The steam rising from the tin kettles on the rear deck of the medical trailer didn’t carry the harsh, chemical sting of acid runoff. It carried the warm, aromatic fragrance of wild swamp licorice, crushed mint, and dried iron-willow leaves.
Arthur Vance stood over an array of fifty baked-clay mugs arranged in neat rows along an improvised folding table, a wooden ladle in his hand. With slow, rhythmic movements, he poured a half-cup of the steaming amber infusion into each mug, checking the heat with his bare knuckles against the baked-clay glaze.
Beside him, Dr. Morrigan Calder was grinding dried elder-lichen in a marble mortar, her lab coat unbuttoned. She showed a mud-stained green tunic beneath.
“The wild licorice provides glycyrrhizic acid,” Morrigan noted, tapping her pestle against the mortar rim. “It stimulates endogenous surfactant production in the denuded lung mucosa, preventing lung-sac collapse during sleep. And the willow tannins form an astringent, protective film over the micro-deep cuts left by the pulled out casts.”
“It also prevents backup opportunistic bacterial infection,” Arthur added. He passed three steaming mugs to Martha and the young nomad nurses. “The damaged epithelium is a fertile breeding ground for marsh-streptococcus. Two cups daily for every operated patient for five days, Martha. Keep them warm, keep their chests raised at thirty degrees, and don’t allow them to breathe cold swamp air directly.”
