Chương 6: Eastwatch

"Do not mistake stone and timber for a city. A city is a collective dream, a living system of hope and commerce and community. When the heart of a city is poisoned by tyranny, the rot does not stay in the palace but seeps into the warmth of every hearth and the flavor of every loaf of bread." - From Architectures of the Sentient Collective, by High Builder Preston. Vol 7. MASON The creeping poison produced bizarre psychotropic effects on my trek through the night, a test of more than just endurance.

I'd managed to stick to the road and by some miracle encountered no more bandits or wildlife - at least none that were real. I crested the hill as the sun came up, my health ticking below 10 HP. Off in the distance I could see my first taste of Calderan civilization, a city warmed in a dawn light that spilled over the horizon in streaks of orange. Tucked between dense forest and emerald water was a patchwork of slate roofs and whitewashed walls fanning out from a central square bisected by a swift-flowing river.

Several large stone bridges spanned the river, connecting the two halves of the city. A weathered but well-maintained stone wall twenty feet high encircled the whole city, riding along the hills that bordered the northern edges, a snake of rock and mortar. Two large gates provided access from the south and west, a steady stream of wagons coming and going.

A shipping dock already bustling with activity ran the entire length of the city's western end, dozens of boats anchored off shore, from small fishing vessels to merchant galleons and ships of war with cannons poking out from their multi-story sides like a pin cushion. Smoke curled up from chimneys and carried the smells of burning wood and the mouth-watering scent of baking bread.

Sounds of hammering from unseen craftsmen were the city's early morning soundtrack, drowning out the alien warble of Caldera's strange birds. It took me another ten minutes to reach the western gate, my feet finally failing. The right side of my body was all but completely numb, dead leg dragging pitiably behind me. I stumbled toward the guards who approached warily.

"Oi, mate, you look rough," one of them said, keeping his distance as if afraid it might be contagious.

"Poisoned," I managed to croak through a constricted throat.

"Dying." He signaled to a guard in the gatehouse and the man ran into town. I could only hope he was fetching a healer and not a coroner.

"Sorry, mate, can't let you inside looking like that, not til we know what's wrong with ya." I sat down in the dirt, nodding my understanding. I tried to keep my eyes off the health counter and failed. It had just ticked down from 5 to 4, giving me less than an hour to find out just how permanent death was in this world. It was a harrowing twenty minutes, unsure if I'd die this close to salvation, or hell, if there even was salvation waiting.

Maybe this poison had no cure, or this town lacked the resources to create it. To distract myself, I examined the current state of my wounds. The creeping poison had turned most of the veins in my body black, the vast network of capillaries was an anatomy chart in ink. I lay down in the dirt, thoughts of my life back in New York replaying in front of my eyes. Was this a punishment for failing to do the sensible thing and sprint my way home? My consciousness was fading, the edges of my vision going blurry.

I saw Caden's smiling face, 12 years old, his whole life ahead of him. Sirens wailed, lights flashed blue and red in my mind, his small body lying there on the corner, eyes dark and lifeless. Friendship had deserted me that day and I'd never made an effort to find it again. Being alone was better than that, anything was better than that. A light intruded, someone rolling me onto my back, my eyes forced open.

"Young man, can you tell me what did this?" A voice, older, male. I tried to latch onto it, pull myself toward it, but my grip was slipping.

"I need to know the poison." My lips struggled to form the words, "Gl-gl-owfen." It was all I had left. I let the darkness take me, perhaps I'd see Caden again. +++"... Violet, compress. Just there. No, not there..." Fragments. Splinters of memories. A rainy day in mid-October, the leaves changing, someone in a raincoat holds my hand, the warmth on my skin makes me happy. I look up at them and smile. They look down at me and frown. I don't know why. Did I do something wrong? My hand falls, the warmth gone.

"... of course not, it's the fever, just ignore him. Hand me that..." A school bell rings, a girl I like smiles at me from across the room. I smile back, she looks away embarrassed. I sit next to her and she touches my arm. I want to laugh but play it cool.

"... his mana network, it's so dense, never seen anything..." The ceiling is grainy and grey, moonlight through a nearby window. Someone pulls me closer, they whisper in my ear, I can't make out the words. I'm cold inside, like I've forgotten to feel, or perhaps never learned. I roll over and kiss them, pretending I know how.

"... we've done what we can, it's up to him now..." I'm falling into darkness, I see the ground approaching but it never arrives. I try to scream, no sound comes out. +++ I bolted awake, my whole body sore and aching. I was lying on a straw mattress covered in itchy blankets. It smelled of chemicals and herbs, sunlight filtering through a thatched roof above. My right arm was an agony, a deep throbbing that pulsed with my heartbeat.

I reached across my body to grab it, an attempt to soothe the pain, to put pressure on the wound where the lurker's claws had sunk in. My left hand found nothing but empty space and the rough texture of a coarse linen shirt. My brain refused to accept it, pain flaring again as it sent useless signals down a limb that wasn't there. I could feel the fingers clenching, the elbow trying to bend, but my eyes saw only air. The disconnect was a disorienting vertigo.

My arm was gone, severed halfway up the bicep and already stitched shut. [Psychological Resilience] chimed loud in my head, shoving the rage away, refocusing my mind on what mattered now. I had overcome worse. I wasn't actually sure I had, but the thought was a useful mantra. I pushed myself up with my good arm, gritting my teeth.

"Easy, lad, you've been through an ordeal." A short man with a barrel chest, round belly, and bushy beard sat hunched over a rough wooden table, empty bottles and drying herbs strewn about.

"How do you feel?"

"I feel like death." I said truthfully, my usual sarcastic impulse noticeably absent.

"I can't regrow your arm, but I can at least help you with the headache." He slid over on his stool, taking up position next to my bed. He put a cup of water to my lips and I drank it down gratefully.

"May I?" He reached for the blood-soaked bandage on my missing arm and I nodded.

"I take it you're the healer here?" I asked, trying to project a stiff upper lip, hoping it came off better than I felt. He glanced over at the herbs on the table as if they held the answer.

"More of a chemist."

"A chemist." An unusual place to end up. He pulled the bandage back. It stuck to the wound, a fresh rush of pain signals that battled for attention.

"Apologies," he winced.

"Like I said, not used to actual patients." I tried not to look as he produced a poultice and began to rub it on the inflamed wound, but curiosity compelled me as it so often did. The wound looked clean, stitches neatly arranged, swelling visible but not alarmingly so.

"Thank you," the words spilled out of me without thought as the poultice dulled the suffering to a manageable burning sensation. The phantom nerve pain persisted, but there was no poultice for that. He wrapped it with a fresh bandage, the medicine soaking it an earthy green.

"I think you'll live, there's no sign of infection and you're young and sturdy."

"Sorry, um, where am I?" Bits and pieces came back to me, a fight with a giant lizard, a dream-like trek through a forest at night, collapsing in front of an iron gate.

"You're in the back room of my shop. More generally, you're in Eastwatch. I'm Cornelius, the town apothecary." Cornelius had kind eyes and a rumbly voice, I could tell just by looking at him that he smiled a lot, creases visible near his eyes and mouth.

"You made quite the stir, showing up in the condition you did. You're lucky to be alive." I examined what was left of my right arm, my veins had returned to their typical bluish green.

"How long have I been out?"

"Three days, give or take. You had a nasty fever. Tried to enlist the guild healer, but well, they don't work for free. Had to sweat it out the old fashioned way, but managed to keep you alive." He placed a stopper in the bottle he was filling, shaking it until it changed from clear to yellowish brown.

"The leg we managed to save, but the poison in your right arm was too close to the heart. It had to come off."

"We?" I asked, just trying to distract myself from thinking. At least I was left-handed.

"My assistant, Violet. She's run to town on some errands. Here, drink this." He handed me the bottle. My interface informed me it was a restorative potion, an elixir to clear whatever toxins might remain in my system. I drank it down, it had a mild earthiness, almost pleasant.

"Thank you. For this, and you know, for the other thing..." Not the most enthusiastic life he'd ever saved, but I did feel grateful, the self-pity shaking off in stages. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. He chuckled at the tepid delivery.

"Oh, don't mention it, lad. Didn't do much, a couple potions and a bit of burnt gnarl horn. You've got quite a mana network, the densest I've certainly ever seen, probably saved you in the end."

"Well, I'm grateful all the same. I don't have much, but you're welcome to anything of value." I dumped my inventory on the bed, a random assortment of crafting materials, a couple dozen copper coins, and the monster core from the glowfen. The ring I kept in storage, heeding Zachias's warning.

"Odd assortment of things," he remarked, raising an eyebrow.

"Who are you exactly?"

"I'm having a little trouble remembering details." When in doubt, feign ignorance.

"Not too surprising, glowfen venom has strong hallucinogenic properties. Might take some time to feel like yourself again."

"I noticed," I said, earning a chuckle from the apothecary and cutting a bit of tension. I picked up the glowfen core that I'd looted from the dead monster, it was a heavy black orb about the size of my fist, crystalline in structure and pulsing green as if the energy inside was still alive.

"This might have some value." I held the core up to him, offering it as payment. He took it quickly just as the door to his shop opened with a rush of wind, the strong scent of the sea flooding the room. A small woman appeared, three feet tall at the most, dark brown hair up in a braid with ears that ended in points. Cornelius slipped the monster core into a drawer, getting up to help with the bags of ingredients she'd brought.

"They didn't have wormwood, Mary says it's been picked clean by the guildies," she offered apologetically. Her voice was almost comically high pitched, a helium-huffing party trick.

"Oh, that's all right, I'll get some myself when I next go for a forage. Our patient is awake." He took the bags and set them aside. The girl, who I assumed was his assistant, Violet, seemed nervous, refusing to make eye contact. I sent the items on the bed back into my inventory, an odd experience of vacuuming objects inside my body.

"I hear I have you to thank for keeping me alive." I gave her my winningest smile but she wasn't interested, eyes looking anywhere but at me.

"R-r-ight, well, I mean, no, not really. Cornelius he does all the alchemy, I'm just an extra pair of hands." The atmosphere felt strained, was she afraid of me?

"Forgive the lass, she's not used to dealing with people. Go on, girl, I can take it from here." Happy to be dismissed, she offered a quick curtsy before rushing out the way she'd come in. I sat up, a flush of dizziness made me instantly regret it.

"Can't say that's the usual effect I have on a woman."

"Don't mind her, she's always been a nervous little thing. Gnomes, not the sturdiest lot on the best of days, but at least she has an excuse." A gnome. Of course this place had fantasy races to go with the monsters and magic, why wouldn't it?

"She wouldn't want me saying it, but she saw her pa killed right in front of her in the Kaz-Varr explosion. Enough to make anyone a bit skittish." Clearly a reference he expected me to know so I refrained from probing further, simply nodding along.

"Is that monster core enough of a payment? I don't have much else, but when I'm back on my feet I can work it off." You'd think I'd asked if I could murder his dog the way his demeanor shifted.

"Not so loud. And yes, it's plenty." If he was so worried someone might steal it, the thing must be worth more than I realized. But the man did save my life, if I was overpaying so be it.

"Where are you from? Thought I knew everyone in this city," he said, abruptly changing the subject.

"I couldn't tell you exactly. I want to say it was a big city near water, but not this one." SYSTEM MESSAGE: [Prolific Liar] has reached Level 2.

"You have the accent of an Evertonian noble, though no water there to speak of, save the Silver River. We're a long way from Everton, but then Duke Thorne is from the capital. Perhaps you were attacked on the road on your way to see him?" I could tell my origins were a mystery he'd been laboring over, but I really had nothing of value to offer him.

"I don't know, maybe..."

"Well, it should come back in time, though sometimes it doesn't, I'm afraid. If you're a combat mage that would certainly explain the monster bites." His tone suggested he wasn't fond of combat mages, though I suspected they were a decent chunk of his business.

"And the muscles." He added, scanning. I gestured to my stump.

"If I am, the monster bites and missing limb would indicate I'm not a very good one."

"Certainly big enough, and that mana network..." he lowered his voice as if afraid the walls might have ears.

"If you want an old man's advice, look elsewhere."

"Oh?" The city from a distance had looked almost unrealistically orderly, but I knew well that looks could be deceiving. A knock on the door cut off any answer he might have given.

"Come in!" The latch was already opening before the words had left his mouth. A boy that looked to be about twelve poked his head inside.

"Da, you got a customer out here, says you have an order for him. Sickleweed concoctions."

"Thank you, William, I'll be right there." The boy closed the door and Cornelius tidied his desk quickly.

"My son, William. Good lad, not the sharpest rake in the toolshed but he's got a good head on his shoulders. Honest, you know, good heart." I nodded obligingly, I'd never been very comfortable navigating family dynamics.

"I can see the resemblance." The fat man chuckled.

"That'd be quite a thing, not blood related at all." Adopted, well I did have experience with that at least - sadly, none of my attempts to keep a family had ever stuck.

"Apologies, maybe I'm still hallucinating." Cornelius laughed and slapped me on the shoulder, enjoying the resulting wince.

"You should come for dinner tonight, my wife is an excellent cook."

"That's really not necessary, I've been enough of an inconvenience."

"I'd be quite a poor apothecary if doing my job was an inconvenience. I insist. Won't take no for an answer. Now I need to tend to this customer, and you need to rest." +++ I slept most of the day, feeling somewhat better as I made my way to the attached cottage for dinner. I could smell the simmering spices even before I opened the door, a homey warmth pulling me and my grumbling stomach out of our stupor.

Inside, a small wooden table sat in the center of the cramped space, the walls a clutter of shelves and cabinets overflowing with bottles and ingredients.

"Please, sit. Make yourself comfortable," Cornelius said, gesturing me toward the table where a hearty stew bubbled in a pot. Crusty bread was laid out on plates set for three people, a pitcher of cider completing the picture.

"Sara's been in the kitchen all afternoon, she makes the best stew in Eastwatch, if I do say so myself." It was a simple setup, but looked a feast to me after a week of eating nothing but a few mysterious rations from a dead man's pocket. A woman entered, wiping her hands on her apron. She was thinner and taller than Cornelius with a weary expression and watchful eyes.

"Don't listen to his boasting. It's just stew." She offered a polite but reserved smile.

"I'm Sara, his oft exasperated wife."

"Thank you for having me, Sara. I'm Mason," I said, taking a seat.

"It smells wonderful." William, I was told, was spending the night at a friend's house - Sara understandably cautious to have a one-armed stranger in her home. I dug into the delicious stew, any concerns about the source of the meat set aside by more immediate considerations. Cornelius and Sara watched me in amused silence for several minutes before I realized I was making a spectacle of myself.

"I'm sorry," I said, cheeks red.

"I guess I'm really hungry."

"Oh, don't apologize, I'm flattered." Sara smiled at me, scooping another portion into my bowl. Eating did take some adjusting, several failed attempts to grab things with an arm that wasn't there leaving me exasperated and more than a little discouraged. If either noticed my struggles, they were kind enough not to comment. Cornelius steered the conversation towards my journey, asking again about my travels and my reasons for coming to Eastwatch.

I kept my answers vague, claiming continued brain fog from the poison. He asked me about my tattoo, or at least I think that's what he was asking, a reference to an unregistered Mark left me more confused than enlightened, but I brushed it off with more deflections. I flexed my social muscles, asking them about their lives, doing my best to get a better feel for this world I was in without giving away how little I actually knew.

They'd been together nearly 15 years, the shop an inherited profession from Cornelius's father who still lived in Kelna. They'd met at a market fair in a neighboring village. Sara was the daughter of a light tronicer, which apparently was something like a magical candlemaker. She had no talent for magic, but a head for numbers, running the shop's bookkeeping.

Unable to conceive, they'd adopted their son as a boy when his parents had been lost during a monster attack on a farmstead outside of town - I got the impression they deemed this tragedy preventable, though it was unclear who they blamed.

"You want to be a guild mage, then?" Sara asked, turning the topic back to me.

"I'm not sure, to be honest, though I suppose my... disability will limit my options." I'd avoided thinking about the future, but I'd have to face it eventually.

"Perhaps tomorrow I'll wake up and remember I'm a Duke, returned to inherit ancestral lands," I added, aiming for levity that appeared to land short of the mark. Sara's smile faded.

"Terrible what happened, that was a dark time for this city. Duke Petracca and his wife were good people, many here still miss them. That was before our time here, but you'd swear it had happened just yesterday the way people still speak of it. Perhaps if there were fewer imposters claiming to be his lost son every few years, people would finally move on." I tried to hide my surprise with a cough. Of course they knew the story.

Imposters claiming to be me, though, that was interesting - Zachias had left some things out.

"A tragedy," I said finally, covering the misstep.

"I suppose I should seek out this Adventurer's Guild you mentioned, perhaps they'll know who I am or can direct me to someone who does." Zachias had told me the ring would prove my identity, but then he'd also cryptically warned me to be cautious of who I showed it to. If there were imposters regularly appearing, that only complicated matters. I would need to tread very carefully. Sara straightened her apron and cleared her throat, fidgeting with the tablecloth.

"If anyone would, it would certainly be the guild. Just don't let them fool you into joining up. Fighting is a dangerous profession, Mason, especially in these times."

"Dangerous indeed," Cornelius agreed.

"Necessary, of course, someone has to protect the city from monsters in the night, but I've seen enough of the aftermath to know it's not for the faint of heart."

"Is there not a city watch?" I asked, trying to get a better understanding of the place.

"The Duke's men are ever vigilant," Sara offered neutrally, glancing away.

"Aye, when they aren't out raiding villages like common cutthroats," Cornelius said, a bit under his breath. Sara gave me a furtive glance.

"Hush with that talk."

"Oh leave off it. Mason's not even from here, he should know what he intends to get involved with." Cornelius turned to me, leaning in conspiratorially.

"Alastair Thorne, the current Duke of Eastwatch and guild master, comes from a prominent family. It's just him and his children now after his wife died. Tragic accidents follow the man around." Sara got up to clear the table, letting her displeasure be known with a sharp look at her husband. When she'd gone into the kitchen, Cornelius continued.

"He's been here nearly twenty years. His original post was as an Adventurer's Guild branch secretary, rumor was he was exiled from the capital, though nobody seems to know what for."

"I see," I said, trying to appear interested but not too interested.

"It was actually his older brother Sebastian that was meant to be our Duke after the Petracca fire, but he fell ill and died under... mysterious circumstances." He made a gesture toward his throat that implied they were not so mysterious.

"To Alastair's credit, he did stabilize the region, but his methods are extreme."

"Is he a criminal?" I asked, the profile sounding familiar.

"Why doesn't someone step in and stop it?"

"Criminals break the rules, he makes them. Taxes are up, regulations have us in a vice." Sara returned from the kitchen, still looking stormy, but Cornelius ignored her.

"As long as he keeps the money coming and the trade routes open, the King leaves him alone. When the last Duke and his family were killed, it's said that Thorne was among the first ones on the scene, though that's-""That's enough! Your loose tongue is a discredit to you, Cornelius Clark. If you don't care about your own wellbeing, think of your son." Sara was red-faced, fists white around a washcloth.

"The fire was a tragedy and nothing more, you're talking treason in our house like a fool in front of a boy you just met. No offense, Mason."

"Oh, no, none taken, I understand. I didn't mean to pry."

"You're a nice young man, it's nothing against you," Sara said, her tone conciliatory.

"My husband knows better, the things he's saying are dangerous."

"Which is exactly why they need to be said. I'm sick of it." Cornelius pushed back from the table, frustrated.

"You shouldn't mix this boy up in your politics, it's not fair to him and it's reckless. We'll talk about this later." Sara was apparently the last word, Cornelius huffing but not willing to push it any further.

"Mason, you're welcome to sleep in William's bed tonight, and I hope you'll forget what you heard here."

"Of course." Cornelius and Sara continued to argue in hushed tones as I made my way up William's bed in the landing above. They moved into another room, shutting the door and leaving me alone with my many thoughts. A mysterious fire. A Duke who had claimed a dead brother's title. A city terrified to speak openly. My smartest play would be to buy a ticket on the first carriage out of town toward Kelna. I still had two weeks to catch my ride back to Earth.

But what about the man who had just saved my life, and the wife who had fed me when I had nothing to offer in return? My whole existence I'd only ever been responsible for myself. If I was really a Petracca, didn't that make these people my responsibility?

"Fuck."