July 6 - food glorious food
Title: Case of the Speckled Box (Part 3/3) (aka “Parsley, Basil, Dandelion, and Time”)
Author: Pompey
Universe: Great Mouse Detective bookverse
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: medical ickiness and anachronistic chemicals
Word count:
Summary: Basil and Dawson investigate some unexplained rodent deaths - to Dawson’s detriment. Prompt: July 6 - food glorious food
I sighed. This was not the first time I wished Basil were not so observant but it was the first time I wished it for his sake. “Yes, I know. The vessels in the eyes are delicate to begin with and I rubbed my eyes too vigorously when I woke.”
My friend did not look any less concerned. “You did list it among the probable symptoms but I thought bruising would happen first.”
“It did,” I answered wryly, only to have his gaze shoot to my footpaws and darken further. Taking care not to move too quickly, I sat at the table, thus hiding the offending appendage. “I shall make sure to take all precautions today.”
“All precautions?” Basil repeated soberly. “How will you do that during your medical rounds to the rougher parts of London?”
I had not given the matter much thought, truth be told. I considered the question as I poured a cup of tea. I had only one option, at least for the immediate future. There was no helping it. It was risky enough for a mouse to venture out on the streets when he was hale. “I will have to forego my rounds. Just until the symptoms improve.”
I thought I saw pity flash across Basil’s face for a fraction of a second before it was hidden beneath an impassive mask. “Which, I hope, shall not be for very long, my dear fellow. In the meantime, we have a public health campaign to wage and you will have a key part to play.”
“I?”
“Of course. Who better to observe and study the effects of brodifacoum on mice than a mouse who is himself of a scientific bend?”
I narrowed my blood-shot eyes at him. “I trust you are referring to me when you speak of a mouse of a scientific bend and not yourself. I have no desire to be a guinea pig.”
“And small wonder,” Basil replied. “How any proper rodent can purr like a cat and war-dance like a weasel is quite beyond me.”
I snorted at his flippancy but it did bring the first genuine smile to my face since the whole dreadful business began. I am sorry to say, it was the last for quite a while.
*****
A few days past. Then seven days went by, then ten. There did not seem to be an end to the wretched effects of the infernal poison. A simple bump against the corner of a chair could leave a painful bruise the size of a tea cup. A moment of thoughtlessly scratching an ear left me pressing bandages against the wound for nearly half an hour before the bleeding stopped. When awake, I could control my movements but I could not do so while asleep. Every morning I awakened to find new bruising, to the point that I feared I would soon have to add iron anemia to my list of ailments.
I tried to occupy my mind with the public health campaign but I was limited to what I could accomplish from our Baker Street rooms. It was simply too dangerous for me to leave when a sudden stumble or an accidental blow from a stranger walking past might incapacitate me or worse.
Basil did his best to find me activities and to keep me company. I appreciated his efforts but it was a hard thing to see him nip out, however briefly, while I was essentially a prisoner in my own home. It did not help in the slightest that no one seemed to have any idea how long the effects of the poison would last. Most of those who had consumed it were already dead and those who still lived were in the same position as I.
For that matter, it was not entirely a sure thing that the effects would lessen. The results of arsenic and lead poisoning can be permanent; perhaps brodifacoum would be no different. Then, of course, there was the possibility that death was inevitable and I was merely living on borrowed time. The uncertainty grated on me nearly as much as my inactivity and uselessness. And as the twelfth day passed without any improvement, I grew more and more convinced that I would never lead a normal life again.
It was sheer providence that the next morning, before I could even come awake fully, Basil practically danced into my bedroom and thrust a steaming plate of some leafy vegetables directly in my face. “Buttered parsley and dandelion, Dawson!” he crowed.
Annoyed, I pushed the plate away. “Yes, Basil, I can smell what it is. The question is not ‘what’ but ‘why.’ You know I’m not overly fond of dandelion leaves.”
My friend merely laughed. “I think you shall find a new appreciation for them, my very dear fellow. In these humble leaves lies your long-sought cure.”
I fear I stared at him as though he had sprouted wings. For a moment I truly thought he had gone mad from the strain of the past two weeks. “Buttered parsley and dandelion leaves are the cure?”
Basil perched himself on the foot of my bed. “I only received the wire from America an hour ago. Our fellow mice across the Atlantic have had a few months’ head start in researching the effects and treatments of brodifacoum poisoning -- sadly, they have also had a head start in the number of deaths too. But they found a case where one mouse, a very strict vegetarian who rarely partakes of even seeds or pollen, experienced only the mildest effects after nibbling one of the pellets when other mice who had consumed the same amount were in far more serious condition. The Americans experimented with feeding affected mice the same diet as our vegetarian with astonishing results.
“Admittedly,” Basil added, somewhat reluctantly, “the experiments have been done with only a very small test group. But Dawson, every one of the mice who was fed large amounts of parsley and dandelion leaves not only lived, but recovered in half the time it took the untreated mice and with no permanent side effects noted.”
I sat quite stunned by the revelations that tumbled from Basil’s mouth. Not only had a likely cure been found, but I could only imagine the sort of frantic searching he had done to find it - not only for me but the entire populace. I could find no words to adequately express my gratitude.
I was silent for so long that Basil finally stirred uneasily. “Dawson? Please, say something.”
I swallowed past the lump in my throat and said, somewhat thickly, “Do you have a fork?”
*****
A/N: guinea pigs do actually purr and “weasel war-dance” (or “popcorn”) when happy. And they were used as, well, guinea pigs well into the early 20th century.
-- brodifacoum has a very slow half-life. It takes a minimum of three weeks to completely clear it from the body.
-- Vitamin K supplement is the modern treatment for brodifacoum poisoning because it’s an important clotting factor. It really is found in dark green, leafy vegetables and is more easily absorbed when eaten with fats. (But Vitamin K wasn’t discovered IRL until 1920 or so, and you’d have to be a cow to eat enough parsley or dandelion leaves to effectively counteract brodifacoum poisoning.)
Author: Pompey
Universe: Great Mouse Detective bookverse
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: medical ickiness and anachronistic chemicals
Word count:
Summary: Basil and Dawson investigate some unexplained rodent deaths - to Dawson’s detriment. Prompt: July 6 - food glorious food
I sighed. This was not the first time I wished Basil were not so observant but it was the first time I wished it for his sake. “Yes, I know. The vessels in the eyes are delicate to begin with and I rubbed my eyes too vigorously when I woke.”
My friend did not look any less concerned. “You did list it among the probable symptoms but I thought bruising would happen first.”
“It did,” I answered wryly, only to have his gaze shoot to my footpaws and darken further. Taking care not to move too quickly, I sat at the table, thus hiding the offending appendage. “I shall make sure to take all precautions today.”
“All precautions?” Basil repeated soberly. “How will you do that during your medical rounds to the rougher parts of London?”
I had not given the matter much thought, truth be told. I considered the question as I poured a cup of tea. I had only one option, at least for the immediate future. There was no helping it. It was risky enough for a mouse to venture out on the streets when he was hale. “I will have to forego my rounds. Just until the symptoms improve.”
I thought I saw pity flash across Basil’s face for a fraction of a second before it was hidden beneath an impassive mask. “Which, I hope, shall not be for very long, my dear fellow. In the meantime, we have a public health campaign to wage and you will have a key part to play.”
“I?”
“Of course. Who better to observe and study the effects of brodifacoum on mice than a mouse who is himself of a scientific bend?”
I narrowed my blood-shot eyes at him. “I trust you are referring to me when you speak of a mouse of a scientific bend and not yourself. I have no desire to be a guinea pig.”
“And small wonder,” Basil replied. “How any proper rodent can purr like a cat and war-dance like a weasel is quite beyond me.”
I snorted at his flippancy but it did bring the first genuine smile to my face since the whole dreadful business began. I am sorry to say, it was the last for quite a while.
*****
A few days past. Then seven days went by, then ten. There did not seem to be an end to the wretched effects of the infernal poison. A simple bump against the corner of a chair could leave a painful bruise the size of a tea cup. A moment of thoughtlessly scratching an ear left me pressing bandages against the wound for nearly half an hour before the bleeding stopped. When awake, I could control my movements but I could not do so while asleep. Every morning I awakened to find new bruising, to the point that I feared I would soon have to add iron anemia to my list of ailments.
I tried to occupy my mind with the public health campaign but I was limited to what I could accomplish from our Baker Street rooms. It was simply too dangerous for me to leave when a sudden stumble or an accidental blow from a stranger walking past might incapacitate me or worse.
Basil did his best to find me activities and to keep me company. I appreciated his efforts but it was a hard thing to see him nip out, however briefly, while I was essentially a prisoner in my own home. It did not help in the slightest that no one seemed to have any idea how long the effects of the poison would last. Most of those who had consumed it were already dead and those who still lived were in the same position as I.
For that matter, it was not entirely a sure thing that the effects would lessen. The results of arsenic and lead poisoning can be permanent; perhaps brodifacoum would be no different. Then, of course, there was the possibility that death was inevitable and I was merely living on borrowed time. The uncertainty grated on me nearly as much as my inactivity and uselessness. And as the twelfth day passed without any improvement, I grew more and more convinced that I would never lead a normal life again.
It was sheer providence that the next morning, before I could even come awake fully, Basil practically danced into my bedroom and thrust a steaming plate of some leafy vegetables directly in my face. “Buttered parsley and dandelion, Dawson!” he crowed.
Annoyed, I pushed the plate away. “Yes, Basil, I can smell what it is. The question is not ‘what’ but ‘why.’ You know I’m not overly fond of dandelion leaves.”
My friend merely laughed. “I think you shall find a new appreciation for them, my very dear fellow. In these humble leaves lies your long-sought cure.”
I fear I stared at him as though he had sprouted wings. For a moment I truly thought he had gone mad from the strain of the past two weeks. “Buttered parsley and dandelion leaves are the cure?”
Basil perched himself on the foot of my bed. “I only received the wire from America an hour ago. Our fellow mice across the Atlantic have had a few months’ head start in researching the effects and treatments of brodifacoum poisoning -- sadly, they have also had a head start in the number of deaths too. But they found a case where one mouse, a very strict vegetarian who rarely partakes of even seeds or pollen, experienced only the mildest effects after nibbling one of the pellets when other mice who had consumed the same amount were in far more serious condition. The Americans experimented with feeding affected mice the same diet as our vegetarian with astonishing results.
“Admittedly,” Basil added, somewhat reluctantly, “the experiments have been done with only a very small test group. But Dawson, every one of the mice who was fed large amounts of parsley and dandelion leaves not only lived, but recovered in half the time it took the untreated mice and with no permanent side effects noted.”
I sat quite stunned by the revelations that tumbled from Basil’s mouth. Not only had a likely cure been found, but I could only imagine the sort of frantic searching he had done to find it - not only for me but the entire populace. I could find no words to adequately express my gratitude.
I was silent for so long that Basil finally stirred uneasily. “Dawson? Please, say something.”
I swallowed past the lump in my throat and said, somewhat thickly, “Do you have a fork?”
*****
A/N: guinea pigs do actually purr and “weasel war-dance” (or “popcorn”) when happy. And they were used as, well, guinea pigs well into the early 20th century.
-- brodifacoum has a very slow half-life. It takes a minimum of three weeks to completely clear it from the body.
-- Vitamin K supplement is the modern treatment for brodifacoum poisoning because it’s an important clotting factor. It really is found in dark green, leafy vegetables and is more easily absorbed when eaten with fats. (But Vitamin K wasn’t discovered IRL until 1920 or so, and you’d have to be a cow to eat enough parsley or dandelion leaves to effectively counteract brodifacoum poisoning.)