Through the gaps in the stone slabs left for drainage, the lamp cast only a small patch of light below. It was impossible to make out how high the darkness stretched. Silt drifted and settled slowly in the swirling current, forming layers of murky color.
It might have been a trace left by something that had passed through here, or merely debris stirred up by swift movement.
But the uncomfortable, prickling sensation of being watched had vanished.
The two returned to the clinic without incident. To their surprise, despite the late hour, the clinic was still brightly lit, from the ground floor all the way upstairs.
Kraft stepped forward and knocked. Amid the footsteps and conversation inside, no one answered.
He tried the door. It had not been bolted, and swung open without resistance, revealing a scene that was somewhat familiar.
The area of the main hall screened off by white curtains had grown several times larger. The number of beds must have increased by at least twenty.
The assistants and apprentices talked around the tables, hurriedly jotting down a few lines before heading behind the white curtains to join the hubbub of coughing and questioning. Then they would return to add a few more notes.
Immersed in the feverish bustle, they did not notice the newcomers at first. They were all busy filling the pages in their hands, then gathering them together.
Once they had accumulated a few stacks, they carried them upstairs.
Kraft went over to a table and looked at an unfinished record. It was a patient's "medical chart," with only a name and some incomprehensible number in the basic information section.
There was no chief complaint. The section that was presumably meant for the history of the present illness was crammed with a long-winded jumble of