The Historian’s Novel

Even amongst the virtual tide of humanity filling the Coliseum, Amelia managed to discreetly stalk the disguised Marquess of Rutherford and his friend, who could only be the Alchemist Richter. The only suitor from The Historian’s novel Amelia had yet to receive the pleasure of meeting.,

Dressed like a doctor, despite being prone to relying on untested concoctions and ill-begotten knowledge, the mere sight of the man who had in her readings kidnapped the princess had the little voice in Amelia’s mind urging her to leave the disguised pair to their business and return to the safety of her seat.

Amelia’s heart, surging with opportunity, argued back that what Richter had done was in the past-future. She had already succeeded in recruiting Martel; wasn’t there an equal chance she could convince Richter to abandon the Marquess?

What more, hadn’t Grace not given the man a second chance in The Historian’s Novel? It seemed proper to follow the princess’s lead, especially when Amelia took into account how often Grace tended to be right.

The idea creeped deeper into her thoughts as she continued following the men from a distance. After all, Grace could probably be convinced to donate a vial or two of blood in the name of science, and she didn’t think Richter would ever turn down such a good offer. Not when he had gone to great lengths to obtain it the first time around.

Thus, with the little voice presumably bested, Amelia tailed the men into one of the many cramped Coliseum restaurants, where they entered a smoking room at the very back of the business. The perfect location for those wishing for private conversation.

Entering the room next to theirs, Amelia made a quick promise with herself that she would only attempt to run interference if the Marquess left ahead of Richter, before she pressed her ear to the wall placed between them and began to eavesdrop. When again, the little voice returned to warn her. Bearing a message that some things in life were just not worth the effort.

The warning fell on deaf ears. Amelia closed her eyes to better hear the dull, spoken words coming from the other side of the wall.

“…They only need one decent fighter for the duel,” The Marquess of Rutherford said, “While we, we need three. If things don’t go as planned… I need a way to convince the Caneo prince of my value despite my idiot son costing us favor.”

“Yeah… I can see how getting one of the prince’s men mauled by the Baron would put you in a bad light.”

“Tempting the leviathan into meeting Havoc with no plan was an idiotic decision. I’ve half a mind to put him in a cell to cool down until we’re ready to leave… Which is why I’ll be needing your notes concerning ‘the project’. Not all of them of course, only enough to tempt the prince into placing his best card on the table.”

“You don’t mean…”

“To hunt a Dragon, one must use a monster of equal proportion. The Leviathan should suit our purposes well. The man’s confidence knows no bounds, he will not deny a duel with the Baron if the prince asks it of him.”

Richter laughed, “How could my notes that show testing has yet to even begin, be enough to sway the prince of a country? My elixir theory is sound, but it still remains unproven… And you know exactly why that is.”

“Give him only enough to come to conclusions,” the Marquess said, with a dark chuckle that sent a foreboding chill down Amelia’s neck, “You’re a smart man, aren’t you? Once we’ve secured your test subject, the rest will fall into place.”

“No pressure,” Richter said quietly, as the padding of feet marked a strange grinding noise that echoed twice before the room fell into silence. Leaving Amelia to guess what the Marquess might have meant.

She already had an inkling the Leviathan would eventually turn into a problem. But while the Leviathan might have been too much for her grand-father and his knights, Amelia remained confident in the fact that dragons ate fish… Though it wouldn’t do any harm to warn her father, just in case.

Maybe after she visited Stanton to secure his blade for the duel? Hearing nothing else from the other room, Amelia gave up on meeting Richter and prepared to leave. Only to discover Richter was of the same mind, when they both opened their smoking-room door at the same time.

Unprepared for detection, Amelia tensed. Thought her anxiety turned to confusion upon seeing that the room behind the Alchemist was decidedly empty.

Had the Marquess already left? Having not noticed, Amelia’s confidence wavered. Her only saving grace came in knowing Richter shouldn’t know who she was, since they had never met. Her back to a wall, it seemed the only direction remaining was forwards.

“H-Hello? Are you Richter, the doctor?” Amelia asked. Trying not to flinch under the Alchemist’s scrutinizing gaze, which drifted from her to the rest of the restaurant.

“I suppose you heard from someone I would be here,” Richter said slowly, giving Amelia plenty of time to interrupt or deny. “I’m guessing you want something kept under wraps? It’s not a pregnancy you want gone, is it? Because I didn’t think to pack any medicine for that on my way out of the house this morning.”

“Heaven’s no, not that. Not me. It’s more of a… general issue I want to keep hidden?” Amelia said, deciding to play along with Richter’s misunderstanding that she was some noble girl who needed medical assistance, away from the prying eyes of her parents.

Richter adjusted his glasses. “Apologies. Then, no doubt you want answers about why your skin is so pale. Your family’s doctor probably told you to get more sunlight and fresh air, but you disagree and want a second opinion, is that it? Well… come in, I suppose. I’ve got enough time to spare for a checkup.”

“Sounds good to me,” Amelia said, and she followed Richter into the other smoking room, unable to stop herself from glancing down at her arms as she did.

How lamentable, that even after years of relaxing in her mother’s garden, she had never managed to tan herself a shade darker than pale. Though the truth didn’t stop Amelia from thinking Richter’s bedside manners were horrible. What kind of doctor assumed a patient’s condition without first asking questions? No wonder he’d never been able to get himself licensed.

“Please, sit,” Richter said, gesturing to a chair Amelia took since she remained unsure of how to go about announcing her true intentions.

Mulling the problem over, she watched Richter retrieve a stethoscope from his bag, which he wore, and a clipboard for jotting down notes.

“Name?” Richter asked.

“Amelia Strightsworth.” Amelia answered, knowing if she were to convince him, then eventually she would have to give him her name.

The scratching of Richter’s pen temporarily paused as he looked up in contemplation. “The Viscountess of Strightsworth? Daughter of the infamous, once Baron of Strightsworth?” he asked.

“The one and only,” Amelia said, ready to proudly laud her new title if it meant increasing her odds of converting the fellow. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise. Now, let’s start with your pulse,” Richter said, before he started to work. Commencing his examination of Amelia’s heart-rate first from the front, before doing the same with her back. His time spent listening to the beat only broken off for the occasional request that Amelia loudly cough.

The medical instrument felt cold, even against her clothes. Amelia felt time slowly drag as she continued to fail in coming up with a way to bring up what needed saying.

“You’ve a sound heart at least,” Richter observed.

“I’ve been putting it through a lot of exercise lately,” Amelia said, deciding to wait until the end of their exam to give Richter an offer, “Maybe it’s gotten stronger because of that?”

“Doubtful,” Richter said as he put on a pair of gloves, “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to continue.”

Amelia nodded, allowing Richter to begin feeling her lymph nodes, but mentally she grumbled and docked the good doctor more points on her internal bedside manner review. Only choosing not to give him a failing grade because of how little he talked between asking her to lift an arm here, and resist a pull there.

“Relatively weak,” Richter mused upon finishing a quick mouth inspection for dental decay. He wrote down what Amelia found to be a concerning number of details, “Tell me, has your body always been in such a poor state?”

“More or less?” Amelia answered, a bit upset from the assessment.

Richter breathed out of his nose in irritation, “Whoever your family doctor is, he’s a quack. When did he last do an internal diagnosis,” he asked, while rummaging in his large duffel doctor’s bag, “Testing, bloodwork, anything like that?”

“I had my blood drawn once, when I was little.” Amelia answered nervously, when Richter pulled out a syringe.

The sight of it motivated her enough to get to the real matter at hand.

“There’s actually another reason other than my health for why I sought you out,” Amelia said, holding up her hand to express the fact she didn’t want the needle anywhere near her. “You might think less of me for having done so under a false pretense, but I have a good reason.”

Richter frowned, though he lowered his syringe. “Then, what are you here for?” he asked, “I’m a rather busy man. Unless your request has to do with your health, I would prefer my time not be wasted.”

Amelia chose to strike at the heart of the issue. “The Marquess of Rutherford will betray you in the future,” she said, revealing what she knew from the Historian’s novel. “If things continue, he’s going to work you to the bone, and abandon you the moment he gets what he wants.”

A nervous pause fell between them as Richter considered her words.

“And what exactly do you think the Marquess wants from me?” Richter asked, moving closer as if doing so might let him read Amelia’s thoughts.

His change in attitude unnerved her. Richter’s eyes seemed to almost glimmer with excitement.

“You hope to synthesise an elixir, using blood blessed by God,” Amelia said, deciding it was too late to hold anything back.

Clapping his hands in delight, Richter’s face curved with a joy that made Amelia suddenly feel more like a test subject to be studied than a patient. “Marvelous,” Richter said, “Though I don’t see why an insignificant life such as my own would attract your attention. Sure, the Marquess might betray me, but what choice do I have? Without his capital, I am nothing but a dreamer… Or, are you hinting there’s another path I could take?”

His words gave Amelia courage. For in her hands was an offer which would surely convince him.

“I’m willing to trade,” Amelia said, feeling guilty for signing Grace up without having first informed her, “In exchange for the blood you need for your experiments, I want you to eschew the Marquess of Rutherford, and come work under my family’s name.”

Richter closed his eyes. He sat down on the edge of a desk. Idly tapping a finger against himself with both arms crossed in deep contemplation. Amelia waited. She waited, with such concentrated anticipation, that the noise of the door opening behind her went completely unnoticed.

“It’s certainly an appealing offer,” Richter said, opening his eyes to meet Amelia’s own, “In fact, I think I’m convinced. I think—” He paused, and Richter’s gaze rose a bit higher to somewhere beyond her, before he promptly shouted, “Stop! We were making a deal!”

A shadow fell over Amelia. She attempted to look for its source, only to spot in the corner of her vision the blurred movement of an object fast approaching her face. Unable to react, the blunt force made a dull, unpleasant noise as it struck her on the temple.

Amelia dropped like a rock. Barely cognisant of the brick with a reddened chipped edge that fell next to her on the floor, or the warm sticky trickle beginning to drip down the side of her head, tinting her vision of the man who had hit her.

Gregory Rutherford dragged a hand through his messy hair as he looked down on Amelia. His features were twisted in deep satisfaction. “To think I’d find you here,” he gloated, kicking Amelia’s leg to elicit a pained moan, “I knew you were stupid, but this is just sad. Better to put you out of your misery I say.”

He made to reach for her face. When all of a sudden, Richter stepped forwards to shove Gregory back, hard. “Get off her,” he growled, having placed himself between the Marquess’s son, and Amelia, who struggled unsuccessfully to move anything lower than her neck.

Something had broken. Of that she was certain. But the fact Richter was preventing Gregory from hurting her further allowed for some hope. That is, until Richter knelt down beside her, and continued talking.

“What were you thinking?” Richter said, sounding more irritated than irate, as he palpated the wound on Amelia’s head, “She’s no use to us dead! Why are you even here Gregory? Your father told you to stay low for a reason!”

Gregory scoffed, “Worried I’ll be taking the credit? We were going to take her anyway, why are you getting so upset now?”

“Because we were set to secure her on the day of the duel! Not today, you blithering fool! Just because your dad has trusted you with a few papers in the past, it doesn’t mean you can stick your nose into everything else!”

Returning to his bag, Richter pulled out a bottle. He unscrewed it, and began pouring its liquid onto Amelia’s face. Where it seeped into her skin, and began numbing the pain.

“Don’t kid me,” Gregory said to Richter, though his voice now contained a hint of hesitation, “My men told me the Baron of Strightsworth has gone off to meet with the king. Isn’t it you, who isn’t following my father’s plan?”

Richter threw the emptied glass bottle. It shattered at Gregory’s feet.

“We were testing whether Havoc would answer the king’s summons!” he said, the veins on his neck prominently displayed as he berated the other, “An arranged matter today, a false story tomorrow! How can we make it look like they’ve absconded the duel, if she goes missing now? How long do you think we can even keep her hidden for?!”

Their talk made Amelia wish she were dreaming. It didn’t seem as if Richter was acting in her defense at all. Wasn’t his greatest dream to create an elixir? Did he believe it was only a matter of time before the Marquess got his hands on the princess regardless of what she could offer?

She couldn’t even manage a proper ‘Why?’ as her body sunk deeper in numbness.

“Sorry, it’s just the way it is,” Richter remarked, while he began rolling up Amelia’s sleeve, “But don’t worry. I’ll make sure you’ll be comfortably sedated in the future when running tests. I swear to you now that your contribution to science will be as painless as it is crucial.” Taking hold once more of his syringe, Richter snapped at Gregory, “Well? Open the passage! If you’re going to ruin the plan, then it’s not going to be me who brings her to your father.”

Amelia watched Gregory drag his feet towards the smoking room’s fireplace. Where he stomped several times on the ashes in specific locations to click something below into place.

A portion of wall ground open, revealing a passageway leading deep into the earth.

Staring down the entrance to hell, Amelia felt a prick on her arm.

“Finally, I have it.” Richter said, reverently staring at the blood he had stolen, “Amelia Strightsworth, I’ll make sure your name will be included as a contributor once I make history… Having historians revere you is the least I can do.”

The talk of historians garnished Amelia’s thoughts with an awful conjecture.

“Me? M-My blood??” she managed to gurgle. Until now, the discrepancies in the Historian’s novel could have been attributed to misconceptions, or bias. But for Richter to take her blood, instead of Grace’s…

“Who else would I take from?” Richter answered, confirming her fears that the Historian had blatantly lied. “It isn’t someone else’s blood that’s been blessed by god, it’s yours,” he joked, with a smile that showed how quaint he found the idea.

“N-No, it isn’t,” Amelia said, imploring the alchemist for mercy, as Gregory picked her up and slung her over his back, “I’m weak. I’m not special. You’re m-making a m-m-mistake.”

“Shut up,” Gregory said, and he slapped her on the back loud enough for it to echo about in the room, “Even I know the king favors Havoc because of his blood.”

Rendered speechless, Amelia helplessly found herself searching for help as Gregory began carrying her towards the hidden passageway’s stairs. But for once, that small voice in her head, which so often tended to give little prompts of advice, was nowhere to be found.

As if it couldn’t bear to watch any longer.