by H J Peterson
Maddox didn’t look like he expected that: he stood up a little straighter, and he kept blinking. “Th-thank you, sir. I… well, I shouldn’t even ask this, but…”
“Is there any way to reverse the verdict?” Friedrich guessed.
Maddox nodded.
“I don’t know,” Friedrich admitted. “I’ll be honest: I’m not even sure if there’s an appeal process.”
Maddox deflated at that.
And then, Friedrich got an idea.
“Friedrich, what are you thinking?” Katalin asked. She sounded nervous.
Friedrich sighed and looked up at Maddox. “Carlin Maddox, as the heir to House Eltz, I hereby appoint you to my honor guard.”
Maddox’s jaw just about dropped.
“Are you even allowed to do that?” Katalin asked. “I thought house guards had to come through the Königstadt Guard.”
“Before they formed the Königstadt Guard, every guard for every house was a hired sword,” Friedrich said. “Everybody gets their guards through them, these days, but it’s not illegal to hire people who aren’t with them: it’s just out of practice.”
I think.
Maddox stood up a little taller. “Th-thank you, sir. I-I don’t know what to say-“
“Don’t thank me yet,” Friedrich said, looking at his father, who was talking with one of the other nobles who came to the proceedings. “There’s still one person we have to convince. And it’s not going to be easy.”
XXIX. ADELRIC
Adelric woke up in a hospital with one hand shackled to the bed and his stomach throbbing.
Well, it looked like the shade oil Francesca had on her blade didn’t work. At least, it didn’t work enough for it to kill him. Understandably, the wound hurt like nothing else: he might even dare say that it hurt more than that time when he burned his hands while experimenting with fire. It would probably take a long time to heal, unless he got permission for a Doc to fully heal him, which wasn’t going to happen. He was a criminal charged with the assassination of Lord Saaltz; They just needed him to live long enough for them to decide whether or not they were going to have him executed.
He tried to sit up, but immediately lay back down, cursing.
“Well, look who’s awake.”
Adelric looked to the side to see a doctor standing by a cabinet he assumed was filled with medical supplies. He was wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled past the elbows and slacks, which were both covered in the front by a dingy, white apron. He also had on dusted shoes and hair that didn’t look like it had been combed for a few days.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t make it, though?” Adelric asked as the doctor closed the cabinet.
“Well, yeah,” the doctor said, as if it was an obvious answer. “That knife wound nearly hit your spine, and your shade oil poisoning was pretty advanced by the time they got you down here. I don’t know who or what you believe in, but you ‘ought to thank them: they’re the only reason you aren’t dead.”
Adelric sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “That lucky, huh?”
“That lucky.” The doctor sat down in a chair next to Adelric’s bed. “So, how do you feel?”
“Like a living pile of shit,” Adelric said.
The doctor snorted at that. “Your body isn’t sure about whether or not the changes we had to make are good: you’ll feel like you’ve got the flu for a few days, until your body accepts them.”
Adelric frowned. “So, you’ve already healed me as much as possible?”
The doctor nodded. “Pulling the toxin out of you and stopping the bleeding already caused quite the shock to your body; if we do much else to you, your body might just try to attack itself.”
A shudder went through his body, but whether or not it was the flu-like symptoms the doctor had mentioned or shock from that revelation, Adelric wasn’t so sure. Knowing just how close he’d come to dying really scared him, and it brought him an awareness of his own mortality that he’d never had, before.
He got the sudden urge to play the violin, just as he always did when he was nervous-
The violin!
“Do you know where my violin is?” Adelric asked quickly.
“Yeah; it’s right here.” The doctor picked something off of the floor and held it up. Sure enough, it was Adelric’s beat-up violin case.
Adelric sighed, relieved. Thank heaven: he wasn’t sure what he would’ve done had he lost his instrument.
It was right about then that two men dressed in police uniforms walked into the rom. Adelric recognized Inspector Brooks from when he was arrested for Lord Saaltz’s murder, but he didn’t recognize the other one. He guessed he was a beat cop, though: inspectors didn’t look at people like a crime waiting to happen.
His doctor seemed surprised: he just about jumped out of his skin when the two of them came in.
“Good morning, officers,” the doctor said, setting Adelric’s violin down by his cot and standing back up. “I wasn’t expecting anyone until this afternoon.”
“That was the plan,” the beat cop said. He sounded tired, like he’d been up for two days straight. He glared at Adelric, making him wonder just how safe he was with the police. “I’m afraid that something’s come up; we’ve had to move up our schedule.”
“I… see,” the doctor said. “I don’t want to rush you guys, but Adelric’s supposed to have a check-up with our head Doc in about twenty minutes.”
“I don’t think it’s going to take that long.” Was Brooks pissed off, too? What the hell was going on?
The doctor didn’t look very comfortable (he could probably tell that something was off) but he didn’t say anything about it. Instead, he took his leave and shut the door behind him, leaving Adelric alone with Brooks and whoever the other man was.
He did his best to not squirm as the beat cop took the doctor’s seat and Brooks took his coat off, all while staring at him.
“What’s going on?” Adelric asked. “You guys look about ready to kill someone.”
“You have one chance, Biermann,” the Brooks said. “Tell us what you know about Inspector Ikeda, or we’re putting the death penalty back on the table for Lord Saaltz’s murder.”
Adelric felt like he had ice water in his veins
“What do you mean?” Adelric asked. “What’s this about?”
“You know damned well what this is about, Biermann,” the beat cop snapped. “Cut the shit and tell us where Ikeda is, or I’ll have your damned head!”
“I swear, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Adelric said quickly. He could feel himself starting to panic. “What happened to Ikeda? What’s going on?”
Brooks slapped a newspaper down on Adelric’s legs. “This is what we’re talking about.”
Adelric picked up the newspaper and looked at it. It was right on the front page: TEN DEAD, THIRTY INJURED, AND ONE INSPECTOR MISSING AFTER LAST NIGHT’S ATTACKS.
Adelric’s eyes went wide.
“Ringing any bells in that thick skull of yours, Biermann?” the beat cop asked.
“I-I-no; they never talked about doing this while I was there,” Adelric said quickly as he stared at the headline. He looked up at the two officers. “I swear: this is the first time I’ve ever heard of this!”
“I don’t believe you,” the beat cop growled. “I think you’re trying to protect the bastards who did this, and when I find out who did this, I’m going to-“
“Zanetti, will you shut the hell up?” Brooks looked mildly annoyed.
The beat cop - Zanetti - pulled back. He stood up straighter, but he didn’t seem happy about it. “Yes, sir.”
Brooks turned his attention back to Adelric. “So, they weren’t planning anything big. How do you know? Is it possible that you just weren’t told about it?”
“Well, yeah,” Adelric said. “Bator doesn’t exactly like me.”
“Where would they have planned this?” the older man asked.
“Medvye’s Pub,” Adelric sai
d. “Over in Vergesse.”
The door opened and Zanetti walked out: it looked like he was already off to find the place.
“Stupid bastard,” Brooks said as Zanetti shut the door behind him. He didn’t make a move to go join him.
Adelric swallowed, nervous. He had a bad feeling about this.
“What else do you want to know?” he asked.
Brooks leaned forward, that steely, suspicious look in his eyes Adelric had seen all too often in the eyes of beat cops trying to decide what they wanted to do with him. Adelric tried to keep from squirming in his bed.
“I want to know whose side you’re on,” he said bluntly. “You seem pretty unsure still, and I want to know why.”
A chill went down his spine. The Archangel had said something very similar when he met him.
“Why do I have to pick a side?” Adelric asked. “I don’t want to fight anybody: I just want to have a normal life. Is that so wrong?”
“Do you honestly think that you can just ignore what’s going on around you?” Brooks scoffed. “That won’t be a choice when shit hits the fan.”
“So you think that things will get worse?”
“The Archangel is a revolutionary, kid,” Brooks said. “Things are going to get a hell of a lot worse before they get any better.”
Well, that was a sobering thought. What did he think they were going to do? Kill every noble in the city?
“You’re going to have to choose a side when lines get drawn, Biermann,” Brooks said. “Who are you going to choose: the Archangel, or us?”
Adelric hesitated. The truth was, he had no idea who he sided with. He didn’t support the nobles: they were corrupt, and were part of the whole reason why he’d been forced to go to Bator in the first place. He liked what the Archangel was trying to do: a world without poverty sounded really, really nice. But after that night, when he killed Lord Saaltz… well, with Brooks said about things getting a lot worse before they got better, it terrified him to think of just what lengths he would go through in order to make his revolution succeed. It felt like no matter what he chose, it was going to be the wrong choice.
Finally, Adelric sighed. “I’m on your side; I don’t want anything to do with the Archangel or his movement if it means killing innocent people.”
Brooks didn’t seem very convinced, but he nodded, anyway, and offered his hand. “Welcome to the good guys, kid.”
Adelric shook it, all the while wondering whether or not he’d actually chosen the good guys.
XXX. HIRO
Hiro was dying.
She didn’t know how long she’d spent in her makeshift cell, but it was long enough for her situation to get much, much worse. The Archangel hadn’t repaired her knee after that first interrogation, and it was getting worse by the second. It swelled up like a balloon with infection, and it constantly throbbed. Because of it, she hardly moved, which served to make every other muscle in her body ache. Not only that, but she seemed to be coming down with something: her body was racked with shudders, and her stomach felt like it was tied up into knots, like she had the flu. She was afraid to look at her knee.
Hiro didn’t have to be a Doc to know what was going on with her body: her knee was becoming gangrenous, and if she didn’t get it fixed, she was going to die.
After what Hiro guessed was a few days after the first interrogation session, Aki came in, carrying a bowl of food. Well, at least she thought it was Aki: she was so sick, her vision was starting to get blurry.
Aki sat the bowl down next to her. “You’re looking pretty shitty, today. I bet that if you gave him what he wants, he would heal you.”
Hiro would’ve laughed at that, if she’d had the energy.
“You don’t really think that, do you? He’s not going to fix this, not when it doesn’t suit him.”
Aki clenched his fists.
“You still don’t get it, do you?” he asked. “He’s a good man, Hiro. He’s going to make sure the nobles get what’s coming to them; he’s going to make it so people like us don’t have to work ourselves to death just to keep a roof over our heads.”
“And he’s going to do that by making sure that people like me die slow and painful deaths,” Hiro croaked. The weakness in her own voice scared her. She didn’t have long, did she?
Aki frowned, almost as if he was confused. “What are you talking about? He’s not going to do that.”
He was joking, right? Aki could be a little blind sometimes, but… well, he wasn’t stupid. Was he?
“Open your eyes, Aki,” Hiro said. “Look at what’s happening right in front of you!”
Aki didn’t say anything for a second. He just stared at her, his fists clenched, his eyes filled with anger. Hiro couldn’t help but hope that his anger was from realizing that the Archangel had lead him astray, but she knew it wasn’t true: he was just angry that she hated his hero so much.
“Enjoy your dinner.” It was the last think Aki said to her before he left, slamming the door behind him.
Hiro sighed and slowly rolled over to her side, doing her best to not move her leg. The bowl was filled with the same stuff it always was: mushy rice, the kind of stuff you’d see in Vergesse. It was the one thing in the place that offered any sort of clue as to where she was: the only place she’d seen that low-quality rice on sale was in that neighborhood.
Then again, she doubted that the food was any indication of where she was: it was probably just some payback for the fact that she’d managed to make something of herself.
She took the bowl and began to eat, resisting the urge to gag. She didn’t have any sort of appetite at that point, but she forced the stuff down, anyway: not eating would just kill her faster.
Shouting erupted outside her cell, making her jump.
She frowned as she looked at the cell door. She could hear what sounded like gunshots. What was going on out there? Was someone going on some sort of rampage? Was the Archangel shooting any other people he had down here?
That’s when she heard it: a voice that she’d waited for days to hear.
“Where is she?” It sounded like Enrico, and he was just down the hall from her.
Hiro felt a wave of relief wash over her. They were here; they’d found her.
“Help!” She yelled as loud as she could. It wasn’t very loud; she wasn’t even sure if he could hear her. “I’m in here!”
Just seconds later, the door was thrown open. Standing there was Enrico with a few men behind him. They were all dressed in full tactical gear, the sort of stuff that only came out when they were raiding dangerous places: thick coats made out of fire-retardant material that covered the neck, a helmet, a belt with gun cartridges, pants, boots and gloves. The clothes were horribly hot (she was fitted for her tactical gear the day she graduated from the academy) but it offered protection from basic attacks from Alchemists and Dodgers, due to the fact that it couldn’t be lit on fire and the chest of the coat had thick padding that would slow down a bullet.
Hopefully, they wouldn’t run into the Archangel: the only way to become impervious to Doc attacks would be to become a cyborg.
“Hiro!” Enrico rushed into the room, followed by two other men, and knelt down beside her. “Dear heaven, are you alright?”
“What the hell do you think?” Hiro groaned as one of the other men called for a medic. She could feel the world start to spin beneath her: she wasn’t sure what was going on with her body, now, but whatever it was, it wasn’t good.
She could feel her eyelids starting to droop as Enrico took her hand and squeezed it, hard. Stay away; stay awake, damn it!
“Hiro, stay with me.” Enrico apparently noticed what was happening, and he didn’t like it. “Help is on the way; just hang in there for a little while longer!”
The last thing she heard before she passed out was Enrico yelling for the medics to hurry the hell up.
***
Hiro woke up in a hospital bed with her leg in a splint.
She sighed,
relieved. She was alive. Either that, or heaven wasn’t how she’d imagined it.
She looked around her hospital room. She guessed that she was in Beloved Maximillia: that was the main hospital in the city. Two people were in the room with her: a doctor with stark red hair and a Hanjan man in the thick overcoat, gloves, boots, pants, and cap of a factory worker; when you didn’t have much money to spare, you wore winter clothes all year long, like she did when she and her brothers first came to Vorbereich. Both had their heads bowed, but the factory worker was scrunched up in his seat, as if trying to take as little space as possible.
Both of them looked up at her as she stirred. It didn’t take long after that for Hiro to recognize the factory worker.
Her older brother Ichirou let out a sigh of relief when he saw that Hiro was awake, and his shoulders sagged a little. It was as if a small portion of the weight on his shoulders had been taken off.
Hiro smiled a little as she sat up. After not being sure if she would see him or anyone else ever again, seeing him there for her was great.
Then again, seeing him ever was great: the poor man hardly ever got a day off from the mill.
Without a word, Ichirou stood up, walked over to the bed, and wrapped his arms around her in a warm hug.
Hiro did the same, squeezing her eyes shut. It felt great: just like the good old days, before dad died.
“Don’t you dare do that to me, again!” Ichirou whispered in Hanjan as he squeezed her a little tighter.
There was an uncomfortable grunting noise coming from the other side of the room. When she looked over Ichirou’s shoulder, she saw that the doctor was standing there awkwardly, apparently unsure of what he should do.
“I don’t want to break up this family moment, but I’m afraid that there’s some business that we need to get to,” he said.