The Exorcist Doctor

For all of them except for Gael, the Whispering Bridge somehow became worse the further they walked across it. At the southern end, it merely looked unsafe, but by the halfway point, the bridge constantly swayed beneath their feet—-not enough to throw them over the edge, but enough that every step felt different from the last. That was probably something that nobody wanted to say about any bridge, but in Wraithpier, people couldn’t care any less, so…

At least the teenagers had gotten over their fear somewhat. Their curiosity of the murky blue water under the bridge got the better of them, allowing them to walk along the edges of the bridges and poke their heads over the ropes with zero concerns for safety. Vivi, however, was gripping onto Jin’s arm like her life depended on it, and Jin was walking much slower as a result. Cara was usually a fearless lady as well, but just this once, she was also gripping onto Fergal’s arm as she watched where she placed her every step.

Fergal, obviously, had a stupid grin on his face. Gael would’ve chucked something at the man for enjoying his sister’s arms, but the fact was, he was also having the time of his life feeling Maeve’s arms wrapped around his.

Oh, his dearest wife was petrified of the bridge.

“Who’s a wittle scaredy-cat?” he cooed. “Yes, you are! Yes, you are!”

“I’m not scared,” she muttered, unable to stop stealing glances at the water far below them through the gaps in the planks. “I’m… not scared.”

“Yes, you are! Yes, you—”

She shut him up with a glare that promised certain death, so seeing as nobody—apart from him and Fergal—seemed to be enjoying their time trudging across the bridge, he decided to cup his mouth with his fist and switch into his tour guide voice instead.

“If all of you would please look down,” he started, “you’ll notice that the whispering you’re hearing all around you is, in fact, coming from the water instead of the air! This is because no matter what anyone claims to have seen, heard, or killed, spirits and ghosts don’t actually exist, you fucking idiots! The whispers are coming from the fishies that swim under Wraithpier! You’re listening to the songs of the Port of the Damned!”

Hearing that, Evelyn and Liorin immediately poked their heads even further over the ropes, trying to catch a glimpse of a ‘whispering fish’. Vivi and Jin didn’t even try to look—they were too scared to have even heard anything Gael just said, most likely—while Cara and Fergal were simply disinterested in anything he had to say. Maeve, however, squeezed his arm tighter, somehow looking even more frightened now that she’d learned ghosts didn’t really exist.

Hell yeah!

Choke the blood out of my arm and hug it tighter—

“What do you mean by ‘under Wraithpier’?” she asked, still unable to help herself from glancing down occasionally. “Is there water under the ward?”

Gael immediately brightened. “Oh! You haven’t seen the map yet!”

Hooking his cane onto his belt for a moment, he reached into his coat and produced a folded map. Then he whipped it to the side, making it a small map. Then he whipped it to the other side, making it a medium-sized map, and then he whipped it up and down, making it a colossal map that was damn-near the entire height and width of Fergal. A few passersby in wide-brimmed hats finally stared at him strangely then—it probably wasn’t every day they saw a map this big—but he paid them no mind. He only had eyes for his dearest wife.

Maeve, on the other hand, narrowed her eyes at him.

“Where the hell were you hiding that—”

“Magic! Anyways, this is a map of Bharncair, and this part is Wraithpier.” He poked at the northern section of the map with his beak. “Long, long ago, this entire ward didn’t exist. Back when Bharncair was first built on the far northern end of the continent, the northern shoreline was the northern edge of Umbracross, where we just were at the mouth of the Whispering Bridge. Everything beyond the shoreline was just… well, open sea. Unfortunately, the old Bharnish eventually realized that importing food from outside the city forever was expensive, so they found a solution to their growing food problem.”

“Which was?”

His grin widened. “A bunch of vagrants picked up shovels, wheelbarrows, carts, and whatever else they could find to start chucking whatever else they could find into the sea.” Using his beak, he pointed east towards Ironwych on the map. “They took all sorts of scrap and unused mining waste from the mines of Ironwych to fill in the waters north of Umbracross. There was—you guessed it—zero concrete plans on how they wanted to expand north, but they just kinda did it over and over again for years and decades on end, and ta-da! It worked. Wraithpier was born as a ward built on scrap mountains that have withstood decades of mountain-tearing waves, and now…”

He trailed off, because while he was distracting Maeve with his giant-ass map, they’d stepped off the end of the Whispering Bridge and onto the elevated wooden platform overlooking the entire northern ward.

He didn’t need the map anymore, so he tossed it over the ropes and pulled out his cane again, giving it a soft thump against the wood below.

“... It’s a pretty cool place, I’d say.”

All eight of them stopped to stare.

Wraithpier stretched before them to the end of the horizon like a never-ending city of ghosts, the streets and districts stitched together with rotten timber, fraying ropes, rusted metals, and sheer, ungodly stubbornness. None of the buildings looked safe. Some leaned over the waterways at angles that made them seem moments away from collapse, while others rested atop enormous wooden stilts driven deep into the dark waters below. Entire rows of houses hung over canals with clotheslines and fishing nets dangling from their balconies, while towering fish markets rose several stories into the air before connecting to neighboring structures through suspended walkways and rope bridges.

And of course, water cut through the entire ward.

Crooked rivers snaked through the ward like veins. Narrow canals wound between neighborhoods. Murky ponds sat trapped between clusters of buildings. Entire lakes occupied the spaces where districts might've existed elsewhere in Bharncair, and instead of roads, ships drifted through many of these waterways. Fishing barges glided between market districts, flat-bottomed cargo platforms hauled crates through canals, and small boats darted beneath bridges carrying passengers from one scrap-island to another. The hundreds and thousands of rope bridges forming a tangled web over the ward had to be given an honorable mention as well—some were broad enough for entire wagons to trod over, but most were barely wide enough for two people to cross at the same time. Everywhere Gael looked, Wraithpier simply looked…

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Kinda dumb.

But also pretty cool.

"Saintess preserve me," Vivi breathed.

For once, Gael didn't have a joke ready. The view really was that cool. However, since the Whispering Bridge ended on an elevated platform, they had to descend down a flight of zigzagging stairs to properly enter the ward. Gael wasted no time leading Maeve down, and the rest of them started to follow, though most of them were still staring out at the never-ending city.

“Since Wraithpier was built between hundreds of different groups of vagrants, who all had the same idea of building a new home over water with the same amount of technical expertise on how to do it—that is, a combined total of zero years of building experience—the ward’s a chaotic mess,” he explained as they descended, the smell of saltwater, wet timber, and tar gradually getting stronger and stronger. “There was also absolutely zero coordination when they reclaimed the land. Everybody just dumped whatever wherever they wanted. Some guy could build a house on top of a scrap mountain, and then his neighbor could dump more material nearby and build another house, and then somebody else could connect the two with a bridge. Then another family could arrive and build another island next to the first two houses, and rinse and repeat that process for a few generations..."

He gestured broadly out, letting the view speak for itself as they finally reached the bottom of the stairs and set foot on the wobbly wooden platforms that made up the streets and districts of the ward. Looking at the ward from ‘level’ ground, it was obvious no two sections of it matched. One platform might hold six cramped homes stacked atop each other, but another could be supporting an entire market. Some islands were little more than oversized docks, while others were miniature neighborhoods connected by dozens of bridges.

Still, water was the one consistent thing connecting this entire ward.

“And since this entire ward used to be the sea, the fish never really left," he said, tapping the frayed ropes to his left that served as the street’s railings. “They swim through all these canals, rivers, lakes, and ponds. More come in every day from beyond the northern shoreline, so just like how most people in Ironwych work in the mining and metalworking trade, locals who don’t deal in fish in Wraithpier are probably unemployed. Fishing is the most lucrative trade in this ward, while fish is the most consumed food in Bharncair as a whole.”

As if to prove his point, a massive dark shape immediately passed beneath the canal beside him. Vivi jumped and immediately distanced herself from the rope, while Evelyn and Liorin sprinted towards it, eager to catch a better look.

But Wraithpier was massive, and they could catch a look of the waters basically anywhere they wanted.

As they crossed narrow bridges spanning many rivers and canals, the markets opened around them haphazardly. Immediately, they were assaulted by all sorts of fish: fresh fish, live fish, dead fish, butchered fish, fish hanging from hooks, fish packed into crates, fish swimming in tanks, and fish displayed atop enormous beds of ice that glittered beneath the pale morning light filtering through the Vile. Hundreds of workers hauled dripping nets across the walkways, merchants shouted prices across canals, and dockhands unloaded crates from boats while arguing with the platformed fishermen.

For his part, Gael hummed contentedly as he walked through the fish markets. The best thing about Wraithpier was that nobody gave a shit about him. Absolutley nobody. A fishmonger carrying two giant silver-scaled monstrosities over his shoulders brushed right past him without even glancing at the Raven mask. A woman wearing a hat shaped like the jaws of some mutated shark bargained aggressively over a crate of shellfish while standing three steps away from him, and never once did she acknowledge his existence. A group of fishermen walked past arguing about bait and weather patterns and completely ignored the Plagueplain Doctor standing right behind them.

In Wraithpier, non fish-obsessed people who weren’t carrying fish weren’t important.

How lovely.

If it weren’t so cold, I might actually live here permanently.

He glanced at his gang to see how they were faring. Evelyn and Liorin were, of course, already sprinting from stall to stall, admiring the aquatic horrors the fishmongers kept in glass cases. Vivi and Jin, meanwhile, were admiring the locals’ strange fashion. After all, most people wore layers of netting incorporated into their clothing like fashion accessories. Fishing hooks were sewn into decorated jackets, braided ropes hung from belts, and most people wore broad hats themed after different species of mutated fish. That, in part, made Gael look even less unusual than usual. Who would give a damn about someone wearing a Raven mask when the fisherman down the bridge was wearing a whole sardine head for a hat?

In any case, Cara and Fergal appeared the least overwhelmed by the ward than everyone else. That wasn’t to say they didn’t look around at some of the curiosities, but they were also adults who’d already heard enough stories about Wraithpier that the reality wasn’t entirely surprising. Maeve, on the other hand, was utterly fascinated by the waters themselves. Every few minutes she’d drift towards the edge of a bridge or a canal crossing and lean over the ropes, peering into the murky depths below. Every now and then, something would move beneath the waters—a shadow, a shape, a ripple large enough to suggest something substantial—and she’d flinch a little before going right back to staring.

Gael grinned.

The next time she leaned over the edge of a rope, he gave her a gentle push on the back.

“Boo!”

She immediately jerked back, glared daggers at him, and grabbed him by the collar.

“Wait, wait, wait, let’s talk about this!” He laughed nervously as she lifted him slightly off the ground. “You see, the fish and sea creatures in Wraithpier range from deadly to extremely deadly, so if anyone falls in without any proper diving gear like… like…” He whirled, looking around before pointing at one of the larger fishing platforms anchored further down a canal. Several workers were climbing into enormous diving suits constructed from thick steel plates, reinforced joints, and heavy glass viewing ports. “Like what those guys have, they’re probably gonna die.”

Maeve scowled. “Then why’d you try to push me in?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Maybe I should throw you in.”

“I’m a terrible swimmer. Please don’t.”

Maeve's scowl didn't soften, but she eventually gave up and let him walk again.

Foolish wife. He laughed to himself. I’m doing that again tomorrow.

But since everyone else looked so invested and interested in the general goings of the ward, he decided it was time to regain control of their vacation—before the teenagers could wander off and get adopted by fishermen, that was.

He clapped his hands, and the sound cut through the market noise surprisingly well.

“Alright, everyone! Before we go sightseeing and someone inevitably buys a fish they’re not allowed to keep, let’s get the serious business over with first,” he said, turning to look at Fergal. “We’ve got Saint’s Hands stationed here, right? Tell them to buy us a place to stay for the next month, and make it cozy.”

Fergal stared at him. Then he pointed several bridges away with one of his spider arms.

“Already did,” he said plainly.

“Oh.”

“The Wraithpier Branch Headquarters has been up and running for two months already.”

“Sweet.”

Gael was ready to move, but Evelyn heard ‘buy a place’ and immediately snapped her head at Fergal, eyes wide.

“Hold on. We’ve got a whole place to ourselves?” she asked.

“No renting rooms?” Liorin asked.

Cara laughed at their question. “It has been half a year since we started working with the Steelborn and the Three-Faces. We’ve got screw-you money now, so we can just about afford to buy multiple properties anywhere we want.” And while Evelyn and Liorin looked delighted that they probably wouldn’t have to share a room with each other like they did in Bleakhearth—not that they minded sleeping on the same bed—Cara glanced at Gael, winking. “And to think we were worried about keeping the lights on just two and a half years ago, right?”

Gael grinned back.

“Well, since Fergal’s got our place of stay settled already, let’s get our other serious business dealt with first,” he said, jerking his head to the side so they could cut away from the open-air fish markets. “We’re going that way. The Fishermen of Wraithpier all live in the Drowned Parish.”