Chapter One --
“Ah, fuck
it...” Robyn muttered, throwing her pen down in disgust and leaning back with
her hands clasped behind her head. It bounced on the ledger spread out in front
of her, clattered across the table and then dropped to the floor and rolled out
of sight. It was the last straw after a particularly arduous day. Gritting her
teeth to keep herself from swearing anymore, she held her breath and closed her
eyes, counting backwards from ten -- a method she always taught her patients
right from the beginning. ‘Focus on the numbers,’ she told them. Numbers
were nice and objective, but never count up. Always down. If you count up,
you’re liable to never stop. The most important part of recovery is to have a
simple, attainable goal. Counting always did the trick.
“You
alright?” Her assistant, Trystan, glanced over from his own desk, his brow
furrowed in concern.
Robyn sighed
and nodded, still keeping her eyes tight shut. “Yeah, fine. It’s been... a long
day. That’s all.”
Trystan
laughed and breathy, easy laughed. “It has that,” he agreed. “We’ve been here,
what? Getting on twelve hours now.”
“Mmm hmm.
Twelve hours in this damned room and still no sign of a break- through. Dammit!”
Her hand slammed down hard on the table top, making Trystan jump and more
stationary clatter to the floor. “Dammit! I had really thought we were
getting somewhere.” She ran her fingers fretfully through her long, dark brown
hair once, twice and a third time just because. “I was certain that this would
be The Week.”
Trystan shot
her a lopsided grin. “You say that every week.”
Finally
opening her eyes, Robyn glared at him. “That’s because I believe it every week.
Because what’s the point of it all otherwise? It’s out there, Trys, and
it’s within reach. If I could just...” Her fingers flexed unconsciously, and
then she deflated. “Ah, fuck it,” she said again, more defeated this time.
“Tomorrow’s another day and next week’s another week. Let’s call it quits for
now and get out of here.”
So saying,
Robyn shoved her chair back, cricked her neck and stretched out her limbs. For
almost the whole twelve hours, she had not moved from her position hunched over
her ledger -- searching and searching for the clue in the formula that would finally
lead her to the breakthrough she knew she was capable of. And now, she ached.
“I’m going to have the longest soak and the biggest glass of wine I can find,”
she muttered, sweeping the remaining contents of her desk into her bag and
swinging it over her shoulder. “I think I’ve deserved it, don’t you?”
Buttoning up
his own jacket, Trystan laughed. “Of course you do.” He was always laughing and
smiling, Robyn reflected, flicking off the light as she lead them out of the
little room. He was the most easy going person she had ever met. She was
thankful for it, too. She needed someone like that to keep her sane. The powers
that be had probably designed it that way.
Walking down
the long, deserted corridors of the Sapphire Palace, Robyn smiled to herself.
As much as she complained, she wouldn’t change any part of her life for
anything in the world. It was a good one, and it suited her. Here she was, in
the most beautiful city in the Empire, and she was making a difference and
working hard to improve the lives of all the Empire’s citizens. And she had
worked hard to get there. It was a good life, and she deserved it.
What more
could she possibly ask for?
As they
approached the main doors which lead out to the Guilders’ Square, Trystan shivered
and wrapped his arms around his body. “Wow! It’s freezing!”
“Mmm.” It
certainly did seem colder than usual, even despite it being so late. Temperature
fluctuated very little in the land beneath the Ever Risen Sun, a few degrees
here and there at the very most, but the breeze floating in from the outside
made Robyn feel as though her blood had suddenly frozen.
A cold dread
settled in her stomach, the dread that could only be brought on by the unknown,
the unprecedented, the incalculable. “Trys...” She put out an instinctive hand
to stop him and he paused obediently at her touch. “Wait here,” she said. “I’m
going to go see what’s going on.”
Licking her
lips, Robyn approached the swinging doors with deep trepidation, her heart
hammering in her ears. She honestly couldn’t remember ever being so frightened.
Even as a child, she was able to rationalise herself out of any encroaching
fear. But this... she swallowed hard, reaching out to push against the frosted
glass. This was something else altogether.
Gathering
her courage and telling herself sternly to stop being so silly, Robyn leaned in
and pushed with her entire weight until she almost stumbled out into the
night’s air.
A gasp
escaped her lips, her eyes widening in shock and wonder.
The world
seemed to have turned a dusky orange; the light from the sun-lamps muted and
distorted, spreading out like fog. And all around were flurries of white.
Robyn held
out her hand and watched, amazed, as frozen flakes settled then melted on her
outstretched palm, each one leaving the tiniest stinging kiss on her exposed
skin.
Rooted to
the spot, her mind whirred, unable to properly determine whether the
appropriate action would be to run and hide, or revel in the glory of this bizarre
occurrence. Evidence was beginning to suggest, however, that -- despite the
chill and the sting of the cold -- this flurry was not dangerous. Just weird.
Thrusting
her numbed hands deep into her armpits, Robyn called back to Trystan who was
hovering by the door. “It’s alright! It’s cold, but it’s safe. I think.”
Trystan
approached her cautiously, squinting up at the sky. “Wow,” he breathed,
the hot breath coming out in a large cloud of steam. “What is this?”
“Haven’t a
clue.” Her ears and the tip of her nose were beginning to sting. “I don’t think
we should stand around in it for too long, though. Not without knowing anything
about it.” The tangent seemed to suggest that the longer they exposed
themselves to it, the less pleasant it became. It took, on average, twenty
minutes to reach her home from the palace, and Robyn was reluctant to find out
what would happen to the human body if they stayed out for much longer than
that. “Come on,” she said, starting off across the courtyard in long strides. Perhaps
she’d be able to make in fifteen today. That would be nice. Motivated by
the thought of her nice, hot bubbly bath, she picked up her pace, forcing
Trystan to trot along after her, one hand held up to his brow to keep the snow
from falling in his eyes.
They always
walked home from work together, every day for the last couple of years, ever
since he had first come to work with her. Luckily, the path they took through
the streets of the City of Guilders was so well worn and ingrained into their
memories, it hardly mattered that it was almost impossible to see three steps
ahead.
Robyn and
Trystan flitted from street lamp to street lamp, lead by the pale orange glow
of the trapped sunlight. Conversation had been made impossible by the
chattering of teeth, which grew louder and more uncontrollable with every
passing minute. Robyn was beginning to despise this weather. She did not do
well in change -- good or bad -- and every part of her ached fiercely.
The streets of the city were completely deserted, which was partly
understandable as it had long passed the hour in which people normally retired
to their homes, but the thick blizzard and the unusual quality of the light
made the lack of life particularly eerie.
If she hadn’t
felt so frozen she was sure her bones would snap, Robyn might have considered
making a run for it. But it was too far, and she simply couldn’t risk getting
lost. Her senses were already becoming dull, distracted to everything but the
bitter cold. She almost found herself praying -- that was how bad it was
-- that this weather would pass soon. Although, in the most hardened, sensible
part of her heart, she knew perfectly well that this was not something that
would simple vanish over night. This was something that would have
consequences. And severe ones at that.
But there
was no point in trying to think about that now, she reasoned sternly with
herself. She had to stay in the moment and just focus on getting home and warm
and dry. For such tiny flakes, they certainly managed to soak you to the
bone!
Less than
five minutes away from her front door, Robyn paused to say goodbye to Trystan,
who turned a sharp corner and jogged to his own home, leaving her alone in the
blizzard. Part of her wished he had walked her to her door, but this was
their routine and it wouldn’t have made sense for him to stay out any longer
than necessary. Still, her steps felt heavier and the street felt longer now
she was alone, and her mind was beginning to play tricks on her.
She could
have sworn that there were figures in the fog, shapeless and indeterminate. And
voices too; whispers carried along on the sharp breeze and burying themselves
in her ears. Shaking her head, Robyn soldiered on. The sooner she got out of
this, the better. If she stayed out any longer, she’d start dreaming again, and
where would she end up then?
The image of
herself in a hospital gown, gaunt and wide-eyed like one of her patients sent a
shiver down her spine, distinctly different and much less pleasant than the
chills from the snow. If nothing else, the deepest fear of ending up on her own
ward was provided more than enough motivation to always be the very best she
could possibly be. She did her best for them -- for each and every one of them,
no matter how undeserving they were -- and they were fortunate that there was
treatment available to them. Never grateful, though. Not until much much
later when, finally, the right strain had been found and administered. They
always seemed to labour under the impression that they were better off as they
were. Robyn couldn’t understand it -- didn’t want to understand it. How
could anyone choose to be like that?
Dreamers
were a liability, to themselves and to every other hard-working citizen of the
Empire.
Why would anyone
choose to be that selfish?
Turning the
final corner, Robyn could see her home in the distance and the sight of it
filled her heart with a flood of warmth. Thank you thank you. Then, down
a tiny side-alley, a movement out of the corner of her eye made her stop and
turn and peer through the blizzard.
This
indistinct figure was not like the other ghosts that had followed her home.
This one was corporeal. Solid. She could reach out and touch it, if she
chose to.
Swallowing
down her need to be inside, Robyn’s physician-instincts kicked in. No-one
should be outside in this.
“Hello?” she
called, her voice swallowed up by the snow. “Hello? Do you need help?”
At first,
there was no reply except for the roar of wind and the pounding of blood in her
ears. Then, as thin as a needle, a voice called back to her. “Hello?” A child’s
voice.
Her stomach
lurched and all sense of danger for herself was forgotten as she ran towards
the voice, kicking up snow behind her. “Where are you?” she shouted into the
fog, her hair whipping around her face as looked this way and that, searching
for the owner of the voice and hoping against hope that it hadn’t simply been a
product of her frost addled mind. “I’m a doctor. I can help you.” She wondered vaguely
if she still had her bottle of Somnium Interdit. She had a feeling that she
might need some after all this.
“Here. We’re
here.”
We?
Her feet
carried her reluctant body onwards, spurred on by a distinct sense of duty. As
she approached, the figure became clearer and more human until Robyn found
herself face to face with a boy. A teenage boy, judging by his gangliness.
He stared up
at her, shivering, from behind a mass of curly chocolate-coloured hair; his
big, brown eyes hard and fierce and tinged with fear. He hugged himself with
arms that seemed a little too long in a useless attempt to keep out the cold.
Robyn might not have been dressed appropriately for the weather, but this boy
was even less prepared, wearing little more than a flimsy shirt and trousers
that looked as if they had been soaked up to the knee. Truth be told, she was
amazed that he was still standing.
“What’re you
doing out here?” she asked. “Where do you live?”
The boy’s
eyes narrowed, then he reached out with thin, frozen fingers and tugged at her
hand. “You said you could help,” he insisted, urging her to follow. “Please.
Help us.”
“Who’s
‘us’?”
“Me and my
brother. Come on. You have to hurry. He’s sick.”
Robyn gave
in and jogged after the boy, wondering what on earth she was getting herself
into. “What’s your name?” she asked breathlessly, trying to concentrate on How
To Be A Doctor. “How old are you?”
But they boy
rebuffed her questions with a sharp, “That doesn’t matter right not.” And Robyn
was too cold to argue.
Soon, the
boy stopped and pointed to a second figure -- his brother -- huddled on the
ground and propped up by a tall, brick wall. This boy was older, although it
was impossible to give an accurate estimation in that position, and had a man’s
coat draped around his shoulders. Lank, grey hair fell across a pallid face and
dark blue eyes stared unseeingly ahead through frosted glasses. At first, Robyn
feared that the boy had succumbed to the cold and had frozen to death but, on
closer inspection, little clouds of steam puffed from between chapped lips. His
breathing might have been shallow, but at the very least he was alive.
Robyn
crouched down on her feels and peered at him closely. Only the faintest flicker
across his features gave any indication that he was aware of her at all,
although when she reached out to feel the pulse in his wrist, he flinched and
drew away.
The younger
boy crouched down beside her. “It’s okay,” he said, his voice low and gentle as
though speaking to a small child. “She said she can help. We can trust her.” He
glanced sideways at Robyn. “Right?”
She nodded
emphatically. “Right. Look, my house is right around the corner. Why don’t we
all go there, now, and warm up a bit? I think that’ll make everyone feel
better.”
The older
boy hesitated, chewing on his bottom lip as he stared *questioningly up at his
brother as though seeking permission. Then, when it was given with a nod and a
smile, he allowed Robyn to take his arm and help him unsteadily to his feet,
slipping on the snow covered ground and leaning on the wall for support.
He was tall,
Robyn noticed now, and at least in his late teens, if not older. But there was
something, in the way he moved and in the way he held himself, that made him
seem almost child-like in *countenance.
Whatever was
wrong with him, though, one thing was certain; a warm house and a hot drink
would certainly bring at least some degree of improvement.
