Castle Kingside

Although they were grander, Estoria’s streets and alleys smelled even worse than Ravenfall’s. Sweat, moist feces, and rotting animal carcasses contaminated every gale. Crosswinds hurled heavy droplets into densely packed stone and oak structures.

Fending off reemerging mental imagery of the captain and guard he had murdered minutes ago, Dimitry trailed behind Saphiria, swerving past countless buildings. He glanced back but saw only passersby hurrying under the rain.

“Do you sense anyone following us?” he whispered into his cloak.

“How am I supposed to know?” Precious said. “There are people all over desperately hunting for something.”

The faerie’s complaints held merit. Housewives, travelers, and aproned artisans scrammed for essentials beneath a thunderstorm’s barrage. Their presence comforted Dimitry. No one would suspect him or Saphiria to be fleeing fugitives when everyone else around scrambled to escape the weather.

“We’re almost there.” Saphiria cut a corner. “We’ll be safe once we reach the market square.”

Even as Dimitry ran for his life, he couldn’t ignore the knight emblem on his wrist. The blue imprint tugged more forcefully with every forward step. Its objective was close. Although the man in the operating room claimed that the emblem’s guidance would help Dimitry, he omitted specifics. What lay in wait at the destination? A treasure cache? Mounds of vol? Spell tomes?

When Malten remained distant, and Dimitry’s only possessions were beneath his cloak or inside the leather bag strapped over his shoulder, all sources of aid deserved consideration. He would investigate once an opportunity presented itself.

Saphiria’s pace slowed upon reaching the market square. Although any modern shopping mall would make it a laughingstock, compared to Ravenfall’s, this plaza had twice the size and four times as many stalls. Customers would likely pack the venue on a normal day. Now, only scattered merchants and shoppers braved the downpour. Their damp, cloaked figures matched his and Saphiria’s—the perfect crowd to blend into to avoid pursuers. Among the scarce active stalls, one was managed by a cluster of gray-robed women.

Zeran priestesses.

They purchased giant rocks from a short queue of peasants, each tugging along animal-drawn carts full of gargantuan legs and jagged wings, all made from stone. Twisting and crossing mazes of pale blue lines decorated every alien organ. The sign above the stall read ‘heathen purification’.

Dimitry scratched his head. Not only was there a large variety in heathen morphology, but the Church paid money to ‘purify’ their corpses. Was it merely a religious ritual?

Although a curious topic, his attention swiftly returned to the knight emblem. It pulled past the priestesses’ stall and towards a marble cathedral with a half-kilometer spire jutting out from its roof. Whatever the mysterious man deemed indispensable was near.

“Where are you going?!” Precious shrieked.

“Just taking a quick look at that cathedral. I know our relationship with Zera is a little complicated, but do you mind?”

“Yes I mind! It’s pouring out, and you have two lovely ladies with you that the Church wouldn’t mind killing!”

Indigo eyes illuminated by a flash of lightning, Saphiria nodded. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

They were right, and Dimitry never intended to get too close—not while his companions’ lives were at risk. “I just want to pass by. As long as you stay under my cloak and Saphiria keeps her scarf hidden, there’ll be no need to worry.”

“But why now?” Precious asked.

“I promise I’ll explain later.”

As they approached, Dimitry struggled to lower his wrist, which wanted to push up and past a gate guarded by four Zeran knights and two bishops. The emblem’s objective wasn’t the cathedral. Instead, it yearned for a temple the height of a man.

The temple stood in a yard between the front gate and the cathedral’s entrance. Flowers, statuettes, and assorted candles surrounded the strange monolith, but religious knick-knacks weren’t what elicited existential wonder. The luminescent pale blue pawns did. They decorated all four of the temple’s sides and the sleek, jet-black base holding it up. The craftsmanship was perfect. Alien. Something neither the technology from here nor Earth could reproduce.

Dimitry pointed at the obscure temple. “What’s that?”

“The den of my enemies,” Precious mused.

“Not the cathedral. That temple by the steps.”

“The shrine?”

“Yeah, that. Do you know how it’s made?”

“Zera erected them when she birthed humanity,” Saphiria said. “Malten’s archbishop once recommended that my brothers and I go on a pilgrimage around Remora to pray at each one.”

Precious giggled. “Too bad that collar ruined your plans, huh?”

“That was long before the collar…” Saphiria said in a hushed tone, “but I’ll be home soon. I’ll see everyone again soon.”

“If you say so.”

Although more curious than before, Dimitry turned away. “I saw what I needed to see. Let’s find shelter before hypothermia strikes again.”

“Hippowhatia?” Precious asked.

“Just doctor-speak.”

A small bell clamored from a podium at the market square’s center. It begged for the sparse attention of a crowd fleeing a thunderstorm’s downpour.

Holding the bell was a man. He shoved it into his pocket and cleared his throat. “Hear ye, hear ye! Be on the lookout for a man with pale green eyes. His Royal Majesty is offering lowered taxes and a hundred gold gadots for information that directly leads to the criminal’s capture.”

“You’re pretty popular, Dumitry.”

“It’s good to be appreciated.” He glanced at Saphiria. “Know anywhere we can dry up, bathe, and change?”

“I’ll book us an inn.” She flashed a hint of a smile. “Just keep your infamous eyes hidden from the other guests, Mr. Criminal.”

“You’re a criminal too, you know?”

“Me? I’m but a simple accomplice.” Saphiria walked ahead with playful steps.

Considering they had just killed two gatehouse guards and skulked through a hostile city, Dimitry found her cheerful demeanor disconcerting. Did the prospect of proper food and bedding brighten her mood? Perhaps he wasn’t much different. “Precious, help Saphiria out. Make sure the inn’s manager doesn’t suspect anything or rip us off.”

Stuck between Saphiria’s leather tunic and damp cloak, Precious batted away clingy black hair. It poured onto her face, tangled around her arms, and even squirmed into her mouth. There was no end to it!

However, despite an environment so perilous, Precious’s unbridled skill allowed for razor-sharp concentration. She was too good at this. The innkeeper’s emotions—a mixture including greed, exhaustion, and anticipation—were so easy to read that she could be asleep and still do a perfect job. Every emotion a distinct sensation. Each prey to sharpened senses honed through centuries of incessant practice.

“Evening, madam. It sure is pouring out there, isn’t it?” the innkeeper asked. He sized up his customer before taking advantage of her desperation like a fyrhound stalks an aerfowl before committing to a fatal pounce.

Reading him was so easy that it bored Precious. To alleviate the tedium, a need to create mischief boiled within every fiber of her being. Her fingers trembled with excitement as she prepared to tug on Saphiria’s ears.

“Yes, it is. A room for the nigh—” Saphiria tried her best to ignore the annoyance and carry on as if nothing happened. That was the best part. “For the night, please.”

Precious couldn’t suppress a small giggle. She didn’t choose to be this way, but that was what it meant to be a faerie. By nature, her kind yearned to sow dread, despair, angst. A fact she couldn’t change about herself no matter how much she wanted to.

At least she was an improvement over feral faeries, who spent their days tempting people and livestock off of cliffs and to their graves. Unlike her, they couldn’t resist the temptation to lay eggs inside warm corpses. What a nasty impulse. Precious should be commended for holding herself back as much as she did!

The innkeeper’s emotions overflowed with misdirection and greed. “Seven silver gadots. We only have one vacant room that we’re saving for a customer…”

“He’s lying,” Precious whispered into Saphiria’s ear.

“Three is the best we could do,” Saphiria said.

“Since they didn’t show up yet, I’ll give you a discount. Five.”

Precious let out a yawn. “Still lying.” She spent the past few weeks hiding under cloaks, often robbed of the chance to sleep. But that didn’t upset her. If she wanted to, she could eat nothing but foraged berries, only taking breaks to nap on a canopy of trees. Her problem lay elsewhere. Decades of wandering the world alone left her bored. No. Bored wasn’t the right word. There was a better one for that particular feeling.

It was loneliness.

“Four silvers,” Saphiria said, “but you have to include warm baths and meals for two.”

Why did they always leave Precious out when buying food? Munching leaves gets old fast. “Don’t forget the fent.”

“And… and fent,” Saphiria said, oozing scrumptious embarrassment.

Confusion and curiosity burned as bright as illumina lamps throughout the clueless innkeeper. “Fent? But why?”

“My companion has a unique palate. He’ll be coming in soon.”

Ooh, pinned that one on Dumitry, didn’t we? Not bad. Right now, he waited outside the inn, full of worry, guilt, and wonder. Precious couldn’t blame him. When a country as powerful as Amalthea searches for one man, it was prudent to stay on guard. Especially since humans couldn’t fly away on a whim. How inconvenient.

“I uh… I see. If that’s what your companion prefers. Your room is on the third floor to the right of the stairs.”

“Nothing else suspicious about him,” Precious whispered.

“Thank you,” Saphiria said. Four silver gadots clanged against a stone table.

It was about time Precious enjoyed a well-deserved rest far, far away from Saphiria’s hair.

Listening to a faerie munching on fent, Dimitry dug through his leather bag in search of scissors. Where did they go? Did the guard at the gatehouse forget to put them back after playing around with them?

Realizing that the guard would never play around with anything again, Dimitry paused. What had he done? No. It wasn’t his fault the authorities considered a slave girl and a homeless surgeon criminals. Once more he told himself that it was better to kill others before they killed him, and once more he resumed work.

His finger brushed up against a cold metal blade. There they were.

Before wasting alcohol to disinfect his scissors and forceps, Dimitry needed to know if the sutures were ready to come out. “Hold out your arm for me.”

Sat beside him on a straw bed, Saphiria silently complied like a model patient. The tunic she wore hung loosely around her slender neck.

He pulled up her sleeve.

Although less than fourteen days had passed since Dimitry placed the sutures, the laceration’s edges were even and well approximated. That along with no discharge and a low tension across the threads meant removing the sutures now would reduce scarring as the skin continued to heal. A woman as young as her with a cut that neat wouldn’t see much lasting damage.

Dimitry pointed to her arm. “See how the edges of the cut are so neatly together? That means the sutures did their job.”

Saphiria leaned in for a closer look. “What about those red dots?”

“You mean the inflammation around where the threads enter your skin?

“Yes.”

“That’s normal. It’ll go away on its own.”

Indigo eyes wide open, her gaze met his. “What now?”

“Now, I’ll remove the sutures.” He soaked the edge of a piece of fabric in aqua vitae, then ran it across the wound. “But first, I have to disinfect your skin.”

“To kill the viruses and bacteria?”

The girl’s boundless curiosity brought a smile to Dimitry’s face despite his guilt. She even remembered what he taught her during the first job they ran for Delphine. That was what he liked most about Saphiria—her eagerness to learn.

“Viruses and bacteria, yes, but there are other things out there too, like prions, parasites, and fungi. The microscopic world is a terrifying place.”

“What do you mean by ‘microscopic’?” She gazed at the side of his face as he worked.

“The world is much bigger than you can imagine.” Dimitry sterilized a pair of scissors and tweezers with an alcohol-soaked strip of cloth. “But in many ways, it’s a lot smaller, too. Humans are medium-sized creatures, meaning we can only see medium-sized things. You need to use a tool like a microscope to see small creatures like germs.”

“What do they look like?”

“That’s not a simple question. Germs come in all sorts of shapes and sizes.”

“I want to see them, too.”

So did Dimitry. The microbiology in a world blessed with magic would be nothing short of miraculous to observe. What was inside the blue liquid inside circuits? Could single-celled organisms use ‘spells’? Although he wasn’t a medical scientist, the prospect of a discovery waiting around every corner exhilarated Dimitry.

“Unfortunately, I didn’t get to bring a microscope with me. Maybe one day…” He sighed. “Forget it. It’s impossible.”

“Forget what?” She brushed her raven black hair back behind her ear with a free hand.

Dimitry pulled a knot up with tweezers, cut the string underneath with scissors, then pulled the thread out of Saphiria’s skin. “I was going to suggest building a microscope, but it’s a silly thought.”

“When we get to Malten, I’ll ask Father to help you. We have the greatest artisans in Remora.” Saphiria’s voice held boundless pride. “In my eight years of absence, their techniques must have improved substantially.”

Although her sentiment was sweet, building a microscope wouldn’t be simple. Dimitry didn’t know much about lens making, and, judging by the quality of glass in medieval architecture, neither did the inhabitants of this world. The shopkeeper in Three Brothers’ Magic had an item resembling a lens, but the glass was green and crude.

Dimitry removed another interrupted suture and changed the topic. “What kind of place is Malten?”

“It’s wonderful.”

“Oh yeah?”

Saphiria’s eyes gleamed, absently traversing overhead timber beams as she spoke. “The first thing you’ll hear in the morning are hammers melodically clanging all along Smithen street. Apprentices rush back and forth with charcoal and iron and water until evening. Once moonlight falls upon distant mountains glimmering green in the dark, Malten’s bustle transitions to silence, yet the duchy doesn’t rest. A stroll along the northern river will lead you past city walls, serene waters, and gently creaking waterwheels. Nearby, miners are operating pumps, working the bellows, and hauling carts loaded with ore of iron and vol even throughout the night. The hearths of towering blast furnaces thaw your numb fingers while hurling clouds of smoke into the sky, the plumes visible even from the castle walls.”

Dimitry chuckled, plucking the last knot from her arm. “Alright. You’ve convinced me. Malten is amazing.”

Saphiria’s gaze shot towards him once more. “Did you know we manufacture almost every weapon and tool in the Gestalt Empire?”

“I didn’t.”

“The iron and vol we refine in the finery forges are sent to the Blacksmiths Guild and Sorceresses Guild for processing and enchanting.”

“Sounds complicated.”

“My description leaves much to be desired. Once we arrive, I will show you everything myself.” She paused. “… If that’s alright with you.”

Incapable of turning down her heartfelt request, Dimitry sterilized her laceration with alcohol for the last time. “I can’t wait.”

Her lips curved into a radiant smile. “Me neither.”

He listened to Saphiria gush about industry until green light filtered in through the inn’s shuttered windows. As the night progressed, her eyelids grew heavier. She fell asleep during a lecture about separating solidified iron from slag.

Dimitry covered her with a woolen blanket. Under the guidance of relentless tugging emanating from the emblem on his wrist, he strolled over to a window overlooking a dark green city street. The cathedral’s spire towered in the distance. What waited within its mysterious shrine?

Only one way to find out.

He put on his cloak and turned to ask Precious to come with him.

The faerie, curled up into a ball, slept motionless on a nightstand.

For his amusement, Dimitry tickled her chin, eliciting weak flapping from the creature’s wings. They produced the sound of tiny wind chimes. Dimitry covered her with a shred of fabric in case someone peeked into the room while he was gone.

The door creaked shut.

A man with pale green eyes sneaked through Estoria’s rainy streets.