Chapter 62: Potential for Aggressive Expansion

Although blue light was said to impede sleep, it did nothing to keep Dimitry conscious as he waited outside Saphiria’s castle bedroom. After his meeting with the queen, the girl asked to join him on his visit to the cathedral, but he didn’t know if he would make it that far. His eyelids were heavy. Their mass steadily increased until they closed, sending warm ripples throughout his body and glimpses of an oncoming dream.

A tilting sensation jolted him from the seductive pull of yet another microsleep. He caught his balance, and his eyes shot open only to discover a stiff-faced court sorceress watching him with unceasing suspicion from just a meter away. She glared from under a yellow hood, condemning him. Of what, he wasn’t sure.

The creaking of hinges struggling to uphold marble doors echoed across an otherwise silent corridor. As they pushed out, a girl wearing a black cloak came into view as did her room’s interior. The yellow dress she wore moments ago was now crumpled on a dresser. Her stockings hung off the edge of her bed. Two obscure high heels with platformed bottoms lay sideways in opposite corners of the vast space.

The court sorceress knelt. “Your Royal Highness.”

Saphiria didn’t acknowledge the prostrating mage. “Thank you for waiting.”

Dimitry stood outside for five minutes at most—a far cry from the eternity it took most women on Earth to get dressed. “I don’t mind.” He strode down the corridor with her walking by his side. “If anything, I’d say you were too eager to change out of your clothes.”

“That’s because they don’t fit me.”

“That’s not true. I think the dress looked great on you.”

“That’s not what I meant. I don’t feel like I belong in them or in this castle. I can’t live up to anyone’s expectations.”

Although he couldn’t relate, Dimitry thought he understood. To spend eight years as a slave, killing at the behest of an uncaring master, would give any princess doubts about her position as royalty. “Do you want to leave?”

“No. There’s something I must do.”

“What’s that?”

A passing maid with faintly purple skin stopped beside the pair. She bowed. “Your Royal Highness. Charitable Jade Surgeon.”

Was she a former patient? Dimitry couldn’t recall, smiling just in case.

“I want to help people like you do,” Saphiria said. “Like my father did.”

“Well, you’ve certainly helped me.”

“How so?”

“You know what happened to the murdered surgeon, don’t you? Having another person causing me trouble might’ve been more than I could handle. So thanks.”

Saphiria frowned. “Did Precious run her mouth?”

“No,” Dimitry said, ignoring the panicked wriggling beneath his uniform. “Knowing you and seeing your expression, it was obvious.”

“I… I see.”

The faerie relaxed.

“But let me be clear, while I appreciate the assistance, I’d prefer if you stayed home. You need to take some time off and gather your thoughts.”

“I knew you would say as much,” Saphiria said, “but I can’t. Do you remember the vol and iron mines I told you about? The ones I used to visit with my father?”

“Yes.”

“The tunnels are flooded now.” Her hands fidgeted hands as they walked. “Half of the blast furnaces are broken, and the waterwheels don’t turn so well. Some people are forced to rely on bloomeries.”

“And you want to fix it?”

“I can’t on my own.”

So that was what she was up to. Dimitry passed into a tower with an embedded stairwell. “Can’t you ask your mother for help?”

Saphiria shook her head. “Mother’s too busy defending this city, many of the old engineers have fled Malten, and those who haven’t are hiding from bandits and heathens.” She glanced at him. “But I was thinking, since you have many machines in your homeland—”

“I don’t know a thing about engineering.”

“But can’t you come with me and look just in case?”

As they passed into the castle’s first floor, a well-dressed man with decorated epaulets knelt in front of Saphiria, a charming grin on his face. She walked past him as one would around gum stuck to the pavement. Insinuating that it was somehow his fault, the man shot a furious glare at Dimitry.

He ignored the rejected man. “Even if I went, how can I possibly make a difference?”

“I know you have memory problems, but perhaps you’ll remember something if you saw the Amphurt mines.”

Dimitry sighed. Not only did he know next to nothing about mining, but managing a hospital and its never-ending surge of patients consumed most of his time, always demanding more. And yet, Saphiria was the only one he would make an exception for. He owed her his life many times over. “I need a few days to get the plague sorted out first.”

“Thank you.”

Thick charcoal clouds hung in the sky above Malten, leaking early morning light onto a grandiose cathedral. The structure of stone and colored glass loomed over the city. As if built to display the Church’s abundant power and wealth, four towers made up the square-shaped building’s corners, each brandishing stacked decorations more extravagant than any other structure around it.

If Dimitry agreed to the queen’s proposal, it could be his. But how the hell was he supposed to maintain that?

Although only half the size of the one in Coldust, the cathedral here would take a sizable workforce to keep clean. And what about the broken stained glass windows? Could he afford to pay for new ones? Should he just board them up?

Like several other buildings in Malten, nailed planks covered up the cathedral’s doorway, their adjoined surfaces displaying an ominous black X. The intention was to ward off trespassers by hinting at a plague-inducing curse within. Clearly, an ineffective deterrent. Someone had broken the bottom of the makeshift barrier to sneak inside. Were they still there? If so, how many?

Would they attack on sight?

Saphiria wore a battle-ready expression when she glanced at Dimitry. Perhaps she wondered the same.

He beckoned her closer and tapped the back of his hood where a faerie lay curled in silent slumber.

“What now, Dumitry?” Precious yawned.

“Do you sense anyone inside?”

“Inside where?”

“Take a look.”

Saphiria stood in front of him to hide an emerging faerie from the prying eyes of refugees crowding a busy intersection.

Precious scrambled around Dimitry’s shoulder, her golden ponytail tickling his ear until her head poked out. “Good morning, Saphiria.”

“Hello,” the indigo-eyed girl said with a slight smile.

The faerie’s gaze traveled up the cathedral wall behind Saphiria. “Wowie. Is that really going to be yours, Dumitry?”

“Keep your voice down and focus. Do you sense anyone?”

“Lots.”

“Can you give me a number?”

“Maybe like twenty.”

Crap. Saphiria and Dimitry would be overwhelmingly outnumbered if they entered. He needed more information. “Are they hostile?”

“I don’t think so,” Precious said. “Just scared and hungry. But you never know, starving people can get pretty violent.”

Her words rang true. Even Dimitry wasn’t above crime when he arrived in Ravenfall. He reached for a pure vol pellet inside his cloak’s pocket to cast accelall on Saphiria and himself in preparation for combat. “Thanks. You can go back to sleep now.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice. Try not to die.” She rubbed a weary eye with a tiny fist. “Bye, Saphiria.”

“Bye.”

Precious crawled into the crevice between his shirt’s shoulder and cloak.

Saphiria glanced up at Dimitry.

He nodded. Hoping that the inhabitants were unarmed refugees, Dimitry crouched under the plank barrier and into a giant hall half as tall as the enormous structure itself.

Saphiria followed close behind.

However, before they could explore any further, a man whose muscular physique bulged out from under a dirty shirt looked in their direction. He picked up a nearby nail-embedded plank, rested it over his shoulder, then stood up. With a crack of his neck, the man lumbered in front of them. His cold and steady eyes looked down.

Saphiria pulled a lustrous dagger with a sapphire-engraved hilt from the leather sheath strapped to her leg.

What little dawn’s light snaked into the cathedral’s interior through broken windows revealed the silhouettes of cowering people hiding behind the monstrous man. Some were children. Hardly a threat. Was the muscular man protecting those who couldn’t defend themselves?

The sight convinced Dimitry to unhand the pure vol pellets in his cloak’s pocket. He nudged Saphiria’s shoulder, who nodded and put her weapon away. Dimitry threw his hood off and met the man’s gaze. “We’re not here to make trouble. We only want to take a look.”

“Milk, wait,” a feeble voice resounded from further within. A hunched, old man trudged forward. “I knew I recognized you. To what do we owe the pleasure, Jade Surgeon?”

It was Mr. Roicht—one of the hospital’s patients.

Curious faces shuffled closer.

“Pale green eyes. It’s really him!”

“He cured my son’s curse.”

“Is the Jade Surgeon here to help?”

Without a word, the lumbering giant named Milk walked back towards his crate, which squeaked as if about to collapse when he sat on it.

“Mr. Roicht, how’s your leg? Did you keep the bandages clean and dry?”

“It’s fine, Jade Surgeon, it’s fine.” He beckoned them forward. “But would you do something for me while you’re here?” The old man limped towards the inner sanctum.

“I’ll try, but I can’t promise anything.” Dimitry followed, his gaze bouncing from one dirt-covered face to another. Precious was right—there were around twenty people.

Mr. Roicht stopped beside a girl no older than ten. She shivered under a small rag with only her head and mismatched shoes sticking out, her skin ghostly pale. The old man pulled her hand from under the thin blanket to reveal bony fingers, red and inflamed. “Can you help her? I don’t want to repeat what happened to the others.”

The freezing chill perforating the massive building made what ailed her obvious at a glance: frostbite. Dimitry knelt beside the girl and took her cold hand in his. He palpated her fingers, which showed no sign of gangrene or frozen tissue—not yet, anyway. Left in the cold for too long, however, and she would lose them entirely.

Dimitry smiled as pleasantly as he could. “How are you doing?”

“G-good,” the girl said with blue, trembling lips.

Bullshit. She wasn’t ‘good’ at all. “Can you feel me pressing down on your fingers?”

“They’re t-tingly.”

“I see.” Thankfully, her frostbite was still in its early stages. “Did you have anything to eat today?”

“I h-had some grasshopp-pers before I sleeped.”

It was as Dimitry feared. Without the Church around, no one fed the poor. Not even the children. A lack of food and water made it hard to generate body heat, hastening frostbite’s advance.

Saphiria stood watching nearby. Her indigo eyes fixed on the young girl, displaying a cocktail of sympathy and inadequacy.

Dimitry stood up and looked at the twenty dirty faces glancing at him from behind luxurious marble pillars. Were they all suffering the same way?

Even if they were, he had every excuse not to help. He wasn’t supposed to be here right now: his hospital was understaffed and crippled without him. But what the fuck was the point in spending all day curing the plague if its victims would die despite his efforts?

He had money. Lots of it. Although Dimitry reinvested most of the marks he earned from treating ‘premium’ customers back into the hospital, he still had several hundred gold coins saved up. Initially, he planned to save them in case he decided to flee Malten.

But his plans just changed.

Helping every dying refugee was impossible.

Helping two dozen wasn’t.

Dimitry looked up at the concerned princess beside him. “I need you to do me a big favor.”

Saphiria nodded.

“Go to Vogel’s Enchantments, say that Dimitry sent you. I don’t know if it’ll be Leona or Raina behind the counter, but whoever it is, tell them to enchant some stuff with low-strength incendia and that I’ll pay back every mark with interest. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me.” Saphiria gave him a resolved smile. “This fight doesn’t belong to you alone. They’re my citizens.” She glanced back as she walked away, then crouched past a broken plank barrier and onto Malten’s dark streets.

Dimitry was speechless. He never expected Saphiria to use his own lines on him. She might make a fine queen some day. Putting aside the thought, he fished inside his leather bag for a fat pouch filled with gold coins—the ones he received as payment from Marquis Richter last night. “I know it’s hard, but try your best to stay warm. Can you do that for me?”

The girl nodded.

“Good girl,” he said before standing up.

Mr. Roicht had an astonished look on his face. “What are you planning to do with all of that?”

“Buy food and ale.”

“For us?”

Dimitry smirked. “Well, I won’t be able to eat it all myself.”

“Milk.” The old man placed a hand against his hunched back. “I’m sorry for making you do everything, but can you go assist this young surgeon?”

With the same emotionless expression he wore from the start, the muscular man stood up. His unkempt blonde mustache wiggled.

Was that a yes?

Fatigue hounded Dimitry as he dragged his feet across Malten’s dirty stone streets with a heavy cask of ale in his arms. Physical exertion was the only thing keeping his eyelids open. That, and caution. Although Dimitry wasn’t short, perhaps slightly taller than the average American, the towering man walking alongside him blocked out the rays of a mid-morning sun from reaching his face.

Milk carried two massive barrels full of food, one on each shoulder. Their doubtlessly oppressive weight didn’t coax so much as a strained expression from his face. It remained cold and unemotive the entire trip. From the market square, through butcher street, and back to the cathedral, it gazed ahead stoically.

Dimitry was ready to run the entire time. Although Precious would have whispered a word of warning or tugged on his ear were it the case, he couldn’t help but think Milk would mug him after seeing his gold-filled pouch.

The giant had the countenance of a stone-cold killer and wore a torn shirt whose gaping holes revealed a gruesome, blade-scarred abdomen. Milk was no stranger to violence. However, despite his battle-worn body and unsociable demeanor, the giant was surprisingly helpful. He showed no displeasure when asked to carry food.

Still, Dimitry couldn’t help but sigh from relief when they reached the cathedral. No longer would he have to be alone with the stoic giant.

Milk approached the building’s boarded entrance, rolled barrels full of food one by one under its bottom crevice, then climbed through himself.

Dimitry followed him. Unlike before, the building’s dark interior was somewhat visible. Light from an enchanted lamp illuminated its marble pillars and dirt and small animal bones lying on the ground. The gentle red glow of incendia blankets cuddled the bodies of chatting refugees, among them the young girl from before.

Saphiria stood beside her, arms hidden under her cloak and quiet. She distanced herself from the ongoing conversation. Her blank expression brightened when she saw Dimitry approach. “Hi.”

“Hello,” he said. “I see you’ve done a fine job.”

“You too.”

“Was Raina or Leona at the counter?”

“Leona,” Saphiria said, “but when I said it was Dimitry’s request, Raina rushed down. She said she recognized me from when she used to serve my father.”

“Did you—” Something tapped Dimitry’s back.

When he turned around, the hulking wall of muscle called Milk stared down at him. The giant nudged his head towards the girl from before. Did he want Dimitry to check on her hand?

A good idea.

Although she was probably fine now, blisters sometimes cropped up after heating frostbitten tissue. Dimitry knelt beside the girl. “Do you feel any better?”

She looked down. “My fingers feel really hot.”

Dimitry touched the incendia blanket covering her hands. It was only warm. Amplified sensations of heat were normal for patients recovering from frostbite. “Can I take a closer look?”

After the girl nodded, he held her hands to the illumina lamp’s light. No blisters or darkened skin. She was perfectly healthy aside from some red but warm fingers. Thankfully, Mr. Roicht brought attention to her extremities before frostbite led to gangrene.

Amputating or performing debridement on a little girl wasn’t pleasant.

“How is she?” Saphiria asked.

“She’ll be fine, thanks to you,” Dimitry said. “Any longer, and it could’ve been bad.” He smiled at the little girl and pointed to the food-filled barrels that the other refugees rummaged through. “Don’t be shy if you’re hungry.”

“Thanks, big sister.” The girl bowed, then ran off.

Saphiria froze. As if unsure of how to accept gratitude, she stood still, watching the girl dig for jerky.

The innocence in a former assassin’s shocked face warmed Dimitry on a cold morning. Their job here was done. When he pushed off the ground to leave, a surge of dizziness nearly caused him to faint. He threw a hand out against a decorated wall to catch himself.

“Are you okay?” Saphiria asked.

“Yeah, I just need to find some time to get some sleep. Might not be for a while, though.”

“Why? Do you have to be somewhere?”

“I have to go back to the hospital.” Dimitry yawned. “In fact, I really shouldn’t have come here in the first place.”

“I’m glad you did.” She smiled, an accomplished gleam in her indigo eyes. “I’m glad I did, too. Can I come with you?”

“I don’t mind, but won’t your mother get worried that her precious daughter stayed out too late?”

“I… don’t belong in the castle.”

“In that case, feel free to tag along.” Dimitry walked towards the cathedral’s exit. “It’d be nice to have somebody who’s calm in that hectic place. Maybe my nurses can learn a thing or two from you.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“Excuse me,” a feminine voice called out from behind. When Dimitry turned around, he discovered a woman with faintly purple skin like that of a recovering plague patient. Jerky held in one hand and a ceremonial cup full of ale in the other, she stepped forward. “Do you need anyone else for your hospital? I-I can clean and sew.”

A man’s holler echoed throughout the grand hall. “How about a hunter? Need one?”

“I can make beds!”

“I used to be a farmer, but I can do other things, too!”

Dimitry stroked the fledgling beard on his unshaven chin. If he accepted the queen’s proposal and turned this cathedral into a hospital, he would need workers.

Lots of workers.

A quick headcount revealed sixteen working-age people with eager faces. A building this big could have a kitchen to feed them, rooms to house them, and care for enough patients to afford their salaries. Dimitry’s growing reputation as the Jade Surgeon would make it easy to get customers.

But could he manage a hospital-sized hospital?

A small one ran him ragged, leaving him almost no time to sleep. Perhaps the situation would improve with time as his employees became proficient at their crafts and developed autonomy. However, that was far into the future. Aside from Lili, his nurses couldn’t even dress a wound properly.

Still. It was worth a try and better than leaving these people to starve. Dimitry took a deep breath. “I need a few days, but I’m sure I can find something for all of you to do. Try to stay healthy until then.”