Castle Kingside

A waning full moon hung in the blackened sky over Malten, its light overpowering a road full of streetlights that desperately held onto the remnants of their fading enchanted glows. Painted dark green, refugees slept in alleyways and against building walls to stay warm on a frigid evening. They shivered under blankets, torn dresses, and beside small bonfires.

One man, whose lips bore the ravines of dehydration, ogled the glass contraptions in Angelika and Dimitry’s hands.

The distillation apparatuses.

Their downward pipe-like tubes that would function as condensing columns glowed a chilling blue: the color of freezia. Although the enchantment wasn’t ice-cold, it remained cool despite prolonged handling. The ideal temperature for purifying ethanol from ale. With the spell’s power, Dimitry could simplify and hasten alcohol production to revolutionize medicine in this world.

That was if the plague didn’t kill everyone first.

The red-robed girl walking alongside Dimitry remained silent, her gaze fixed on the green-glassed contraption she cradled in her hands. Angelika looked up with orange eyes that no longer held a competitive glare. “Are you sure this’ll help my mom?” Her quiet voice struggled to sound out amongst the collective whispers of nearby refugees.

Dimitry forced a smile—the kind he would display to a family member of a patient with a terminal prognosis. A steady supply of ethanol would do little to cure the plague; its purpose was to prevent spreading it through contaminated tools. To deal with the disease, he had more promising plans.

“See this?” He lifted a small pouch filled with mixed vol pellets. “If everything goes according to plan, your mom will be fine.”

“Vol?” She turned away to look forward. “Please, I’m not in the mood for jokes.”

“I’m not joking. It’s difficult to explain what I have in mind, but if it works, it won’t cure just your mom but this entire city.”

“Really?”

“Really. Do your best to guard me, and I vow to do my best as a surgeon.”

An indecisiveness clouded Angelika’s eyes as if choosing between hope and despair. She tugged on Dimitry’s cloak and smirked. “Although I am supposed to be your guard, I’ll run any errands you want. Just say the word.”

With the girl in a better mood, now was the perfect opportunity to bring up a question that festered within Dimitry. “There’s something I wanted to ask you.”

“What is it?”

“Is Ignacius really your grandfather?”

Caught unaware, Angelika hesitated before she spoke. “Y-yeah, but if he dies from the plague, I don’t care. A turncoat asshole like him doesn’t deserve to live.”

Her jagged words cut more than Dimitry expected. “So, it’s true that he worked for the Church?”

“Worked for them?” Her footsteps grew heavy. “That bastard and his wife ditched us for them eight years ago, leaving me, my mom, and my sisters to fend for ourselves while dad was dying in a goddamn war. Seriously, fuck that guy.”

That explained why the bishop in Coldust called Ignacius a deserter. “Sorry if I riled you up. The conversation you had with your family back at the store left me curious.”

“It’s fine.” Angelika exhaled a deep breath. “We’re the ones who started blabbering in front of you. Do you know him or something?”

“We just shared a boat, is all.”

After passing the nostalgic sight of three homeless men holding their palms to a fire, they walked into the alleyway beside the hospital that led to the cellar. Dimitry’s intention was to store the distillation apparatuses to keep them safe overnight; it was too late to put them to use.

However, something pitiful stood in the way.

A man, no older than twenty, dug a hole as if attempting to tunnel under the former church’s walls. When a squeak echoed across the narrow alleyway, his hands clawed with additional vigor. Sat behind him with a face pressed into her hands was a woman.

The moon’s light revealed the pair’s darkening complexions. Were they more of the plague’s victims?

“Don’t worry sweetheart, I’ll catch another one soon.”

The man’s words did nothing to encourage the woman. She remained motionless, face buried in her palms.

Then, the sound of shattering ceramic resounded through the alleyway, causing them to shoot alarmed glances at Dimitry.

“Whoops,” Angelika said. “Didn’t see that there.”

The woman jumped up. A combination of fear, shame, and surprise warped her face. Clearly, she didn’t expect to be disturbed.

They reminded Dimitry of the time he spent plodding through Ravenfall’s streets as a rag-entombed beggar. A disgraceful existence. “We didn’t mean to intrude.” He held a hand up to display his neutrality. “We’re just passing by.”

“N-no, it’s no problem.” The man stood up. Green light leaking between rooftops revealed a dirt-smeared face and a deep burn wound on his neck. “Please, don’t mind us.”

Dimitry passed them with Angelika trailing behind. He placed the distillation apparatus beside the cellar’s hatch and poked around his pocket for the keys. “Are you two patients here?”

“Patients?” the man asked. “You mean at this hospital? This deathtrap?”

Although Dimitry worked here, he couldn’t deny the man’s words. An operation from Josef was a death sentence. “Yeah, sorry about that. We’re in the middle of renovations while we search for a way to cure the plague.”

“Don’t bother.” The men knelt down to continue plodding away at dirt with a branch. “Do you know how many healers looked for a cure only to die in the process?”

“What do you mean?” Angelika shot the man a glare, her tone hasty and desperate.

“I was one of them. Almost every single one of my patients died.” The man began to stab the dirt with audible earthy plunking as if to forget unpleasant memories. “And then I got cursed myself. The Church did this to us because we strayed from the teachings. There is no hope.”

Angelika lunged forward. “Don’t say that!”

Dimitry pulled her back. He didn’t want her to attack the man: his services might prove useful. “You said you had clients seeking a cure. If you don’t mind me asking, what did you do for a living?”

“One moment.” The man dropped his stick and shoved his hand into the excavated tunnel to grab something. He stood up. In his hand, a rat with purple skin held by the tail squirmed for freedom. “Honey, if you would.”

The woman uncovered the crate she sat on to reveal a second rat scratching at its inner walls.

The man dropped the critter into the container. “I was a herbalist in Volmer.”

“A herbalist, you say?” Dimitry stroked his chin, wondering what the occupation entailed. “Did you ever work with glassware?”

“Sometimes.” The gray-haired man sighed. “But that doesn’t matter anymore. Those damn heathens took everything from us.”

The woman turned away, her eyes on the verge of tears. She ran a hand through her flattened dark-blue hair.

“Now my wife and I are trapped in purgatory, eating whatever we can find until the plague finishes the job it started. Like I said, give up and leave while you have your health.”

Angelika clicked her tongue and darted into the cellar.

Dimitry approached the crate that housed two purple-skinned rats. They provided an idea. Out of desperation, he intended to use a modified preservia on patients, but rats seemed to carry the plague too. A stable supply of the critters would allow him to conduct animal testing.

Two, however, wasn’t enough. He needed more. A lot more.

Dimitry turned his attention to the man—the one who claimed himself a herbalist. He thrust the distillation apparatus in his hands forward. “Do you know what this is?”

The man scratched his head with dirt-packed fingernails. “Some kind of vial? For boiling?”

Dimitry’s heart skipped a beat. People familiar with glassware in a world where flasks cost fortunes were rare. They were the type that could accept Dimitry’s instruction. The type that could produce and store ethanol and boiled water. The type that could become valuable employees.

And, as a bonus, they were the type that could catch rats.

“It’s too early to give up hope. If you two are tired of eating diseased vermin, would you consider working for me?”

The couple shared a glance.

Dimitry kicked away an iron chain. It clanged across the dark cellar’s paved stone floor only to land beside many other similarly ‘organized’ objects. Although he didn’t have time to clean the premises, Dimitry’s goal was to make it look as presentable as possible before inviting the couple to live and work there.

If they declined his offer, Dimitry would have to perform surgery and prepare materials himself. An impossibility. He wanted, no, he needed their help.

Angelika raised the distillation device she cradled in her arms. “What should I do with this?”

“Put it down near the fireplace next to the other one.” After kneeing a rotting crate into a corner, Dimitry glanced up the stairs. “You can come in now.”

Eyes scanning their surroundings without rest and wife’s hand in his, the man descended the steps. He pulled something unseen off of his face. “Spider webs?” His gaze shifted to a blood-stained statuette that lay sideways in a crease between the wall and the floor. “Honey, be ready to run.”

“Don’t be so scared.” Angelika leaned back against the fireplace. “You’d be dead already if we wanted you to be.”

Dimitry nudged the girl’s shoulder to shut her up. The last thing he wanted was for his potential employees to run away in fear. “Sorry about the place. It was like this when we found it this morning.”

The man gulped. “And what exactly do you want us to do here?”

“Assuming you take the job, the first thing I’ll ask for you two to do is to clean this cellar.” Dimitry pointed at blood splatters and chunks of dust. “You can throw out anything you don’t need, except the tub of towels and soap, those glass devices, and containers like wooden crates. You’ll be needing them.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want you to catch as many rats as you can while you’re cleaning. Keep them locked away in separate containers. I need them alive.”

The wife looked at her husband with worried eyes. She tugged on his arm as if to signal their retreat.

“I understand your concerns. That’s why I’m ready to pay you upfront.” Dimitry placed two silver marks into the man’s palm. “That should be more than enough to feed you two until morning.”

“T-thanks.”

Precious yawned and tugged on Dimitry’s collar. “He’s not convinced.”

“I know two silvers aren’t enough to pay for an inn, especially with the overcrowding issue, so you’re welcome to stay here as long as you’re working for me.” Dimitry flashed a gold mark. “And this’ll be yours if you complete your tasks by morning.”

The wife glanced up at her husband with an expression that hinted at hope despite a life of suffering.

“I-I don’t know.” The man crossed his arms over his chest but stared at the golden coin like a dog watched their owner eat bacon.

Dimitry smiled as pleasantly as he could. “In addition, everything you work on from tomorrow onward will be part of my efforts to cure the plague. If we succeed, you’ll be among the first to receive treatment.”

“It’s impossible.”

“Is that what you think?”

The man looked on with disbelief. “Do you know how many people tried the same? Do you know how much I’ve tried? You’re not the first.”

Dimitry grinned. “That’s because no one knows the kind of magic that I do.”

“Magic?”

“Is that what you were talking about earlier?” Angelika asked.

Although he didn’t want to waste overpriced vol, Dimitry would convince his potential employees to stay by any means necessary. He retrieved a pure pellet from a pouch. “You know how illumina creates white light?”

The man stepped forward. “I’ve seen it done.”

“Mine is different.” Dimitry absorbed the dark green metal through his palm and, after guiding what felt like boiling blood across his body, imagined adding the energy to electrons in nitrogen gas. “Illumina.”

Incandescent violet light filled the cellar. Its scattered blots reached to brighten every corner.

The couple covered their eyes until the room darkened once more.

“How did you—” Angelika didn’t finish her sentence, but her mouth remained open.

“I’d show you more,” Dimitry said, “but vol is expensive. I’ll need as much as I can get to cure the plague, and I can’t do it alone. There are thousands of people in this city relying on us. What do you say?”

The man glanced at his wife, who nodded back at him. “I don’t know much about magic or why you need rats, but as you can see, we’ve only got a week to live at most.” He pinched his purpling skin. “It’s just that your offer seemed too good to be true. We were ready to die in this Zera-forsaken city.”

“If all goes according to plan, no one will have to die. That includes you two.”

“I’m not sure if I believe you,” the man said, “but it’s better than waiting for death. We’ll do our best to find rats and clean this place by morning. Since we’ll be working together, my name is Clewin.”

“And I’m Claricia.” The woman with flattened dark-blue hair performed a small bow. “I am in your care.”

“I’m Dimitry. It’s a pleasure to make your—“

The violent thrashing of oak beams echoed from the upstairs cellar hatch.

Clewin wrapped an arm around Claricia, and the couple slunk back against the wall.

Angelika’s shocked expression vanished, her eyes narrowing as she reached for the rifle on her back. “Surgeon. Expecting someone?”

“Was hoping they were your friends.”

She slammed an iron pellet into her rifle. “I’ll handle it.”

Dimitry felt uneasy sending a nineteen-year-old girl to confront a mysterious adversary alone. He grabbed a dented candle holder from the floor. “Let’s go.”

“Can’t have you dying on me. Wait here.” Angelika darted up the stairs and slammed her foot into the cellar hatch. The powerful thrust flung open the door. She aimed her rifle down the alley, but even after a minute of hawk-like vigilance, she fired not a single round. Her gaze fell to a crate at her feet, which leaked congealing blood from between uneven planks.

Dimitry ran up to meet her. “What is it?”

“Wait!” Angelika hovered her palm over the crate. “Dispelia.” She kicked off the lid and furrowed her brow.

He edged closer.

Inside lay a severed fyrhound’s head with a note pinned through its eye and double tongues. It read: ‘The fate of those who interfere.’