In The City of Guilders -- A Sample

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.