Castle Kingside

Main street. A monstrous road leading from Ravenfall’s southern gatehouse towards the center of the city. Civilians shuffled through the middle while booths managed by merchants lined the sides. Unlike those in the market square, they didn’t peddle cheap junk. It was the historical equivalent of a prosperous downtown area of a modern metropolis—just as crowded, but with a stench ten times as vile.

Dimitry scoured the area for something to enchant with dispelia, something that could wrap around a girl’s collar. If he found a suitable piece of apparel, Three Brothers’ Magic was close by. He peeked inside while exploring the city shortly after his arrival. Everyone from merchants to artisans and peasants entered with common tools, only for them to glow upon exit. If they processed other people’s items, they would process his too.

A guard bumped into Dimitry. “Watch it.”

“Sorry, sir.” He bowed low to placate law enforcement and conceal his eye color. Prostration didn’t bother him. Getting arrested for impersonating a holy cleric did.

After a disgruntled groan, the guard strutted away.

“How far are they now?” Dimitry whispered.

“Like… five buildings away,” Precious said. “Still trailing us.”

Delphine was a terrifying woman to prepare spies on short notice. If they delivered a report on Dimitry’s disobedience, he would be forced into slavery. Dimitry would never see another patient again. But avoiding capture wouldn’t be easy. Tenebrae lurked everywhere, whether it was an alleyway, the pleasure district, or a guard’s pocket.

Dimitry resisted the urge to glance back. Nervous ticks aroused suspicion. Instead, his gaze fixed on a nearby stall.

Cloaks, hoods, and clothing accessories lay on a carved stone counter. Behind them stood a giant man whose fat-glazed muscles resembled that of a winter-starved bear. He ogled at the passing crowd with arms crossed over his chest and noticed Dimitry’s approach.

The man pressed his hands into the counter and leaned forward. “What you want?”

Dimitry ignored the man’s misguided hostility. “I need something that can wrap around someone’s neck to keep them warm.”

“A scarf?”

“Sure, just give me anything.”

The man slapped a fur-trimmed rag onto the table. “Good quality. Five silvers.”

Dimitry reached into his pouch. He paused. While not the occasion for petty concerns, didn’t Saphiria like animals? “Do you have one not made from fur?”

The man grunted. “You said anything.” He swiped the scarf off the table and dropped a small wooden crate in its place. “All cotton. You pick. Three silvers.”

He chose a long, indigo cloth and dropped three coins onto the counter. “Thanks.”

The man snorted as his gaze shifted back towards the crowd.

Dimitry walked away from the stall, turned into an alley, and gagged. Although it was broader and cleaner than the one he slept in when he arrived in this world, drainage more pungent than raw sewage flowed through the gaps between the walls and ground.

“How far now?”

“Twenty paces behind us.”

Good. Every moment the pursuer followed Dimitry, they weren’t reporting back to Delphine. He needed to deal with them soon.

It wasn’t long until a sign advertising ‘Three Brothers’ Magic’ came into view. He passed through the shop’s open door. Racks filled with strange equipment—rods, a weapon resembling a wooden musket, enchanted metal weapons—leaned against the walls and led to a counter.

A horseshoe-shaped bald spot disappeared from view as the shopkeeper looked up. “Yes?”

Thinking this man resembled the one at Inscriber Works, Dimitry threw the indigo scarf onto the table. “I need this enchanted with dispelia.”

“And what for, may I ask?”

“Is there a problem?” He tried to pace his hastened breathing.

“That depends, why do you need it enchanted? The Church requires us to ask.”

Damn it. Dimitry didn’t come prepared for an interrogation. He threw his bag onto the counter. “I’m a surgeon. It’s for my job.”

The shopkeeper frowned. “Yes, but you didn’t say what for.”

“Do you know the witheria enchantment?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I have a patient with a witheria enchanted bolt lodged in their shoulder. If I don’t remove the enchantment, they’ll rot from the inside. And I can’t remove the bolt because they’ll bleed out. If you don’t enchant the damn scarf, their death will be on your hands.” Dimitry slammed his palms onto the table. “Don’t waste my fucking time.”

The shopkeeper’s cheeks jiggled as he wobbled backward. “S-sorry, sir. They make us ask. Give me two gold gadots, and I’ll take care of it.”

“Two?” Dimitry opened his coin pouch to find three coins: two silver and one gold. “This is an emergency, will this do?” He displayed the contents to the shopkeeper.

“While I want to help, I have a family to support.”

“I have it at home. I’ll come back to pay the rest later.”

“Sorry, sir. I can’t trust that.”

Dimitry didn’t need this right now. He had some asshole trailing him and a girl on the cusp of losing her freedom forever. Not to mention his own.

Something caught his attention as he stormed out of the store. The rods on the shelf. They resembled the magical tools market guards held when they burned a baker alive with incendia. Could they debilitate a pursuer?

“Actually,” Dimitry said as he walked back to the counter. “Do you have something that could tranquilize a person?”

The shopkeeper’s eyes shot open. “S-sir?”

“You see, some of my patients squirm around during surgery. I need something that would knock them unconscious for a short time. You know, so they don’t feel any pain. Like an extended nap. Perhaps with magic.”

“Would voltech canisters do?”

“… what exactly do you mean?” Dimitry asked.

The pudgy man shuffled around the counter, to a shelf, and stood on the tips of his toes. “This canister is sealed with snoozia.” He pulled out a rod and gave it to Dimitry. “And this one with relaxia.”

Both ‘canisters’ were stubby rods the size of toilet paper cardboard tubes except solid and made of crude iron. Two rectangular blocks of wood lay embedded in each. They lay side-by-side on the handle and had mazes of intricate teal lines engraved into their surfaces.

“Which one do you recommend?” Dimitry asked.

“They’re both used by guards. Relaxia prevents movement and sensation but keeps the target conscious. It could kill if you don’t use it carefully. Snoozia puts them into a deep sleep. I don’t know which one you need.”

Dimitry rubbed his chin. The relaxia canister sounded dangerous; his lacking expertise could end up killing someone. “Does snoozia keep the vict—patient asleep even through pain?”

“I-I think so.”

“For patient safety, I have to make sure. How is it used?”

“Hold the canister in your right hand.” The shopkeeper pointed to the wooden blocks embedded in the hilt. “And keep the seals under your palm. They will only absorb as much vol as they need—usually a little less than a crude for non-mages. Get close to your patient, point it at them, and chant snoozia to activate the spell.”

“How much?”

“One gold.”

“Before I make my purchase, do you happen to have a canister with dispelia?”

The rotund man sighed. “As if the Church would ever teach us how to make seals that powerful.”

This world made nothing easy. “That’s a shame.” Dimitry threw a gold gadot on the counter and hid the snoozia canister under his cloak. “I’ll be back.”

“G-good luck.”

Dimitry stepped out of the store and onto a gravel-laden road. “Are they still following us?”

“Ten paces to your left,” Precious said.

Time was short. Was there somewhere he could dump a sleeping body midday without them being discovered?

There it was—the dead-end alley where it all began.

“Precious.”

“What?”

“Whatever happens, don’t freak out.” He took a pure vol pellet out of his pouch.

“What?”

Although he didn’t arrive in this world all that long ago, the alleyway ahead was nostalgic. Timber-framed plastered walls, accumulated scrap, the stench of rotting matter. And the fire. Caretakers gone, its charcoaled remnants scattered in every direction.

Dimitry cut into the alleyway. “Hold on tight and don’t let go.”

“Can you stop speaking in riddles?” Precious tugged on his ear.

“Invisall.”

Like flames following a gasoline trail, magic surged through his palm before spreading to the rest of his body. When it reached his head, a short bout of dizziness spun the world around him. However, unlike the first few times, the effects weren’t debilitating. Had he grown accustomed to them?

“D-Dumitry. Where did you go? Where am I?!”

“You’re fine. Stay quiet.” He reached into his pouch for a vol pellet and pulled the invisible snoozia canister from his cloak. His palm felt its way around and gripped the embedded wooden seals.

A cloaked figure peered into the alleyway three steps away. They stumbled backward as if faced with an impossible truth—their target was ‘gone’. They took a hesitant step forward, then another.

Dimitry thrust the canister into their gut.

“Snoozia.”

He caught the unsteady figure in his arms, then dragged them to the alleyway’s end. His foot hovered over their neck. If Dimitry stomped now, he could keep vital information from slipping out. No one would ever know.

Out of morbid curiosity, his boot’s tip lifted a stained hood to reveal a slender face. Dirt clumped the man’s hair, and his cheeks caved into his mouth. Ghastly pale skin confirmed he was a victim of malnutrition. His circumstances doubtlessly forced him into criminality.

Just like Dimitry.

It changed nothing. Minimizing threats was the safest route. Doing otherwise lowered his chances of escape, and his decision didn’t concern Dimitry alone. Precious and Saphiria relied on him, too.

Dimitry’s boot pressed against the man’s throat. Leaning in with the full weight of his body could fracture the hyoid bone and laryngeal cartilages, but immediate death through asphyxiation wasn’t likely. Fully obstructed airways weren’t guaranteed even in car crash patients presenting with a tracheobronchial injury. He would have to stomp until pooling blood plugged every gap that permitted airflow to the lungs, vascular damage resulted in eventual hemorrhagic shock and arterial hypotension, or retaliatory force from the ground mutilated the cervical spine. Either outcome was silent and required only a brief effort.

Precious shook with barely suppressed laughter.

“What now?!”

“I-I can’t help it! Just… just do something already!”

Dimitry held out his arm, which trembled in midday light. He should ignore the guilt. He had to do it! If he didn’t, someone might awaken the spy.

His foot retracted. He couldn’t do it.

Instead of murder, Dimitry stuffed the man into a narrow crevice far beyond the sight of any passerby and hid his exposed feet within a sideways crate. Dimitry would ditch Ravenfall long before they awoke. He dashed into the streets and towards the pleasure district.

“I get it now,” Precious’s voice still quivered. “So that’s why you bought vol. You’re the disappearing man.”

“You caught me.”

“Do you think the king would give me fruit and a personal attendant if I turned you in?”

“Feel free to find out,” Dimitry said between labored breaths. “Hope they don’t squash you at the palace gates.”

Invisible leather boots pounded into gravel, their crunching audible to passersby. They looked at the ground in awe as small stones and dirt flew into the air. Most shook their heads in disbelief, but several ran as if rushing to lay claim to a newly discovered gold mine.

Even if they told the authorities, it didn’t matter. Dimitry’s limited time was already ticking away. He had to get money, enchant a scarf, find Saphiria, and escape Ravenfall. Failure to accomplish any would forsake all of his efforts and hopes.

As for money, what target better than his employer? Delphine was rich, and aside from dazzling illumina stones, the brothel lacked enchantments that could trip him up. Or so Dimitry thought. He never visited her bedroom—the place she likely stored her valuables. What awaited him?

He swerved into an empty alley on the pleasure district’s outskirts and slammed his back against a building wall. Invisall’s effects should run out soon. Dimitry would recast the spell before entering the brothel to use the spell most efficiently.

“Tired, Dumitry?”

“We’ll be waiting here for a short while,” he said through heaving lungs.

“By the way,” Precious asked, “why does your spell end in ‘all’?”

“What?”

“Human spells end in ‘a’ like illumina and snoozia, but you chanted ‘invisall’.”

Although the question had merit, now wasn’t the time to ponder it. “It’s a secret.”

“Sure it is.” Precious tugged his ear. “Didn’t you learn by now? I know that you don’t know.”

“Then let’s leave it at that.”

“You’re a strange guy.”

“You have no right to call anyone strange.”

A daze, like that from a basketball colliding against his skull, hit Dimitry. Every muscle lost its strength, and, for a moment, his legs struggled to uphold his weight. Feedback. Why were invisall’s side effects so powerful, whereas snoozia’s almost imperceptible?

Dimitry retrieved another dark green pellet out of his pouch. “Ready for round two?”

“Try not to die. You still owe me a present.”

“Die?”

“I’m saying don’t overload your body with vol.”

“You could die from that?”

Precious gripped the neckline of his tunic. “You’re hopeless.”

It was too late to worry about that.

“Invisall.”