The Exorcist Doctor

A week after receiving the report about the artificial Myrmur Host in Wraithpier, the Heartcord Clinic had finally exhausted every excuse for staying in Blightmarch. The trip had been delayed long enough by paperwork that needed to be handled, preparations that needed to be made, patients that needed to be transferred, and tons and tons of supply checks—but now Blightmarch could run itself again even without their presence, so it was time to leave.

A week after receiving the report, Gael found himself back on the end of the Wild Bridge, facing down a small blockade of about twenty Mortifera Enforcers.

Oh, and Captain Orsa was there as well. It wouldn’t be a blockade without that ant-helmed man.

Much like the last time they’d tried to cross the bridge to Bleakhearth, Captain Orsa glared at each of them one by one. Gael and Maeve. Liorin and Evelyn. Fergal and Cara. Jin and Vivi. The wind was pretty strong this morning. It rolled through the massive steel supports around them, howling through their coats and dresses, but neither side spoke. Neither side even moved. Captain Orsa was incredibly intent on just standing there staring at them.

So Gael grinned back cheerfully, one hand rubbing the handle of his cane.

… The silence stretched.

Then it stretched a little longer.

Usually, someone would’ve threatened to shoot him by this point, but Captain Orsa grumbled and turned around instead, twirling one finger lazily over his shoulder.

The Mortifera Enforcers with raised rifles were hesitant to lower said rifles, but they obeyed—very slowly—and eventually dragged the barricades aside, dissolving the blockade.

And just like that, the eight of them were allowed through, and Gael almost felt like giving Captain Orsa a tap on the back as he strutted past.

“How anticlimactic," he chuckled instead, deciding to refrain from the pat. “Good doggie, though. Want a treat?”

If looks could kill, Gael could probablyput up a pretty good fight against Captain Orsa, but he didn’t stay long enough for the Mortifera Enforcers to change their mind. He led his gang across the bridge and into Umbcracross, making them disappear into the ebb and flow of the morning crowd.

The moment they joined the flow, Evelyn and Liorin jogged up beside him.

“The fuck was that?” Evelyn asked, still glancing back at the bridge. “That’s it? They just moved for us?”

“Yeah,” Liorin agreed. “Usually, there is much more… angry.”

“There’s normally someone threatenin’ to shoot us too,” Evelyn added. “Did you bribe them? That guy? How’d you get that done?”

Gael would’ve answered, but Fergal spoke from further behind in his stead.

“The Heartcord Clinic now has business dealings with the Saint’s Hands of Blightmarch, the Steelborn of Ironwych, and the Three-Faces of Bleakhearth,” Fergal explained, adjusting the satchel over his shoulder. “That’s three of the four largest gangs in Bharncair. Whether people believe the Steelborn have influence outside their own ward doesn’t matter—the Three-Faces do business with the Vharnish, even if most of it is under-table dealings, which means a Mortifera Enforcer acting arrogant towards us can affect his masters’ bottom lines.”

“Meanin’... we’re important?”

“It means Captain Orsa can’t inconvenient us that openly. Big difference.”

“Wait. So that means… we’re celebrities now, if even the dogs of Vharnveil are scared of us?”

“Did you hear a word I just said?”

While Fergal and Evelyn bickered—a relatively unusual sight—Vivi also looked mildly horrified where she walked beside Jin. Gael noticed. So did Maeve, Jin, and Cara.

“It is true that the Mortifera Enforcers don’t even show that much deference to most Vharnish households, though,” Vivi muttered, her gaze lingering on the Enforcers far behind them. “At best, they’ll show a little respect to the Four Black Baron Households who sponsor their activities and pay their salaries, but… I’ve never seen them move for anyone else.” Then she gave an anxious, but slightly reverent look at Gael. “I dare say the Heartcord Clinic is now on par with a Black Baron Household in status and influence. If you expand your influence even further…”

“We could eventually be on par with the Church of Severin?” Maeve finished, shrugging lightly. “I think we’re still far off from that comparison, but maybe in another ten years or so, we’ll see people praying to Gael instead of to the Saintess.”

Gael grinned at that “Fucking sick.”

“No it’s not.”

“Yes it is. We can tear down the statue of the crooked Saint and erect a new statue of—”

“It’d look so gaudy—”

“A new statue of me and you,” he finished, elbowing her in the ribs. “What? The idea of getting a statue in your visage doesn’t excite you?”

“... That does sound pretty cool,” Maeve eventually muttered.

As the two of them began brainstorming ideas on how to establish their new Church, Cara chuckled beside them, and Gael even caught her rolling her eyes at some of their suggestions. Most likely, she was just happy the two of them were talking to each other again.

He was happy, too. Though he’d never be caught dead saying that.

“And still, after all this, Vharnveil has got no clue how we’re actually in bed with the Steelborn and the Three-Faces,” Maeve murmured. “I’m pretty sure the City of Splendors still sees us as just another medicinal institution that sells normal drugs and medicine. Next time we visit the Master of Masks, we really have to thank the Three-Faces for keeping info about the elixir under wraps, and—”

“Me, of course.”

The new voice came from the side so suddenly Evelyn and Liorin nearly jumped out of their shoes. Both teenagers whirled around at the same time—only to find Juno walking out from between two passing groups of pedestrians, tagging alongside them as though she’d been here all along.

The Ladybug of the Rot Merchants was as fashionable as ever. Gael couldn’t even begin to imagine how much that elegant black-and-red merchant’s coat of hers cost, but he didn’t make it a habit to look her up and down. Her face was infinitely more interesting anyways: a polished ruby mask concealing one half of it, while the other half remained overtaken by grotesque pink and purple crystals that spread from her forehead to her neck like some beautiful disease.

The crystals caught the hanging lantern-light of the Hanging Market, glittering softly as she fell into step beside Gael and Maeve. Fergal immediately dipped his head in greeting.

“Morning, Juno,” he said.

“Morning, Fergal,” she said cheerfully, dipping her head in return.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

But Gael pointed his cane at her accusingly. “You know, one day you’re gonna materialize next to the wrong person and get stabbed.”

Juno’s one eye curved with amusement. “If I haven’t been stabbed yet, I doubt today will be the day. Luck’s on my side, after all.”

“I treated three guys who got stabbed last night. They all said that right before they got stabbed.”

“Well, I’ll keep that in mind.” Then she looked forward again, both hands clasped behind her back as she walked deeper into the Hanging Market with them. “But you shouldn’t forget, either, that while the Three-Faces have been concealing your secret inside Bharncair, the Rot Merchants have been covering for you outside of Bharncair.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh yes.” The smile in her voice widened. “There are many, many people beyond Bharncair who take a keen interest in the ongoings of the city, and it’s been a while since they’ve noticed the dwindling Myrmur populations over the past few years. Rumors travel quickly, especially when they involve money, diseases, and miracles. The Imperators of the Deepwater Legion Front, the Eigen-Gott of the Rampaging Hinterland Front, the Nocturna of the Mori Masif Front… and many, many more of them are now wondering whether this ‘Heartcord Clinic’ is involved in this miracle.”

Gael scoffed. “How rude of them. People should mind their own business.”

“They are businessmen. Curiosity is their business, and ours is to… stamp their curiosity out.”

“Stamp them out how?”

“Do you want to know?”

“Hm...” Gael tilted his head left, then right, then left again. “Maybe not. This sorta stuff is Fergal’s domain. Fergal, did you know about this?”

“Of course I did,” Fergal muttered. “The Rot Merchants have been very active in making sure the clinic's secret elixir remains a secret outside of the city. I can’t say I know very much about the world beyond Bharncair—”

“Me neither.” Evelyn raised her hand.

“Me neither!” Liorin raised his hand too.

“I’ve never left the city,” Cara mumbled.

“Nobody here has, I think?” Vivi said, looking at everyone.

“Nope,” Gael said.

“Nope,” Maeve added.

“I’ve left it once,” Jin said casually. “My father took me and my brothers far, far east to Amadeus Academy for a few days to learn about advanced pottery techniques.”

All of them turned to look at Jin.

“You—” they all started

“But I must thank you for your efforts regardless,” Fergal cut all of them off, dipping his head at Juno again. “If not for the Rot Merchants, word would’ve made it back to Vharnveil by now that we’re holding the formula of a living miracle. If this visit is about the renegotiation of compensation for your out-of-city merchants, I’m sure we can come to an agreement once we get back to—”

“The Saint’s Hands have been paying my men well enough, thank you very much. But I’m not here about that,” Juno said, turning back to smile at Gael. “See, you still owe me a favor for the Endless Masquerade. You were lucky I happened to be there that night to talk business with a few wealthy men. I was going to leave you all to that disaster, but then I thought: why shouldn't I put you in my debt?”

Gael blinked. So did the rest of them. It didn’t take them long to realize what she was talking about, though.

“... You mean when you helped us hide our battle against the Breeder with your announcement and your music?” Gael sighed dramatically enough that several passersby glanced toward him. “Yeah, okay, we owe you one, so what do you—”

“I’ll be cashing in on my favor now that you’re heading to Wraithpier to finish what you couldn’t in Bleakhearth:” she said, lifting one finger and holding it before her face. “I’d simply like your word, here and now, that you’ll come with me on a trip outside of Bharncair when I call for you one day.”

Gael immediately narrowed his eyes.

Of all the things she could’ve asked, that wasn’t one of them.

“... The ‘word’ of a Raven doesn’t mean much, you know,” he murmured.

“Indeed,” she murmured back. “But luck has always been on my side, and you aren’t merelya Raven. Your word does mean something to you, and so it means something to me as well.”

Gael looked at her long and hard, but having only one eye to look into meant he could only see half of her soul, and it was the half she always showed her customers and clients.

He knew her long enough to not even try probing her for information.

“Alright then,” he said, shrugging casually. “I can’t say I don’t wanna see the outside world at least once in my life, but if you think my word means I’m gonna commit some sort of massacre with you outside of the city, I’m gonna cut out my own tongue and grow a new one.”

I’ve no doubt you can make that happen, Plagueplain Doctor.” Juno laughed as she turned away, rounding down another avenue of the Hanging Market with half of the crowd immediately parting for her. “And don’t worry. I’m not planning on bringing you anywhere you’ll disagree with. Bringing you there as you are now is… simply not the right moment.”

With that, she disappeared into the crowd. Gael watched her go for a few seconds before noticing: a man who'd been pretending to browse a spice stall was suddenly gone. A porter carrying crates disappeared around a corner and never emerged. A beggar sitting beneath a hanging staircase stood up and wandered off. A woman examining jewelry vanished into an alley.

One by one, the bodyguards hidden in plain sight melted away, and the invisible web surrounding the boss of the Rot Merchants dissolved completely.

Maeve glanced over her shoulder towards the direction Juno had disappeared in.

"... What was that about?" she asked.

“It’s the mandatory ‘Juno shows up at a pivotal moment in the clinic’s history to vaguely hint about something in the future’ moment.” Gael shrugged again. “I dunno who she really is, what she really wants, or what she’s really thinking. Never have, never will.”

As they continued north through Umbracross, though, the noise of the Hanging Market slowly faded behind them. The merchants became less frequent, the crowds became thinner, and even the four-way mishmash of architecture gradually disappeared. The colorful chaos that defined most of the central ward gave way to weathered timber buildings swollen by age, rot, and moisture. The houses here all leaned at uncomfortable angles. Their windows were cloudy and pale, their roofs sagged beneath decades of neglect, and even the cobblestones beneath their feet were wet and muddy, every step producing damp and disgusting squelches.

Somewhere along the way, they also started hearing the whispers. The ethereal voices, the ghostly cries, the wispy screeches floating through the air—all of them heard it.

"The fuck?" Evelyn muttered, holding her arm.

Liorin's face darted around the surrounding buildings. "Many voices," he said uneasily. "Where… coming from?”

Even Vivi slowed her pace, moving closer to Jin. “What’s going on?” she asked anxiously. “Is this normal?”

Gael glanced back at her and grinned. “Well, of the four cardinal wards of Bharncair, only the Northern Ward of Spirits bleeds into Umbracross. You’ll get used to it.”

But that wasn’t an answer to the whispers in the air, and that also didn’t answer why nobody else heading north seemed to care. If anything, Vivi looked even more concerned after he’d said it was normal.

Still a fish outta water, eh?

He glanced at Maeve, trying to see if his dearest wife was scared as well. Unfortunately, she’d grown nerves of steel after years of hanging around him, so she only looked the teensy-tiniest bit confused hearing the whispers. She wasn’t even frightened enough to clutch his arm like Vivi was doing to Jin.

Aw.

But how will I get her to touch me if she’s not scared?

As he tilted his head and thought deeply, the eight of them arrived at the northernmost edge of Umbracross, where everyone but him paused to stare at the giant bridge.

The Whispering Bridge connecting Umbracross to Wraithpier was, of course, hideous. Unlike the other three bridges that were at least made out of metal, the locals of Wraithpier had instead decided to cobble their colossal bridge out of tens of thousands of wooden planks, support ropes, and tons of clasps and belts that looked like one strong gust would snap the entire thing. Also, it creaked and swayed like a man who had too much to eat down at Miss Alba’s new branch of alcohol-infused broth noodles, yet somehow, there were hundreds of people crossing it at the moment—all men and women wearing strange wide-brimmed hats, pushing carts, pulling crates, and shuffling across the bridge with their heads lowered.

The Vile was different here, too. The toxic green fog that dominated most of Bharncair was blue and cold instead, and the whispers they’d been hearing all the way here?

Somehow even louder in the Vile.

Delighted, Gael stepped forward alone and planted one boot onto the first plank of the bridge. The entire structure groaned and creaked beneath his weight, but that didn’t stop him from whirling around and spreading his arms, beckoning his gang forward.

“If anyone’s scared, just hold the hand of your date!” He laughed. “That way, if you do fall through the planks, there’ll be two people for the fishes to fight over instead of one!”