The clinic was empty, except for a staff of one, a young woman sitting on a tall stool behind the reception desk, reading on her phone. 

Graveyard shift. 

Boone heard the faint sounds of a second person out back, talking quietly on the phone. Attending physician. From the voice, a male. Young. Possibly talking with a girlfriend. 

He told the girl at the counter he had just arrived in Iceland and needed to fill a prescription, but the pharmacy had said he needed to talk with a doctor first. 

“Please, I’m in kinda a hurry.” He smiled an apology. “Wife back at the hotel, got the allergies somethin’ awful.” Handed her a piece of paper. 

She smiled as she took it, but her look turned doubtful as she glanced over the neatly hand-lettered specifications. “Just a moment,” she said. “Let me talk with our nurse practitioner.” 

Ah. Not a physician, then. 

While the young woman consulted with the male nurse through her desk phone intercom, Boone strolled around idly among the sparse shelves of braces, supports, heat/cold packs, and crutches. He noticed a display of canes and walking sticks and picked up one carved hardwood number that looked like it had character. Brazilian walnut, his best guess. One of the hardest woods on this fine planet. He found the handiwork impressive.