“What have I got this afternoon?” Dr. Turnbolt asked Peters.
“Well, we have a harpy at 9, but the hygienists are handling her. You’ll just need to look in at the end.”
“Good. If she eats another one of them, though, she’s out of here. I don’t care how good her insurance is. Who’s next?”
Peters tapped on his tablet. “Troll is in at 10, says it’s a soft emergency. Thinks she cracked a tooth on a Welshman’s skull.”
“As my aunt Florence will tell you, they do have awfully hard heads,” Dr. Turnbolt said. “Have Geena get started mixing up something we can use to make a cap. Don’t skimp on the tungsten.”
Making a note, Peters continued. “At 11 we have an elf in for his 50-year checkup. Looks like he was last seen by your predecessor, Dr. Levers, in 1972. Charts should be right there on your desk.”
Dr. Turnbolt picked up the chart and flipped through it. “Looks like we were keeping an eye on a soft spot on 47 and he has a filling on 48 that will probably need to be replaced, as it was made by a blacksmith in 1683.”
“Should I have Geena mix something up for that as well?”
“Yes, but remind her that we can’t use base metals for an elf. It has to be gold or silver. Okay, who is after lunch?”
Peters scrolled on his tablet. “An orc at 1 for a filing, again we can let the hygienist handle that and you can check it, I think.”
“Filing into points, or filing them flat to comply with an orc code?”
“Yes,” Peters said. “He wants the front ones flat and the back ones pointy.”
“Fair enough. Anyone at 2?”
“Not yet, I kept it open because of your 3:30 with Rustwyrm the Imperious. You can use the extra time to get there or we can squeeze something in if you want.”
“Not that old dragon again,” Turnbolt sighed. “What is it this time, another lamb stuck in his tooth? Or am I melting down some of his horde to make another grill?”
“No idea. But he’s paying quadruple out-of-pocket, so it hardly matters.”
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