The next morning began with a prisoner attempting to bite a physician. It was not Father Caldus, unfortunately. The culprit was the boy rescued alongside Mil from the transport carriage, awake for less than a minute before the physician tried to inspect the rope burns circling his wrist. The child responded with the entirely sensible instincts of someone who'd spent far too long being handled by strangers.
He bit him. Or tried to, at least. The physician escaped with a torn sleeve and a badly wounded sense of professional dignity, and I found the whole thing understandable.
"Did he break the skin?" I asked William.
"No, Your Excellency."
"Then the physician will survive."
"He's said as much himself."
"Excellent. Tell him to stop complaining. His suffering is minor compared to the child's."
William nodded and made a note of it, the way he made a note of everything.
