workshop since I was already accustomed to the smell of death. But that was until I smelled it again. The smell began where the number of people on the street almost reached zero. The few unlucky ones who passed by didn't bother to hide their grimaces or cover their noses with a cloth or their hands. As there were only houses around, I decided to follow the path, and so I did until the smell started to make me nauseous. I was already panting from so much walking when I had to stop to recover. The stench of carrion seemed to take over everything, as if I had my head stuck in the viscera of a body drowned for weeks. Each step seemed to worsen the situation. With great reluctance, I insisted on continuing to walk until I finally found the cursed snakes wrapped around the staff drawn on a wall.
I knocked on the door three times and wasn't answered. Then I knocked harder; the third time, I ended up opening the door myself, entering immediately. The room was small and cramped; the ceiling wasn't much above my head. Some lit candles attached to wall brackets illuminated the people waiting there seated. I couldn't bear the smell, so after the first step into the workshop, I had to bring my scented handkerchief up to my nose. Most people inside were doing the same with a piece of cloth; the others seemed too weak to lift their own arms. They leaned against the wall and corners of the room paralyzed as if they were dead, moving only their eyes and chests. Men, women, and children waited seated on the floor or on the wooden chairs in that windowless room. One of the children, it was impossible not to notice, had legs swollen like those of an elephant; the mother held her in her lap. Most of the other people had some part of their body bandaged. Before I could examine the other patients more closely, a man in a black leather tunic appeared over the arch that led to the corridor on the other side of the room; the man practically carried an elderly man, who slowly walked, sneaking between the man and the wall.
'And don't forget to mix these herbs in boiling water. Not in running water, in boiling water; heat it until you see smoke coming out.' The man directed the elderly man in my direction. I opened the door, and the old man left, slowly.
When I turned to the leather-clad man, he was watching me, hands on his waist.
'Mr. Taylor, I presume.'
'Yes, sir. Beak Crab? That is, Doctor Beak Crab?' I was so nervous that I forgot the basic manners as the man looked at me coldly.
'The very same.' With two long strides, the man came up to me and shook my hand. He wasn't young; wrinkles surrounded his eyes and forehead, extending halfway up his head. His chin practically gleamed under the candlelight. 'I waited for you the whole day yesterday, but I'm glad you arrived in the morning.'
'I apologize for the delay, sir... doctor! The mud didn't allow us to come as fast as we wanted.'
'I don't care about that. The difficulty in getting here will make you think twice when you want to leave, and believe me, son, you will soon wish for it!' Without waiting for a response, the doctor turned and went to a girl who was sitting on the floor in the right corner of the room. 'Drop that cloth and help me carry her.'