Castle Kingside

The straw mattress atop the oak bed frame emitted an overburdened rustle as it resisted a sudden weight. Red streetlight dominated the sun, which gradually burrowed into a dark horizon. Angered and pleasured screams rose from below. The brothel was open for business.

Sat in his room, Dimitry’s elbow dug into his quadriceps as the palm propped up his head. Precious perched on his shoulder and, with the corner of his fresh tunic, polished her wings.

“What were those purple vessels?” he mumbled to no one in particular.

“You worry about the weirdest things, Dumitry.”

People in this world exhibited strange phenotypes like green hair, golden eyes, and silver skin. It wasn’t unthinkable that their bodies differed anatomically as well. But what was strange, what bothered Dimitry, was that those purple vessels buried beneath his skin, too. Did he have them all along? Were they recent additions? What was their purpose? All questions without answers.

Precious rubbed her hands in excitement before diving into his tunic. “Something pathetic is coming.”

A slow knock, like that of a messenger bearing funeral invitations, tapped on the door.

Dimitry glanced around the room to confirm nothing peculiar lay strewn about and opened the door.

Stood in the hallway was a girl whose generously applied makeup had streaks of bygone tears. They ran down her cheeks and curved to her chin. Smeared pale powder made it obvious she tried to conceal the red-purple bruise on her swollen eyebrow.

“You’re a bigshot surgeon, right?” Claudia asked with a muddled voice.

Dimitry strode forward to examine her face. Someone had hit the poor girl. With traumatic brain injuries from blunt trauma as deadly as they were, he couldn’t let her leave without a brief examination. He turned to get his medical bag but stopped midway. “Should I call Delphine?”

“She isn’t here.” Claudia wiped her eyes with the cuff of her loose dress. “I left her a message.”

Ignoring the faerie convulsing with subdued laughter beneath his clothes, Dimitry pointed into the room. “Get inside and take a seat.”

“On your… on your bed?”

“Anywhere you’re comfortable.”

Sniffling, she stumbled over and sat.

Dimitry administered a neurological exam to rule out a concussion, palpated Claudia’s face for bony deformities, assessed ocular motility, confirmed proper lid movement, then eliminated potential blowout fracture and hidden bleeding by checking that both eyes were identical in size.

Relieved that there wasn’t a reason for closer inspection, he smiled. “It’s probably nothing serious. You’ll be fine in a few days. Let me take care of the rest.”

“Thank you.” A feeble laugh accompanied Claudia’s reciprocative smile. “It’s funny. Only a few days ago I took care of you, but now you’re taking care of me.”

Dimitry reached for the medical bag that rested under his bed. “That makes sense since I’m much older than you.”

“Really? I thought you were only a little older.”

Right, he forgot about that. Although Dimitry was in his mid-thirties, in this world he looked like a male in their early twenties—a fact he confirmed by looking at a mirror. “A few years can feel like a long time.”

“That’s true.” Claudia paused as if remembering a long-forgotten truth. “Three years ago, I was home with my family. It’s weird to think that I ended up here.”

“Guess we have a lot in common.” Dimitry dropped the heavy bag onto his bed. “I’ll clean your face first.”

“O-okay.”

He soaked a piece of fabric in water and wiped away makeup to reveal a slight cut atop the bruise. Fortunately, it was too small and shallow to need stitches.

Two sets of footsteps, graceful and heavy ones, pounded down the corridor. They loudened as they approached.

“Let me guess,” Dimitry said. “Delphine got your message?”

“I don’t think so.”

Delphine, whose trembling hands belied a restrained face, strutted into the room. Behind her was a stone-faced Dominic whose well-managed mustache curled towards his nose. Arms across his chest, he stared at Dimitry.

Delphine pushed Dimitry away and grabbed Claudia’s head. She leaned in to look at the girl’s eyebrows. “Who did this to you?”

“A-a customer.”

“What room?”

Claudia pointed down at the floor. “Two-seven.”

“What did he look like?” Delphine’s voice grew fierce.

“He had short blue hair and… and a scar across his eye.” Claudia sniffled. “Also, he was tall like Dominic, b-but not skinny.”

“Dominic, get a hammer and saw and meet me downstairs.”

“Got it.” He uncrossed his arms and stomped away.

Delphine glanced at Dimitry, crow’s feet creeping from the corners of her eyes in full view. “And you—take care of her face. When you’re done, I’ve got another job for you.” She raised her gem-encrusted dress from off the floor and stormed out of the room.

Dimitry sighed. What the hell did she think he was doing? He dabbed a piece of fabric in alcohol. “This might sting a little.”

“Okay.” She winced as the fabric made its way around a small cut. “Ow.”

“Don’t touch it.”

“Okay.” Claudia rested her arms back onto her lap.

“Would be nice if we had some ice…” Dimitry mumbled. If he ran a hospital, it would definitely have ice. But then again, how did someone get ice in a world without refrigeration? He missed Earth’s comforts.

“I’m tired of this place,” Claudia said.

“You and me both.”

She frowned. “I wish I could find that disappearing man.”

Dimitry pulled back. “What disappearing man?”

“Didn’t you hear? His Royal Majesty Gregorius is offering a big, big reward for the man who can disappear into the air! If only I could get my hands on that money…”

Dimitry sprinkled boiled water onto her wound. “But how do you find someone who can disappear?”

“I… I don’t know.” She furrowed her eyes and looked back at Dimitry with a smile. “Think he frequents brothels?”

A shiver shot down Dimitry’s spine. “Anything’s possible, I guess.”

“I hope he does. Then, when he least suspects it, I’ll nab him.” Claudia wrapped her arms around herself. “And never let go.”

“Sounds terrifying to be that guy.” Dimitry packed his bag. “Anyway, we’re done here. Try not to touch your forehead, okay? And be safe.”

“Got it, thanks!” Claudia jumped off his bed, dashed out of the room, peaked back in, waved, and rushed down the hall.

“Do you want to catch him too, Dumitry?” said the voice beneath his tunic. “Imagine all the fent you could buy for me.”

“Personally, I think we should leave the disappearing man alone.”

“Why are you so scared all of a sudden?”

Dimitry’s elbow rested on a hay bale in Delphine’s stable. Eyes strained by early morning light pouring through open walls, he redirected his gaze towards a dark-cloaked Saphiria, who led two oxen out from their stalls and towards a feeding trough. He yawned.

“Keep your mouth closed,” Precious said from underneath his cloak. “I can smell the wine all the way from here.”

“It’s not wine.”

And it was true. Why would he drink wine when he had aqua vitae, this world’s brandy equivalent, at his disposal? Although Dimitry wasn’t an alcoholic, he indulged on the rare occasion to fall asleep. Last night was such an occasion. Insomnia’s onslaught made it difficult to resist the temptation, and while the result included a mild hangover, the trade-off was worth the glimpses of restful sleep.

Dimitry stretched while two horses peeked at him from a nearby stall. “You can ride a horse?”

“I often did when I was young.” Saphiria secured a block of wood that adjoined the necks of two mopey-faced oxen with iron chains. “Not so much anymore.”

“Then whose are those?”

“The black one is Delphine’s. The other is Gerbald’s.”

Mental imagery of Delphine ensnared in her long dress while struggling to balance on a horse elicited a smirk from Dimitry.

After a lengthy assembly, they boarded the cart, which lumbered past the north gate, across a bridge, and onto an uneven dirt road. The sluggish pace and the corpses’ mass kept rigid suspensions from bouncing over every pothole. Soft clomps from oxen feet accompanied the smooth ride. A frigid breeze shook the leaves of nearby oaks, their overbearing figures hiding vast crop fields on the horizon.

To Dimitry’s side was a girl whose glazed eyes displayed not a shred of appreciation for a breathtaking sun that painted their surroundings a pink hue. The poor girl couldn’t enjoy the view even if she tried. The collar robbed her of emotion.

A nagging urge yearned for Dimitry to provide her hope with a chance at freedom, to coax a smile from an otherwise stony face, but Saphiria’s forced loyalty to Delphine made revealing his ideas dangerous. He didn’t even know if she wanted his help, and Dimitry was too early into preparations to initiate any plan.

Today’s only goal was to gauge the viability of escape with Saphiria. But asking directly risked failure. Dimitry would probe her thoughts through unassuming conversation, gradually uncovering how she might react to a disenchanted collar. Maybe a lighthearted topic to start with.

“Do you like animals?” Dimitry broke the silence.

Saphiria nodded.

Not the excited response he was hoping for. “I just figured I’d ask since you take such good care of the oxen.”

“Only because they do their job well.”

“They must be exceptionally hard workers if you brush and pet them every chance you get.”

No response. Saphiria was a tough customer.

Dimitry looked down at the two-horned beasts dragging the cart. “I don’t blame you. In their own way, they’re pretty cute.”

“I think so too.”

At last, something to work with. “Foxes are my favorite,” Dimitry said. Despite not having seen one in this world’s wilds, judging by the furs sold in the market square, they definitely existed.

Her gaze met his. “Red foxes are adorable. I wish people stopped hunting them for their pelts.”

“Not everyone does. Where I come from, some people have them as pets,” Dimitry said.

“Really?” Saphiria’s indigo eyes widened. “But wouldn’t they hunt the chickens and geese? Surely the local lord would ban the peasants from owning them.”

Her sudden aristocratic tone coaxed a laugh from Dimitry. “No one there keeps live poultry in their homes.”

“And what of the neighbors?”

“Neither do they.”

“You hail from a strange land.”

Dimitry could tell her about facilities that processed hundreds of thousands of chickens every day, but the conversation would deteriorate into an unbelievable, morbid tale. Ravenfall, her idea of a modern city, had at most a hundred thousand citizens. To suggest a single factory could supply everyone with an entire chicken daily and still have leftovers was absurd.

“We have farms that make enough food for everyone,” he said. “Merchants sell them in grocery stores.”

“In Malten, my family traded vol and iron for livestock, but…” Saphiria’s nostalgic voice trailed off. Her faint smile vanished, and she turned back to the road. “It was a long time ago.”

Damn.

Dimitry lost her. Was it because of the collar, or did he make a mistake? Sparking another conversation immediately wasn’t an option. It would feel forced.

“Nice try,” Precious whispered into his ear. “And here I was, doing my best to stay out of it.”

“Guess that’s as much help as I can expect from you.” Dimitry sighed. At least he learned Saphiria longed for her home, wherever it was. Maybe there was hope for this plan.

The journey was quiet until Saphiria expressed concern for the oxen. They found a secluded clearing in the wood and set up camp. Unlike last time, there were no green specks of light phasing in and out of existence. Only a waning moon hung in an onyx sky.

Dimitry busied himself with a copper pestle and mortar set he “borrowed” from the brothel’s modest kitchen. They produced metallic rumbles as they pulverized willow bark shavings into green and brown dust.

Saphiria stirred a cauldron of oats and dried meat whose tantalizing scent filled the air. She shot the occasional glance at the bronze tools Dimitry held, but despite curious eyes, said nothing.

He emptied the willow dust into a small ceramic bottle and washed it down with aqua vitae. They mixed to form a thick slurry. It would remain that way for a week until the therapeutic compounds inside the willow bark diffused into alcohol. Dimitry capped the bottle with a makeshift wooden plug, shook it, and placed it by the fire.

Saphiria set aside her spoon and reached for the ceramic bottle. She looked at Dimitry, who gave her a nod of approval. After popping open the plug and inhaling the alcoholic vapors, her face distorted.

“It’s medicine,” Dimitry whispered, careful not to disturb the faerie snoozing underneath his fireside cloak.

She closed the bottle. “What for?”

“It’s good for pain, swelling, and headaches." Dimitry took the concoction from her and placed it back into his bag. "While we're on the topic, how are your sutures healing?”

Saphiria rolled up the black cloak covering her arm to reveal a partially healed wound. There didn’t seem to be an underlying infection or drainage, but they needed more time. Once the injury healed, Dimitry would remove the threads embedded in her skin.

He leaned back, supported by his arms. “Still needs time to heal.”

“How long?”

“Probably another few days. Try not to touch it more than necessary.”

“Understood.”

Wrapped around her arm, a golden bracelet with a sizable sapphire caught Dimitry’s attention. The same one from before. It was strange for a slave to own jewelry, not to mention something that expensive.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Dimitry said, “where did you get that bracelet?”

As if out of reflex, Saphiria dropped the cloak back over her arm. “It was a gift.” She resumed stirring the pottage.

How strange. When confronted by Gerbald, Saphiria stood her ground unfazed. And yet, whenever the conversation became personal, she retreated like a toddler at the sight of needles. Did that bracelet hold special meaning? If he could get her to open up, maybe he could lay the foundation for an alliance.

“I used to collect gemstones and rocks back at home,” Dimitry said. “My favorite was a collection of fire opals from a place called Africa.”

Saphiria didn’t respond.

“They weren’t the most expensive, the rarest, nor did they have the highest clarity. But they had something no other gem had. An orange coat that shined as if a rainbow was trapped inside when you held it to the light.”

“How about sapphires?”

“Did I have any sapphires?”

“Did you?” Saphiria looked at him as if expecting a specific answer.

“Many.”

“I don’t believe you. Only nobles can—”

“Red ones, green ones, purple ones, orange ones, black ones, yellow ones. Some were clear like diamonds, others blue with a white star across their surface.”

“Those aren’t sapphires,” she said, her voice louder. Saphiria released the spoon, which collided against the metal cauldron’s side. She watched him, eyes engaged, as if ready to defend her point to the bitter end.

“Of course they are.”

“How could a sapphire be anything other than blue?”

“Because a sapphire’s color comes from what’s inside of it. For example, what people call a ruby is actually just a red sapphire. The difference is due to slightly different contents.”

“What does a blue sapphire have that a red one doesn’t?”

“Iron.”

“Iron?” Saphiria retracted her black cloak and held out the bracelet on her arm. Embers reflected from the navy gem. “Like from a mine?”

Dimitry stroked his chin. “You can say that.”

Saphiria withdrew two worn spoons and bowls from a bag. She ladled pottage into both. After handing him his share, she sat beside him. “Are you knowledgeable regarding mining as well?”

While he picked up on some facts like flooded mines and harvesting ore with pickaxes from miscellaneous sources, Dimitry didn’t know how it was done. Did she assume he was a miner from his spiel about gemstones? “Unfortunately, I only know the basics. I’ve never been in an actual mine before.”

“Back home we had lots of mines,” Saphiria said. “My father taught me how to manage them.”

“Is he the one who gave you that bracelet?”

“Yes.” She took it off and held it in her hand. “He said that when I was born, my eyes reminded him of his most precious gemstone. He set it into this.”

Maybe she was the daughter of a wealthy gemstone merchant, but that didn’t explain why she worked for Delphine. He needed to find a roundabout way to ask. “Your father collects gems too?”

Saphiria smiled. “Maybe not as many as you.”

Dimitry, stunned for a moment by a pretty face that at long last remembered joy, turned his attention back to the pottage. “Our circumstances are different, that’s all.”

“That’s true. Although Malten has vol and iron mines, there aren’t any with precious gemstones. Father told me it’ll be my job to find them when I inherit the fiefdom’s ore industry.”

Dimitry resisted the urge to spit out pottage. “F-fiefdom?” Although much about medieval life escaped him, the concept of feudalism did not. Was Saphiria’s family influential enough to manage vast areas of land?

He reeled in his shock. “If you have such an important duty to uphold, why are you here and not back home?”

Saphiria looked deep into the bowl on her lap, as if gazing at distant memories. “We were caught in a war… then the Church came.”

The collar around her neck started to make sense. Even so, more questions cropped up. Did it mean that her family fought a war, but the Church intervened? If so, why would they enslave a nobleman’s daughter? And how was a religious organization so powerful as to interfere in politics? Then again, religion on Earth wasn’t different. Regardless, now was his chance to ask.

“Do you want to go back?” Dimitry shoved a spoonful of pottage into his mouth.

“What?” Saphiria blurted, as if the suggestion was ridiculous.

“Do you want to go home to Malten?”

She snapped the bracelet onto her wrist and her voice drained of emotion. “Whether I do or don’t isn’t important. I learned well that dreams of the impossible only lead to regret.” Saphiria placed her half-eaten pottage bowl by the fireside. “All that matters for us, both of us, is that we do the jobs we’re given. I advise you cast aside your dreams before they burn you too. I’ll get the bedrolls.”

"... Right."

Saphiria marched towards the oxen and stopped to look back. An uncharacteristic sadness mellowed her face. “But I hope we can still talk about gemstones and ore… someday.”

“Anytime.”

Her gaze—gloom as if parting with a terminally ill patient—fell to the forest floor, and she walked away.