It might be devilish to call it perfect timing.
It is devilish, but...
What do you think? The timing is just right, isn't it?
Just when they keep insisting on removing alcohol, a patient arrives who got into trouble without using alcohol...
'They probably just squeezed it and injected it. Well, even if they had injected anything else, it would have ended up like that...'
Anyway, a patient had arrived who faced problems because they didn't follow our method.
We actually needed cases like this quite a bit.
After all, isn't this a policy I arbitrarily set?
Even if I do it this way because I know the answer...
Others have no experience with it, so no matter how much it's my word, deep down, they wouldn't be convinced.
Because in this era, practice—that is, experimentation—is more important than theory.
'We tried it and it turned out like this?'
'I tried it and it didn't work?'
Countless people are dying even at this very moment just to be able to say that one line.
Ahem, ahem. "Well then... understood. Do well."
"And please maintain strict secrecy. The cost involved here isn't the issue; the bigger problem is this vision leaking to other places, you see?"
"Don't worry about that. Haha. Even without involving Liston, I'll handle it at my level... Besides, it's you and Liston. Most gangs wouldn't even dare...?"
"Umm. Th-that's good."
The rumors circulating out there...
I mean, the rumors about me.
No matter how you look at it, they're truly vicious.
From 'the one who caused the great catastrophe in Paris' to 'he enjoys dissecting corpses so much he giggles'... these are nothing.
Things like 'he mocked the infamous London gang leader Jack by making him wear a green dress and then cast a curse on him, making him suffocate to death'...
Or 'it was actually Kim Taepyeong who cut off Jamie's balls, but Jamie, unable to do anything to Kim Taepyeong, killed Harry instead'...
Or 'Liston is actually Kim Taepyeong's subordinate'...
I was getting a real-time lesson on how the proverb 'where there's smoke, there's fire' is actually mistaken.
"Pyeong, looks like the dog's about to pee?"
"Oh, we need to collect it quickly."
"But the kids aren't here. We have to hold it and collect it ourselves."
"Should we just let it slide this time?"
"You..."
"No, no. We have to collect it and feed it. But do we still need to feed it?"
"Didn't you say it? We need to find the minimum concentration."
"Ah, that's right. Sigh."
We just finished treating the patient whose stomach was rotting away from the digestive enzyme plus miscellaneous bacteria attack.
Ah, treating as in medical treatment, not the other kind.
It looks highly likely he might not make it, but...
We still did our best for now.
I'm getting tired...
As Liston said, we need to find the minimum concentration.
No matter how you look at it, since humans are bigger than dogs, shouldn't there be some leeway in the concentration? But insulin is the problem.
'If you get this wrong, the person could die immediately...'
Well, it's not like there's no way to deal with hypoglycemia caused by insulin.
You don't need another drug; you just need to give sugar.
But in an unconscious state, you'd probably need to administer glucose via injection, and as you can see, the injections used anywhere other than our hospital are practically execution devices.
Conscious?
Even then, the problem is...
Sugar is expensive.
I mean, sugar is expensive.
'Well, for a while, the treatment will focus on nobles anyway.'
Except for clinical trial subjects, who on earth could afford such treatment?
It's completely personalized medicine.
Moreover, since it requires using cow pancreases, the production volume is low.
The supply will inevitably be far short of demand, so the price will rise.
Plus, you need to have the time to come here every day to get the injection and check if you're okay.
Even in the 21st century, how many people could do that?
In the 19th century, it's obviously only the nobility.
'Still, with the money earned that way, we must find other methods somehow.'
The Director is already lost in wild fantasies about making a fortune.
Not long ago, he even said he'd set up a laboratory where only close people like me, Liston, and even Blundell could work.
Where?
In Kensington.
Do you know how expensive buildings are there...?
"Pyeong?"
"Ah, yes, yes."
"Here, who's going to hold it?"
"I will."
"Hmm."
"Hyung, you want to hold it?"
"No, no. I can't find my gloves. Can't do it, then."
"Okay, then here I go."
"Umm."
Anyway, even for the sake of that rosy future, I collected the urine from the dog that had been given the lower concentration insulin.
The urine thus produced was, of course, delivered to the prisoner, who had been reborn as a urine sommelier—a true sommelier.
"Ah, another experiment today. I'm starting to worry I might become too healthy. Haha."
The guy cracked a joke and then downed the urine we handed him in one go.
Actually...
You'd think he'd have caught on by now, but it's amazing he hasn't noticed at all.
Well, he did get healthier, just as he said.
A London jail is practically the worst place to maintain your health.
Just getting out of there and staying here would make you healthier.
So much so that the guard who initially brought him here, not knowing the circumstances, had complained.
-"He can't stay in such a nice place like this!"
To call it a nice place...
The very next room is the dissection lab.
You think it wouldn't smell?
It does.
No matter how obsessed we are with disinfection and scrubbing and cleaning, we can't do anything about corpses rotting.
Formalin treatment helps a bit, but...
We can't treat all the corpses with it.
'Especially for surgery practice...'
There wasn't really a need anyway.
Lectures use formalin-treated corpses, so the corpses supplied by the police station are only used for surgery practice.
But the corpses supplied by the police station...
For some reason, the number is gradually increasing.
-"Oh? Urine... that's quite a vicious punishment. It'll be quite a sight to see his face later when he finds out. That guy is actually notoriously vicious around here... Indeed... he's a man you should never make an enemy of."
Anyway, that guard, who had been不满 (displeased), started grinning from ear to ear once he learned this prisoner had to drink several cups of dog urine a day.
Of course.
Dog urine...
Perhaps it's a first in history?
Even the most vicious kings in history probably never handed down such a punishment.
And for over ten days, every day, and so much that his hydration comes almost entirely from dog urine.
"It's a bit sweet?"
"Damn it."
"Please don't be too disappointed. Really... I probably shouldn't be saying this, but it's because of people like you that the British Empire is progressing."
"Y-yes, sir."
I'm starting to feel a bit sorry for him.
I don't know if the prisoner is sincere, but he keeps saying things like, 'This is the first time I feel like I'm doing something good in my life'...
"Who cares?"
"That's true."
Of course, considering the crimes he committed, we could have fed him shit, not just urine.
There are moments when I waver, but whenever that happens, our Mr. Liston reliably steadies my resolve.
So we consistently fed him the urine and finally managed to roughly determine the minimum concentration where the sweetness disappeared from the dog's urine.
The reason I say 'roughly' is that it varied slightly depending on the dog's size.
Anyway, I decided to call this the 'safe dosage.'
And I decided to call the dosage at which any dog would start collapsing the 'dangerous dosage.'
It was quite intuitive, so even Liston understood immediately.
"Good. Then we should start giving this safe dosage to humans first, right?"
"Yes."
"But dogs are this small and humans are this big; will it work?"
"Even if it doesn't... we can't start by giving a large dose and kill a person, can we?"
"That's true. I suppose... no need to kill people unnecessarily. Even if they are prisoners. Besides, this doesn't hurt, right?"
"Hmm. Probably not?"
"Then no one would be happy. Not the police, nor the victims."
"Th-that's right."
His acceptance was based on somewhat strange reasons.
Because it's a painless death...
Ah, we started talking about this because a dog died that way.
It wasn't intentional; Liston and I had a miscommunication and ended up giving a double dose to one dog.
Well, you're supposed to observe during toxicity tests anyway...
Anyway, it died like that.
Quietly...
I was quite saddened nonetheless, but this guy seemed to have thought, 'If you kill someone with insulin, it delivers a death that's too quiet.'
"Alright, shall we wait over there then?"
"Yes."
We're receiving pancreas deliveries every day.
We'll hire people later, but for now, to maintain secrecy, we're using the most trustworthy people we have.
Who, you ask?
Who else...
Alfred and Joseph, of course.
Colin? Colin is currently distilling alcohol.
Blundell?
Blundell is engrossed in the homework I gave him—fig out what exactly 'matching blood' is.
'You never know, he might actually figure something out...?'
Maybe a 0.001% chance.
Actually, wasn't the discovery of blood types much later?
The first clue was in 1901.
That is, in the 20th century.
The 19th and 20th centuries...
They seem only a step apart, but they're truly vastly different.
'Well... it would be enough if they just deeply realize that some test is needed before transfusion.'
As you all know, these 19th-century bastards only understand things after trying them out.
Before that, even attempting a transfusion was difficult.
Drawing blood properly was hard, and giving it was hard too.
Blundell is probably the person I know who has attempted it the most, but even Blundell only made a slight cut in the vein, collected the flowing blood in a basin, and tried to force it into the patient's vein.
So how could a proper amount be collected?
Even if it is collected, it clots outside.
But if you use my method—that is, directly transferring from the donor to the patient—a considerable amount can be transferred.
But if they do it their own way?
They die.
Maybe both could die.
'Well, I told them to be careful...'
Blundell will be careful.
But I wonder about other hospitals.
"They're here!"
"Good. And the patients?"
"Patients... Ah, the prisoners. Those people are also waiting outside now."
"Good. Then we need to quickly extract this and inject them with it."
"Okay. Good. Let's hurry!"
As we waited like that, Joseph and Alfred finally arrived, carrying a full load of pancreases.
They probably spoiled a bit on the way.
They were probably already spoiled there too.
But what can you do?
Can we make a refrigerator?
No, we can't.
'Let's trust the alcohol and acidity.'
It should disinfect somewhat, right?
With that belief, I started processing the pancreases with the weakly acidic alcohol solution.
As I was making and collecting the solution, Liston came over and asked.
He was looking at the ten or so patients—prisoners—standing outside the blurry window.
"But, you know."
"Yes."
"How do you plan to test them? How are you going to test all these people's urine?"
"No problem."
"No problem?"
"If one person drinks it all, wouldn't his stomach be full? The taste would get confused too."
"S-so?"
"There are five more in the backyard right now. Petty criminals. I plan to have them handle the urine instead of receiving a warning release."
Whistle.
"Now that's a clever move."