Castle Kingside

On his way to contact a smuggler, Dimitry staggered through Estoria, examining his palm. Concentrated circuits—arranged into a shape resembling an obscure, purple honeycomb—oozed blue liquid with every throb. The fluid leaked out from under his skin like sweat.

‘Blue bile bled from his palm’s core,’ was how Saphiria worded it. She claimed cores lay in specific spots throughout the body and controlled spells, while circuits distributed vol to them. The ability to manipulate them simultaneously formed the basis for magic.

Basics Dimitry never learned.

Even simple spells like incendia and illumina took over a year of dedicated practice to use. Chanting the words wasn’t enough. His attempts at normal magic on Ravenfall’s outskirts and during his sleepless nights at the brothel taught him as much. That was why he found it strange that a mere glance at two books allowed him to cast both invisall and accelall.

Why were some spells so widespread while others rare? Did the ‘all’ and ‘ia’ endings make a difference? Could he find more tomes in the ‘real’ world?

A humid wisp of wind blew into his ear. “Wake up, Dumitry. We’re here.”

Wishing Precious would pass out like she did after consuming an emotional feast at the gangster’s torture, Dimitry looked up.

Standing at the edge of a port that smelled of expired fish was a warehouse with warped plank walls. Missing clay roof tiles gave the establishment an appearance even more dilapidated than the surrounding buildings, and the cloaked figures lurking at every turn were intimidating, unlike the merchants and artisans that flooded the spacious harbor adjoining Estoria’s market square.

Anticipation bubbled in Dimitry’s gut, begging him to leave, to avoid an incident similar to the one in the slums, but he had no choice. This rundown gutter was his ticket to Coldust. “The guy we’re looking for works in this warehouse?”

Precious burrowed deeper under his cloak. “That’s what Jacob said.”

“Jacob?”

“The gangster we questioned,” Saphiria said. “Be on guard. Smugglers get aggressive when called out on their profession.”

Dimitry held up his swollen hands. “If something happens, I’m basically useless. Can I rely on you?”

“Anytime.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“What happened to you two?” Precious peeked out from his cloak. “You were tiptoeing around each other just a little while ago, but now you’re all buddy-buddy again. Did I miss something?”

Saphiria pressed a pinkie to the faerie’s mouth, occluding half her face. “It’s a secret.”

“Oh no. Did you guys do that?”

Dimitry shook his head. “Hide before someone sees you.”

“No need to get all grumpy.”

He straightened his cloak and trailed behind Saphiria, who pushed open a weathered door. It emitted a long-winded creak as it rotated around its hinge, revealing a desolate interior comprising scattered crates and precarious shelving units. The wind whistled through breached walls.

“Who’s there?” a rough voice like that of a grumpy old man called out. “We’re not taking jobs right now.”

Dimitry kept his mouth shut. This was Saphiria’s area of expertise.

“We’re looking for a man named Caleb,” Saphiria announced. “Jacob told us they knew how to get a certain item from a sandy land across the gulf.”

“Oh, what does that cocksucker want from me now?” A portly man with a short gray beard and a straw hat tumbled out from behind a crate stack. “I told him if he wanted to—” He stared at Saphiria for a second. “Zera preserve my fat thighs, is that…?”

“Old Man Bryce?” she uttered.

“Saphiria… I never thought I’d see you again. You’ve grown to be so tall and beautiful and—wait. Are you here to kill me? I swear, it wasn’t me. Those pricks talk all kinds of—”

“No, nothing like that. We’re here for another reason.”

“Well, don’t stand around!” Old Man Bryce pointed a thick finger at Dimitry. “You and fuckstick there, come take a seat. I’ll put on a kettle.” He disappeared behind the same stack of crates he emerged from.

Dimitry shot a confused glance at Saphiria. “Why am I fuckstick?”

“That’s how Old Man Bryce always speaks,” she said. “Let’s sit down.”

Precious giggled. “What are you waiting for, ‘fuckstick’? Go sit down.”

Dimitry shrugged it off. Now wasn’t the time to raise complaints, and he preferred name-calling to life and death struggles. Taking a seat on a crate beside Saphiria, he scanned the walls.

Among the scant decorations was a weathered map. Although its features held less detail than a modern equivalent, the size and vibrant colors made it an impressive piece. However, something about it seemed off. Not that Dimitry knew what. Neither geography nor cartography was his forte.

When the heavyset footsteps stomped back, Dimitry averted his gaze towards the ground to hide his eyes. Old Man Bryce poured each of them a cup of peach-colored tea and added a hint of milk and sugar to each.

Dimitry took a sip, hoping that people in this world could preserve dairy products. It wasn’t bad. The milk’s silky texture masked the leaves’ bitter aftertaste.

Old Man Bryce dropped onto a crate, which squealed under his weight. “So what can I do you for?”

Saphiria elegantly moved the cup away from her mouth before speaking. “We need passage for two to Coldust. Any kind of lodging is fine.”

“Saphiria, I like you and all, but that’s not something I can do for free.” Old Man Bryce leaned back. “That’s because you’re not the first ones to ask. Space is limited, after all.”

She looked at Dimitry.

Guess that meant it was his turn. “How much are you looking for?”

Old Man Bryce pulled on his short gray beard as if in deep contemplation. “Four golds.”

“One.”

“Three.”

“Two,” Dimitry said.

“Fine. Fuck it.” Old Man Bryce threw his hands into the air. “I hate haggling. We’ll be departing around evening, so get to the port before then. I won’t stand around freezing my ass off waiting for you two.”

“We’ll be there,” Saphiria said.

“Oh, and like I mentioned before, we won’t be alone on this trip. If you’re trying to smuggle something into Coldust, do it at your own risk.”

“Who else will be on board?” Dimitry asked.

“Just my crew and a few travelers. One even had a crimson robe. Think it’s a wandering wizard or something.”

Dimitry roamed a packed market. Although rays from a luminous sun shone on him as he trekked along a stone brick promenade, and the body heat from nearby shoppers warmed his cloak, a frigid atmosphere made him shiver. The cold would only get worse. Once they boarded Old Man Bryce’s boat to sail across Roland’s Gulf to Coldust, ocean winds would compound with rapidly chilling weather to emulate winter’s frost.

Low temperatures throughout a lengthy voyage predisposed Saphiria and perhaps Precious to hypothermia. Since the resuscitation of an escaped slave or a corrupted creature in a boat full of strangers would lead to disaster, Dimitry acted to avoid either outcome. Scouring for heat insulation, they swerved through market stalls, heads twisting with every woolen blanket and cozy garb they saw.

But even last-minute shopping was difficult in this world.

Somehow avoiding developing a hoarse voice, a town crier stood on a podium shouting the same announcements ad nauseam.

“Hear ye!” A bell clamored in his hand. “Taxes on flours and wines have increased two-fold! The reward for information leading to the capture of the man with pale green eyes has increased to a hundred and fifty gold gadots! Property tithes imposed by the Church might increase! Celeste guide His Royal Majesty!”

“A hundred and fifty gold gadots?!” Precious shrieked, her voice nearly drowned out by a bumbling crowd. “Dumitry, you’re worth like… a lot!”

Although it flattered Dimitry to think his life was worth a massive fortune, it also meant that everyone and their mother searched for him. He had to avoid one-on-one encounters.

Dimitry held out his pouch. “Saphiria, I’m relying on you to barter with merchants. Don’t worry about saving money. We don’t have time to haggle.”

The girl nodded and reached forward, only to pause. Saphiria’s gaze switched from the leather pouch to his swollen arm, and her finger gently traced an engorged, purple vessel. “How are you feeling? Does it still hurt?”

Was she still beating herself up over that? Dimitry smiled to assuage her worries. “It’s not a big deal, I promise.”

Precious shifted forward as if to call him out on his lie, but said nothing. The faerie leaned back into the crevice between his tunic and neck. She had some decency after all.

“Back in Malten,” Saphiria said, “we had an enchantress who accidentally overloaded herself in a mountainside skirmish with gargoyles. Her arms looked just like yours. The mistress of the Sorceresses Guild treated her with magic to make the swelling go away, and I was thinking that if there really was a wizard aboard Old Man Bryce’s ship, he might do the same for you.”

While Dimitry didn’t know what a gargoyle was, he understood that the mystical people of this world had invented cures for their equally mystical ailments. Even if native barber-surgeons were useless, judging by the high esteem mages commanded, their expertise regarding magic-related illness trumped Dimitry’s. A professional’s advice always held merit.

Gazing into Saphiria’s concerned eyes—compassionate eyes, Dimitry nodded. “If there is a wizard, we should give him a shot. Appreciate the thought.”

She smiled weakly and took the coin pouch. “Be careful while I’m gone. If something happens to you, I’ll do my best to help, but I’m afraid I can’t fend off a group of market guards.”

“That’s why we have to make sure it doesn’t come down to that. And if it does, just run. There’s no reason for you to get caught up as well.”

“I make no promises.” Saphiria walked ahead.

Dimitry shook his head and trailed a safe distance behind her as she purchased necessities for the long boat ride ahead, including vol, dried meat, and two thick quilts. To avoid meeting the gaze of wandering eyes, he faced the ground. All he saw were muddy boots stampeding past and blackened rainwater seeping from walkway bricks and into embedded cracks.

“Hey, hey.” Precious tugged his ear. “Do you see what I’m seeing?”

He shot several glances from side to side, ready to run in case someone saw the faerie’s head jutting from under his hood. “If you keep peeking out, I’ll shove you into my bag and keep you there.”

“Right, sorry. But look over there!” She tugged on his collar to bring his attention to endless masses haggling at stalls. Nothing seemed amiss.

“What am I looking for?”

“That stall! Over there! The one selling goldwork.”

Goldwork? Dimitry’s gaze stopped at a stall covered in a silken tablecloth. Two men and a woman, all wearing thick fur coats, chatted emphatically as they passed a small ball of thread back and forth. Golden thread. The type that Dimitry couldn’t and shouldn’t afford right now.

“So that’s goldwork. What about it?”

“Did you forget already? You promised!”

Precious spoke of the bribe Dimitry offered her to help him escape Ravenfall: a replacement for the grass ribbon tying the faerie’s ponytail together.

“So you want a gold ribbon? I thought you said you didn’t like gold.”

“No. I love gold. The problem is that it’s usually too heavy for me to pick up.”

“You understand our situation, right?” Dimitry scanned the crowd for anyone alarmed by a man speaking into his cloak. Thankfully, no one was.

“Here I was, thinking you were a stand-up guy.”

“Can you name a single person who wouldn’t want to kill or capture us if they found out who we were?”

“But… my present… you promised,” she said in a pouty voice.

Dimitry sighed. Although the faerie’s impetuous impulses risked their lives, he and Saphiria were no different. How many times had Precious rescued them from peril? Considering behavioral improvements, selfless acts, and the strange manner in which Dimitry got along with the critter, she deserved a reward for her good behavior.

“Fine. But after this, you’re not allowed to say I don’t keep my promises.” He called over Saphiria to carry out the transaction.

The ease and speed with which she complied with his request baffled Dimitry. Saphiria returned with a half-meter thread of gold before long. “Is this enough?”

“The size is fine.” However, that’s not what worried Dimitry. “How much did it cost?”

“Three silvers.”

“Three silvers… for this?” He held up the slender thread, which struggled to stay vertical in a gentle breeze.

“Come on, come on!” Precious bounced excitedly on Dimitry’s shoulder.

He snuck the overpriced commodity under his cloak. “Happy now?”

“No.” She grabbed his finger. “I want you to tie it.”

Did Precious expect him to ornament a faerie in public? Dimitry massaged his eyelids. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“You and Saphiria are always having a good time, and I’m always being left out! Where’s my personal attention?”

The Zerans had it right—faeries were corrupted creatures.

“I have an idea.” Saphiria led Dimitry by the hand into a narrow alleyway. She turned to face him, blocking the vision of anyone who ventured to look inside. “Get in.”

Precious hopped off of Dimitry’s shoulder and onto Saphiria’s. Back facing him, the faerie waited patiently. They conspired against him.

“Are we really doing this?”

Lips curved into a stunning smile, Saphiria watched unflinchingly.

Dimitry exhaled deeply. After dodging authorities and committing atrocities, anyone would yearn for a moment’s respite. He was little different. Perhaps some jollity could assuage the heavy mass curdling in his gut. The only problems were that he knew nothing about tying hair, and that surgical knots were inappropriate.

After brief contemplation, Dimitry decided.

A shoelace knot.

“Thank you, Dumitry.”

Their shopping ended when the market crowd fizzled out, and a lowering sun colored the horizon with pink and orange hues. Evening had come. It was finally time to leave this cursed city. Dimitry stepped around tar-like roadside drainage, smelling of human waste and rotting livestock entrails, and pushed past civilians until he reached the docks.

Ahead, the Church’s awe-inspiring coastal wall stood in plain sight. Military orders and spell chants swooped down from above as white and gray-robed women fended off stone monsters emerging from the water’s azure depths. A never-ending war.

“Saphiria,” said a grouchy voice. It belonged to Old Man Bryce. He approached from behind with a small crate in hand. “Cog’s ready when you are.”

Rushing to hide his eyes, Dimitry averted his gaze to the port’s timber flooring.

“Back straight, boy. No pussies allowed aboard my boat.”

What a charming geriatric.

“Got it,” Dimitry said.

“Which cog is yours?” Saphiria asked.

“That one.” Old Man Bryce’s callused finger pointed at a long oak ship with a yellowed square sail waving from a single mast. “That’s Dirty Matilda. She’s old and reliable, just like me.” He pounded his chest with a wrinkled, meaty fist.

She had better be reliable. And steady.

The thought of spending the next few days at sea, keeled over a rocking boat’s edge, elicited the urge to vomit within Dimitry before he could board. Dirty Matilda swayed side to side and up and down despite calm port waters. How much worse would she get when the seas turned rough?

“Don’t be scared, Dumitry,” Precious whispered. “Just pretend you’re walking on land!”

“You’re not helping.”

“There, there.” She patted his nape with a tiny palm. “It’ll be alright.”

“I know you’re excited about your new ribbon, but stop trying to comfort me. You’re not good at it.”

They followed Old Man Bryce across an unsteady boarding plank and a rocking boat’s deck before stopping at a ladder leading to a lower floor.

“Down you two go. I suggest making nice with your fellow traveler—you’ll be seeing each other a lot. We’ll depart once the other passengers and the rest of my crew arrive.”

Saphiria climbed down, and then Dimitry.

Every movement from the boat elicited a series of twisting and warping squeaks from surrounding planks. They formed a cargo room that held nothing except a mass of crates and a man who sat against a rounded wall. The red robe he wore concealed everything except his pipe and a long white beard.

Was that an esteemed wizard? Or was he just a robed man?

Saphiria didn’t say. Her indigo eyes lost their curious gaze and a slight smile left her face, retreating into coldness like they did whenever strangers were around. She sat motionless. Calculating. Waiting.

Did her reticence source from caution or distrust? Regardless, both were beneficial qualities to have in their current predicament. The only problem was Precious. Could she stay quiet for several days, or would loud-mouthed faerie fillet be on the cruise menu?

Not long after Dimitry sat beside Saphiria, hard leather and iron clacked against the deck above. The weighty steps of metal boots reverberated throughout the ship’s wooden walls. Whoever wore them had a voice like that of a proud high school senior.

“Selene, do you want to go down to see the cabin?” asked the boisterous kid.

“Erm, sir knight, it’s not a cabin.” Old Man Bryce’s muffled voice leaked from between oak planks. “It’s more of a cargo hold. I don’t think little Selene will like it there. The actual cabin’s over there.”

An icy shiver shot down Dimitry’s back. He looked at Saphiria. “Sir knight?”

“Probably the Church’s,” she whispered. “Stay calm. I don’t think they’re looking for us.”

Old Man Bryce mentioned that there would be other passengers, but neglected to mention which ones. Judging by the giant coastal wall just outside, filled to the brim with Zerans that processed stone monsters like a magical slaughterhouse, it made sense that the passengers included believers. And if this knight was a believer, they would be as intimidating as the monastery knights in Ravenfall.

He was in for a long, long boat ride. Hiding a faerie and an escaped Zeran servant while stuck on a ship with members of the Church wouldn’t be fun.

Precious trembled against his neck. “A-are you t-thinking what I’m thinking?”

“If I am, I hope we’re both wrong.”

Many steel footsteps boarded the ship’s deck above. Unlike the others, the owners stomped heavily, as if rushing to deliver urgent news.

“Are you the owner of this cog?” A man asked with an arrogant tone.

“I am,” Old Man Bryce said. “Can I help you, sir knights?”

“We’re searching for an escaped fugitive. This letter is stamped with His Royal Majesty Gregorius’s seal. We’ll be looking inside.”

“For the same basta—the same person everyone’s been hollering about these past few days?”

“That’s not for you to know.”

“Help yourselves. I’m not hiding anything.”

Their footsteps stomped across the deck, closer to the ladder.

“Come on, Selene,” said the boisterous voice. “Let the nice men through.”

A child responded. “Okay…”

With indigo eyes wide open and mouth agape, Saphiria squeezed Dimitry’s wrist. “Crimson knights. There’s four. They have plate armor. I-I’m not sure if I can take them. Hide. You have to hide!”

Dimitry’s gasps for air grew hasty, and heavy muck pooled in his gut. Crimson knights? He had seen them patrolling Ravenfall’s castle district. With glowing, blood-red armor and six-foot-tall figures, they would overpower Saphiria without breaking a sweat. Her dagger wouldn’t do shit to them.

His head twisted and turned, but there was nowhere to hide. Crates were few and lay in plain sight. Most were too small to fit a grown man. There were no exits, hiding his eyes from authorities didn’t work at Estoria’s gatehouse, and trying to fight would get Precious and Saphiria murdered!

“Saphiria.”

“Y-yes?”

“Don’t you dare try to fight those knights.”

“What are you—”

Dimitry leapt away from the girl’s dispelia scarf and fumbled inside his leather bag for a pure vol pellet. Would using magic for the second time that day kill him? Perhaps, but he had no fucking choice. He couldn’t be found. If the knights discovered him, they would search for an accomplice matching Saphiria’s description as well. She and Precious would die.

This was the best way. For everyone.

“D-Dimitry?” Precious muttered.

Saphiria watched him motionlessly, hands shaking atop her lap.

“I’ll be fine. Invisall.”

“I know you’re lying to…” Precious’s voice trailed off as she turned invisible with him.

Dimitry’s heart rate soared as blazing heat erupted within his palm, scorching his arm and chest with searing flames, purple vessels pulsating and swelling, unseen blue bile trickling down his fingers and dripping from the nails. With the remnants of his consciousness, he squirmed into a corner while forcing his lungs into oxygen-deprived stillness to silence the wheezing.

Two knights wearing blood-red armor slid down the ladder. They scanned the cargo hold. One stomped past to yank Saphiria’s hood off. Another knight did the same to the red-robed old man, who stared at the spot where Dimitry vanished.

The other passenger saw everything.

After browsing through several crates, the crimson knights nodded at each other and climbed out of the cargo hold.

Unable to hold his breath any longer, Dimitry’s labored wheezes pierced the air as thick liquids seeped between his skin and leather tunic. “Precious, hide… hide with Saphiria.”

“Dimitry?!” The faerie’s voice was distant despite being nearby.

The cargo hold’s grime brightened.

The oak planks’ squealing softened.

And finally, the boat’s rocking steadied.