Castle Kingside

Leaned back against the inner walls of a marble bathtub, Dimitry stared vacantly at an opulent ceiling. Gold rectangular-shaped bands covered its surface. They arranged themselves into cascading patterns atop red-dyed stone, which, like the bath’s heated floor, served as a display of power and wealth to visiting guests.

Wealth that no longer existed.

His negotiations with the queen and Klaire unveiled the current state of the kingdom. Beggars in the streets were refugees that escaped the growing heathen threat to the north. With what little belongings they could carry, they marched through frigid forests for days on end only to starve in a foreign city. Many were injured, diseased or dying by the time they reached Malten. To be poor in this world was damnation.

Important immigrants, those wielding power and influence, lodged in the castle’s guest rooms or with other nobles living in the royal district. Although they weren’t beggars, life didn’t treat them well either. The dukes, duchesses, counts, and everyone else of import sat idle with the state of their territories uncertain. Their only hobby was to pester the queen to send scouts or an army north.

Trade shriveling, her majesty struggled to accommodate the poor and rich alike. Her kingdom’s fields were under constant raids by bandits and heathens. The southern territories sent aid in the form of wheat and dried meat to keep the refugees in Malten, but it wasn’t enough. Her hands were tied.

That was the queen’s rationale when she said that she could afford Dimitry only three humble concessions: a job as a barber-surgeon, fifty gold marks, and modest lodging in the castle. To give him peace of mind while he worked in a tumultuous city, she assigned him a private guard. And, as a bonus, she promised additional pay and advancement if he cured the plague.

Although her majesty claimed that the reward was to thank Dimitry for his virtuous deeds, the truth was obvious; she used him as an anchor to keep Saphiria tied to Malten. The princess was more likely to stay around if Dimitry, the only person she trusted, did.

Self-serving displays of kindness and gratitude weren’t impressive. Even if the queen took action intending to keep the kingdom together, anyone who sold off their daughter to the Church for empty promises couldn’t be trusted.

“Is it my turn yet?” A faerie’s voice leaked out from under a towel.

“No.” Dimitry took a deep breath. The fragrance of mixed berries and olive-scented soap rushed into his nose.

“Hurry up! I want to see if it’s actually enchanted!”

Dimitry moved towards the bathtub’s center and dunked his head underwater to cleanse the accumulated stench of brine and sweat lodged in his hair. Eyes held open despite discomfort, he saw a glowing red floor. He smirked. It was just as Saphiria said— the bath had an enchanted incendia base. Having enjoyed his fill of luxury, Dimitry wafted through pleasantly warm water that embraced his limbs as if begging him to stay, and stepped out into cold air.

“Can I go now?”

“Let me get dressed first.” Dimitry reached for a towel.

As long as Malten treated him and Saphiria well, he would stay. They had shelter and protection now. Amalthean guards and Church bootlickers hounded them no longer, and the Barber Surgeons Guild collapsed long ago, eliminating most of his competitors. Dimitry could demonstrate his skills at last.

Sure, there were problems: heathens assaulting the city, widespread civil unrest, food shortages, disease, potential aquatic demon attacks, and whatever else this shitty world held in store. Those, however, were issues for another time.

Dimitry’s most pressing concern was Saphiria. He wanted to know if she was all right. Learning that her father and siblings were dead for eight years couldn’t have been easy.

Dressed like an under-decorated colonial war veteran, Dimitry’s red and gold clothes squeezed his body as he walked down a corridor. Blocks of enchanted lapis lazuli embedded in the floor and walls illuminated his every step. It was the castle’s third floor—home to Malten’s royalty and their most faithful servants.

Excited whispers buzzed from every direction. They grew louder as Dimitry approached a room besieged by curious maids. Wearing white dresses, the women took turns pressing their ears to the door hoping to eavesdrop on the girl within.

“Has Zera finally blessed us?”

“She’s really back!”

“What is she like?”

“I saw her! She’s grown to be so beautiful. We need to get her out of those filthy clothes.”

A maid knocked. “Princess, would you grace us with the pleasure of cleaning your room and dress?”

There was no response.

Dimitry shook his head. How was Saphiria supposed to grieve when women pestered her like gossip-crazed paparazzi? Unfazed by their presence, he approached.

One by one, the maids turned to greet him with dirty stares and curious faces. However, with neither a complaint or grumble, they parted to make way.

All except for one.

A homely woman with wrinkles stacked on her forehead held her ground in front of the door. “Who are you, sir? The guest lodging isn’t here.”

“Is this Saphiria’s room? I wish to speak with her.”

Hands clasped to their mouths, the maids gasped. They murmured amongst themselves.

“What business do you have with the princess?” The hag’s tone was one of scorn. “She is tired and busy. Not something a loafer like you would understand.”

“So it is her room, then?” He pushed past the hag to knock on the door. “Saphiria, it’s Dimitry. May I come in, or do you need time?”

A muffled voice came from inside. “One moment.”

The hag watched Dimitry with wide-open eyes. Obviously, no one taught her it was rude to stare. Her gaze darted away at the sound of Saphiria’s footsteps.

The maids clustered to peek inside. When the door opened, their excited and curious faces turned to disappointment. The room was empty. Only a giant four-poster bed with red drapes and gilded edges among other similarly designed furniture lay in sight.

When Dimitry stepped inside, the door slammed shut behind him.

Stood nearby in an ocean-stained azure dress, Saphiria looked up at him with devastated eyes. Grief reddened the tip of her nose. Tears streaked down her briny cheeks.

Saphiria teetered closer and rested her face against Dimitry’s arm, moistening his red and gold sleeves.

He wrapped an arm around her slender shoulder, pulled her in, and slid his hand past glossy raven hair to support the back of her head. Scant at first, Saphiria’s gentle sobs stabbed his heart.

Dimitry yearned to be her rock. To remain silent. To stay composed like he did when delivering a bleak prognosis to a patient’s family. It was difficult.

“I’m so sorry.” She sniffled. “I b-brought you here—”

“No, no.” He hugged her tighter, rocking back and forth. “You did the best you could. I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me. Truly.”

Saphiria tried to speak, but gasps for air interrupted her words.

“Don’t talk if you can’t. It’s fine. Even if it’s all night, I’ll be here for as long as you need me to.”

Her face buried into his chest.

The sobs grew louder.

A silent night passed.

Dimitry woke up to the unfamiliar ceiling of a guest room on the castle’s second floor. His new home. The queen allowed him to live here as part of his reward for guiding Saphiria to Malten. Although the living quarters weren’t spacious or luxurious, they were a damn sight better than staying at an inn. Here, he wouldn’t have to skulk around to avoid discovery as a wanted fugitive.

However, like on Earth, lodging was never free; Dimitry worked for the crown. The queen ordered him to accomplish the impossible task of removing disease and plague from the entire kingdom. While her ambitions were respectable and just, without clean water, sterilized tools, or even ample food, her plans were nothing more than a foolhardy dream.

Someone experienced in politics and sociology should have known that. Her majesty probably did. Was her sole intention to appear benevolent to keep the people from rising against her?

Even if it was, like any person in good conscience, Dimitry aimed to meet her goal. The bonus she promised only sweetened the deal.

As expected of a person preparing for their first day at work, Dimitry dressed as well as he could. Professional attire was important for physicians; it made patients more likely to comply with treatment. Not that he thought apparel would be a big problem. His workplace was a hospital in a city overrun by refugees, immigrants, displaced farmers, and anyone else unfortunate enough to have their life ruined by heathens. He could wear pajamas complete with bunny slippers and still look impressive to the destitute.

Dimitry threw a fur-trimmed cloak over his red and gold uniform.

Precious’s head popped out of a cabinet drawer lined with towels. Her golden ponytail swung back and forth as she scanned the room with equally golden irises. They locked onto Dimitry. “Food?”

“Not right now.” Dimitry straightened his cuffs. His priority was to scout out the hospital for traps. Although he didn’t think the queen would try to kill him, it paid to be vigilant in this world. “Maybe when we get back.”

“How about some royal treats? The fruit served in a castle has got to be good.”

“We’ll get some later. Hop in.”

Precious drifted out of the cabinet and into his hood. “It’s so warm.”

“Glad you like it.” Dimitry grabbed his leather bag and walked out into a frigid corridor. Enchanted stones illuminated his steps across a marble floor.

“Hey you,” a rash female voice said.

Dimitry didn’t look back. Why would anyone want to talk to him this early in the morning?

“Surgeon!”

Maybe someone did want to talk to him this early in the morning. Dimitry turned around to see a girl, perhaps slightly older than a high school senior, leaned against the wall with her arms crossed over her chest. Long and curly red-brown hair drooped out of her crimson robe’s hood.

Precious tugged on Dimitry’s collar. “She’s been waiting outside for the longest time. I didn’t mention her since she wasn’t plotting anything sinister, but watching her impatience bubble up was entertaining.”

“You are the surgeon, right?” the girl asked.

Dimitry stroked his freshly shaven chin. “I might be. Why do you ask?”

“I’m…” She exhaled deeply. “I’m your guard.” Her tone was one of reluctance.

“In that case, you’ve found the right person.” Dimitry examined the girl. She must have been the protection that the queen promised. However, her height couldn’t have been much over five feet. How was she supposed to defend him? Was it with that pipe strapped to her back?

“What are you looking at? Am I not good enough for you?”

“What’s that thing you’re carrying around?”

“This?” She reached for the metal tube. “The voltech rifle?” The girl shot him a sidelong glance. “I’m guessing a refugee like you never saw one before, huh?” She smirked. “Want to see how it works?”

Although the obscure weapon intrigued Dimitry, he didn’t have time to mess around. The best course of action was to hurry past introductions so he could leave the castle. “Not right now. Do you have a name?”

“It’s Angelika.”

The name sounded familiar. “Angelika?”

“Yes?”

“It’s good to meet you.” Dimitry turned away from her. “Come on, let’s go.” He took long strides until he reached a stairwell that led down a tower.

“Wait!” Angelika scampered after him. “Where are we going?”

“Hospital.”

“Hospital?”

Dimitry’s boots thumped down polished granite stairs. “Where else did you expect a surgeon to go?”

“Whatever.” She took a deep breath. “Anything is better than this shitty castle; nothing ever happens here.”

“I disagree,” Precious whispered. “Let’s get something to eat. Think the kitchen is open in the morning?”

Ignoring the faerie, Dimitry glanced back at the girl following him—the one who claimed to be his guard despite being one and a half heads shorter than him. “If someone attacked me, would you be able to deal with them?”

“Deal with them?” Angelika grinned maliciously. “I’ll stomp their fucking brains out.”

A month ago, her words would have troubled Dimitry. However, after every desperate struggle he’s been through, every near-death situation, they reassured him. “Good enough. Just try to keep them alive if possible.”

“No promises, surgeon.”

“You can call me Dimitry.”

“What kind of name is that?”

“My name.”

“Sounds like some weird refugee name.” Angelika’s boots tapped against the floor as she ran to catch up. “Which hospital are we going to?”

Dimitry glanced down at the girl’s crimson hood. “Why does it matter?”

She looked up, her orange eyes oozing with excitement. “If it’s the one on west main street, I could shoot heathens from the city walls while you’re doing surgeon things.”

“You don’t sound like a very reliable guard.” Dimitry pulled a strip of parchment he received from Klaire out from his pocket. “It reads ‘Market Square Hospital’.”

“The church?” Angelika clicked her teeth. “I won’t be able to hit anything from there.”

Dimitry walked through the castle gates. “Church? It says hospital here.”

“They’re the same thing. When those Zeran ass—” She glanced at the surrounding nobles and rich folk before lowering her voice to a whisper. “When those Zeran assholes left, we had all these empty buildings. Recently, sick people and refugees started to stay in them. One of them was an abandoned church which her majesty turned into a hospital.”

“Is that so?” Although the queen was dubious, Dimitry applauded her efforts to keep people housed and alive in a time of strife. Maybe she wasn’t too bad.

They passed through the castle district and into Malten’s crowded streets. After a depressing stroll through hordes of beggars, they arrived at a tall, gray building. A statue depicting a woman holding a cane to the sky stood above the entrance—typical Church paraphernalia.

Screams, cries, and pleas for death leaked from the church-turned-hospital’s open stone doors.

At long last, it was time to get to work.