When he dared look through the window again, he saw Deltington busy with the bladder and Bubs perched on another stool by the workbench beside the kitchen door, not three steps away from Yu. In front of him lay a long, brown rod, like a twig stripped of its bark. It was a slender, slightly curved piece. There was a tray full of others, though much shorter. They varied from thick pins to fine needles. Since the tray was close to his door, Yu could see them well. He even discerned that, like the twig, the pins had several small holes in them. With the slim ones he could not tell.
All around, the workbench was lined with bottles and flasks. It was not cluttered, though. Bubs had arranged them in precise order along invisible lines, every label turned to face him. Many stood uncorked, their contents portioned into small cups. Bubs drew from them with a set of broad brushes kept in a narrow metal case. With swift strokes, he coated the long twig and a selection of several pins and needles. Right now, he alternated between two transparent liquids. Something yellowish followed, glossy and dark like varnish. Finally, he dragged on a pale, oily draught which clung and filmed over the others like a skin. He worked fast, treating the pieces in a fixed sequence without pause. It took him less than two minutes to return to the human.
Meanwhile, Deltington had produced a fresh tray lined with delicate instruments: fine tweezers, slender probes, and narrow retractors no larger than pins. They were so small and thin that no one but a child or, well, a mianid, could even hold them properly, let alone handle them. Among them lay just one larger piece; a single pipette of blown glass. Yu understood why just then. Deltington picked it up, drew a measure of tincture from one of the flasks, and pressed the tip deep into the exposed leg. Droplets vanished into the torn flesh, seeping inward where Yu’s eyes could not follow.
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