Candle to the Devil / Chapter 5

Chapter 5

“My goodness doctor, but you are certainly tempting in that cravat.”

“If you make mention of my cravat and the effects it has on your person once more I shall strangle you with my stethoscope.” He replied, obviously flustered.

I liked it when he did that, when his pale face flushed. Like the man himself, the flush was orderly and procedural  starting at his ears and spreading inward to cover his cheeks and end at the tip of his nose. His lips trembled as he tried to think of something else to say. He busied himself with his medical bag.

I leaned back against the bed and watched. I really did enjoy that cravat, more than I care to say. I love it more when I’m dragging it off his neck with my teeth while he gasps softly, hands clutching my jacket sleeve.

            I know he doesn’t wear it solely for my enjoyment—although I am almost positive he knows the effect it has on me—but to cover the obvious love bites left on his skin. He’s so prim and proper, my doctor. It would be unprofessional for him to show that little bit of reddened skin to the public. Especially if they found out I was the one who gave it to him.

            He’d finished checking his medical bag and turned to me, wide eyes and heart shaped lips. “Stop staring at me like that! It’s unnerving. I have enough to do today without you stripping me with your eyes.”

            “What a pity, and you’d just gotten dressed too.” I replied airily, grabbing for the wine bottle on the bedside table. “Care for a drink before you leave?”

            “It’s six in the morning, at least try and wait until afternoon before you begin drinking. I don’t want to come back here with you smelling like Chardonnay and vomit.”

            “You’ll be coming tonight then?” I hoped I didn’t sound pleased. I hid my smile behind the rim of the wine bottle as I pressed it to my lips and tipped the bottle back. Sometimes he doesn’t return for weeks, too busy with his practice.

            I saw him shoot a sideways glance at the robe slipping off my shoulder before he swallowed and gave a curt not. “If there isn’t a backwash of cases I should be back by seven.” He paused, “…is that alright?”

            “I’ll find time for you.” I purred, leaning forward so that the robe pooled at my waist. “But you’d best hurry back or I won’t be able to stay away from that Chardonnay you mentioned.”

            He rolled his eyes and headed for the door.

            “Doctor.”

            He gave an exasperated sigh. “Oh what now? I need to leave now before I find some excuse to crawl back into bed.”

            I merely pointed, “You’ve forgotten your trousers.”

--From the thrilling New York Times best seller The Doctor and The Deviant, with special film adapted cover art for the early May movie release.

Sungkyunkwan University, Hanseong

Wednesday, 10:00am, March 30^th, 1858

Sehun didn’t talk much. At first people had mistaken his silence for haughtiness. The truth was that he had a lisp and it was embarrassing. But over time his silence—brought on by his fear of being teased—morphed into the cold elitism that they’d always assumed. So now when he talked no one mentioned the lisp.

            But that didn’t help his fear of public speaking, especially when he was the student chosen to give the welcoming speech for the 1^st year students.

            The ceremony had begun two hours ago and had consisted of an introduction of the professors—some of the professors were absent and an explanation was given that they had arrived the night before and were therefore recovering before classes the next day—and a compilation of rules and regulations as well as a welcoming speech from last year’s valedictorian.

            And now it was Sehun’s turn. He’d been chosen for several reasons, he knew. His father was Lord Oh and that meant it was imperative his son was given special treatment as befit his status. But it was also because Sehun had scored the highest on the entrance exam.

            He remembered standing amidst scattered applause, walking up to the golden filigree inlaid podium and pulling out the sheet of parchment he’d written his speech on. The applause faded awkwardly into silence and he cleared his throat, looking up over the crowd of faces.

            “Sungkyunkwan University was founded in 1304 during the Goryeo Dynasty as a symbol of intellect and the strive for excellence. It was formed to compete against the larger schools of Guozijian. These schools had formerly been renowned for their educational systems, for the upbringing of the nobility to the higher levels of enlightenment needed to properly govern a bright and prosperous nation.

            But China has fallen. It has become a husk of its former glory as the Afflicted ravage the land. Yet Sungkyunkwan has held firm! And whose fault is that? Some would say it is celestial fate.  The gods have chosen Joseon and so Joseon shall prosper.

            But I tell you it is not divine will or intervention. It is superiority. We took what the West gave us and we have made ourselves strong. Joseon shall survive where China shall not. That is the fate of those who do not possess the innate ability to change, endure, and succeed.

            This illustrious university has made its sole purpose the success of its students. Several of our alumni have gone on to study in the West, to become ambassadors, doctors, and teachers. It is true that our history does not span so far back as the illustrious Guozijian and its Taixue predecessors.

            But we have changed. We have endured. And we have succeeded. 

            With the greatness that has been bestowed upon us I hope that we, as the newest members of this university, shall seize upon that greatness and mold it to our will. Thank you.”

He gave a last nod and the majority of the student body got to their feet, clapping. He spotted a few students glancing around nervously—Chinese students most likely. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a small group stand and exit the auditorium.

            He had made enemies today.

            But he had also made his point, even if he had to sink as low as to praise the British to do so.

            He made his way back to his seat with a blank face, nodding at those that shook his hand and tried to greet him. He did not have time for them. He could tell already, these people were not the ones he had spoken of. They were not seizing greatness. They were trying to seize him and his favor.

            But perhaps that was greatness in its own right.

           

Haeju Weekly Press, Haeju

Tuesday, 11:22am, March 29^th, 1858

“Aish.” Baekhyun stumbled backwards and pain danced in front of his eyes, small bursts of white light as strong arms held him up from behind.

“It’s alright,” Chanyeol grunted, “Come on, Kyungsoo said that you have to stand. The muscles in your legs are going to weaken even more if you don’t start using them.”

Baekhyun didn’t care if he ever walked again so long as it meant never having to experience this kind of pain. Two days ago they had begun stretches to test out how well his new kneecap responded to his body. He had just gotten used to the constant buzzing sensation beneath his skin and the smell of that disgusting salve.

It hurt to bend his leg at all, and the buzzing only intensified with the movement. Or maybe that was just the pain amplifying everything, he wasn’t sure. His entire body ached from the stretches.

But that had been nothing compared to the feeling of placing his entire weight on his legs. At first he hadn’t felt anything at all. Chanyeol had grabbed him under the arms and eased him to his feet and he’d felt like he was floating on air.

And then his entire body weight slammed down with the force of a smith’s hammer and all he’d seen was white. A jolt of electricity shot up his spine, scalding, blossoming into waves of heat that spread across his back and under his ribcage.

Once he’d regained his ability to breathe he’d turned to the side and vomited.

It was embarrassing, because he’d puked all over Chanyeol’s pants leg and he could still smell it even though he refused to look and he was sure that Chanyeol wanted a bath. But the other man had been more concerned with keeping Baekhyun upright because that was what Kyungsoo had said was best for him.

Kyungsoo could have told him drinking sewage was good for him and he’d do it, Baekhyun was certain. Not that Baekhyun gave a damn what Kyungsoo ordered Chanyeol to do and what he complied with, as long as it didn’t involve him. This did, however.

“Just a little longer. Ease your weight onto your left leg.”

Baekhyun let out a grunt and did as he was told. Sweet relief, the feeling of a stable, human leg. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the throbbing that still presented itself with each rapid heartbeat.

“Now the right.”

No. No no no not the right, please no. Baekhyun took a deep breath and slowly braced himself.

The pain came quickly enough. His knee buckled—he almost heard the screech of metal—and for a moment he was surprised at how well the metal knee acted like his natural one—but then he was on the ground with Chanyeol sprawled atop him, elbow digging into his stomach.

“Sorry—aish are you ok?” Chanyeol was blubbering something but Baekhyun hardly heard it. It sounded like someone had stuffed cotton in his ears. Or maybe he was underwater and drowning. He flailed, trying to reach the surface. He broke free and—

“—oh god it’s bleeding it wasn’t supposed to start bleeding did I rip something? Hey, hey are you ok?” Chanyeol was shouting, the sound amplified by pain. His leg was wet. He gave a loud groan and sat up. There was a small dot of blood on his pants leg, probably just from the fall.

He found himself staring at the seat of his pants and the stain slowly creeping its way down his thigh. His face burned. He tried to stand but it hurt too much and he landed hard on his back.

“Hey, hey be careful—”

“Don’t touch me!” Baekhyun snapped, throwing off the helping hand.

Chanyeol blinked. He was still smiling that annoyingly garish grin of his but it looked strained, and his eyes were lost, like a puppy that had just brought its master a torn up shoe and didn’t understand what he’d done wrong.

He gave a little nod, “Ok. Maybe we should stop here for today. I have to finish up some errands for Jongdae.” He made to pick up Baekhyun to put him back on the bed but the other man threw him off again.

“I’m fine. I can make it to the bed!” Baekhyun ground out, “You’re not my nurse.”

Chanyeol gave another nod, looking lost, before the door closed and Baekhyun was left alone.

            This wasn’t working. How was he going to learn to walk again if he couldn’t even stand? No matter what Jongdae had said about getting a story out of him or the doctor waving off the medical bills it was only a matter of time before they decided to call upon him for what he owed them. He needed a job before they threw him into debtor’s prison.

Haeju Market Street

Tuesday, 1:34pm, March 29^th, 1858

            He needed more shoe polish.

            If Wu Fan had been more adventurous he would have asked one of the other foremen if there was any in the company reserves. The other foremen often took anything extra they could find. No one missed a bottle of shaving cream or a matchbox. But Wu Fan disliked asking for favors and he wasn’t welcome to them anyway.

            Besides, his favorite polish was sold by Mrs. Han, a Chinese immigrant who had come to Haeju six years ago with nothing but a recipe for dumplings and four li. She ran a small dumpling restaurant on market street, with a general store attached that was run by her son Geng.

            He liked the smell of the shop. The Chinese incense mixed with the dumplings and it was a comforting reminder of the home he no longer had. Mrs. Han was in the side room of the store, kneading dough when he entered. She glanced at him and gave a bright smile and called to him in Ji Lu mandarin, “Wu Fan! Is it your day off? What can I get you?”

            “Where is your son, auntie?” He glanced around the store and noticed that there was no one there.

            Mrs. Han gave a long suffering sigh. “He’s off somewhere.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “He’s been frequenting a gisaeng house down the way. I think he’s fallen in love with one of their haengsu.”

            That was surprising. Geng was a very level headed man and he wouldn’t waste the family’s small income on entertainment even if their store was seeing good business. Not only that, but a haengsu?

            Mrs. Han was shaking her head. “We don’t have time for it, or the coin. It doesn’t matter if she’s willing to see him or not we can’t afford it. And she’s only a gisaeng.” He knew Mrs. Han thought gisaeng below her, even if she was only a simple shopkeeper. She’d told him once that before she and her son had come to Haeju that they’d been nobility. He had a feeling that her family had probably been of a rich merchant class that had bought that nobility, judging from her tact with finances but he wouldn’t say so. She might raise the price of shoe polish just to spite him.

            He’d visited Haeju’s main gisaeng house on more than one occasion. He was a bit of a novelty to them, a Chinaman working for the British. And he was tall and had a handsome face, which made him sought after when he went. But he’d never been invited by any of the haengsu. They entertained yangban and only upon their own invitation.

            “Auntie let me get that for you,” He noticed her struggling with the large bowl filled with freshly made buckwheat noodles. She protested but he ignored her. She was his only friend in this god forsaken country, he would help her whether she wanted him to or not. Besides, he knew she secretly liked being pampered by handsome men. “Do you know the haengsu’s name?”

She frowned again. “No, no, I saw her once, walking down the street. Well, not walking. She was in a litter. The haengsu don’t walk on their own. But you should have seen Geng’s face.” She sighed again, sounding weary. “I know that look.” She grabbed a tin of shoe polish from the shelves behind her and placed it on the counter. “She was pretty, in a cold way. Strong features, haughty eyes. She won’t spare my boy a glance so I don’t have to worry I suppose. He’ll come back feeling heartbroken soon enough.”

Wu Fan gave a small smile before placing the coins on the table. “Here’s for the polish, auntie.”

She waved him off. “No, no, you helped me with the noodles. And I know you’re working too hard. I heard about the attack on the railroad.”

Wu Fan stiffened.

She reached over the counter and patted his cheek with a flour covered hand. “You are doing your best to live in this world. That is all any of us can do.”

No. No he hadn’t done his best. He’d done as little as was needed. He remained silent. “Keep the coins, auntie.” He walked out of the store with is polish before she could protest.  

            As he stepped out onto the street he found it more crowded then when he’d stepped inside. He politely pushed his way into the crowd and began the trek back to the railroad company. Perhaps he’d grab some ddeokbokki before he headed back.

            He was headed to the nearest ddeokbokki stall when he spotted them. It was easy, because two of them were as tall as he was. The first he saw he didn’t recognize, but he felt like he’d seen him somewhere before. He was motioning to the other two, pointing and making hand gestures to explain himself.

            The other two he knew immediately. Zhang Yixing and his younger brother Zitao.

            They were not meant to be here. They were not supposed to be alive. How on earth had they gotten out of the Deadlands? He ducked into the nearest alleyway and waited as they passed by, speaking in a mix of butchered Korean and Mandarin. The language barrier between the two brothers and their companion was obvious, but they looked content enough, carrying packages as he pointed out sights.

            How…this wasn’t possible.

House of Lords, Hanseong

Tuesday, 3:02pm, March 29^th, 1858

“Lord Great Chamberlain, you’ve come as well?”

Joonmyun turned at the voice and gave a small smile and a bow. “Yes, good day Lord Kim.” His smile faltered slightly as he noticed the Cabinet Secretary’s attire. He was dressed in the traditional red dalryeongpo, befitting his rank in court. His hyungbae showed both the civil officer’s symbol of the crane and the hopyo that signified military officers. Around his waist was a mother-of-pearl inlaid gadkae.

Was he mad? Everyone knew that to meet the British ambassador in Korean clothing was a slap in the face. He looked down at his own greatcoat and carefully polished boots and kid leather gloves.

Lord Kim caught his eye and gave a baleful smile. “I am not ashamed of my country, Lord Great Chamberlain.”

Joonmyun’s throat tightened. The Cabinet Secretary had made his opinions on the growing British influence in court obvious. Everyone knew he sided with Joseon’s king in all things. He was often called the King’s dog by those who disliked him. Whether he took pride in the name Joonmyun could not guess.

But this was a bold move even for a man in such a position as the Cabinet Secretary. Joseon’s king would be hard pressed to resolve the issue if Lord Kim offended Lord Bruce upon his arrival.

Joonmyun forced a smile upon his own face. He’d carefully crafted this smile, the one he had to use when he felt like screaming or crying or laughing. It was icy in its politeness. “Neither am I, Lord Kim. Did you ever doubt my loyalties to the crown?”

“Oh no,” Lord Kim replied smoothly, his smile still friendly as he inspected his sleeves. “…the British one, at least. I know how strong those loyalties are.” He added as an afterthought, so softly that only Joonmyun heard, not the lower ranked officers that had come with them to greet the ambassador.

Joonmyun flinched, but kept his smile in place. “I do what is best for my country.”

“I suppose we shall discover the truth behind those words soon enough.” Lord Kim continued amiably.

The lower officers had caught sight of Lord Kim’s attire and edged away from him, afraid to be associated with the man so deliberately calling attention to himself. Joonmyun thought them ridiculous. They all looked the perfect example of British nobility in their waistcoats and top hats. There was no way anyone would associate the two. He didn’t move from his place beside Lord Kim, although his hand tightened around his walking cane.

The sound of a bleating horn caught their attention and stopped the dangerous conversation before it began in earnest. The automobile carrying Lord Bruce was one of five in Hanseong and one of nine in all of Joseon. If Joonmyun remembered, this was the personal vehicle of the Lord High Chancellor. Joonmyun’s own sat in the garage attached to his manor house. He’d had no need to flaunt it around town. Besides, the fumes were noxious.

He was not surprised that the Lord High Chancellor had offered to use his own to pick up Lord Bruce from the hotel. It did irk him slightly, however. He had been in charge of Lord Bruce’s comfort during his stay in Hanseong. He had done everything in his power to keep the entire ordeal orderly and clean.

He hoped, at the very least, that Lord Bruce had stayed at the hotel suite he had reserved for him.

The vehicle pulled to a stop in front of the steps, a few yards from where the men stood. A driver opened his door and hurried around to the back. He was European, with blonde hair. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of goggles to keep the dust from his eyes.

Two men appeared out of the back seat. Lord Oh was easily recognizable. The second was Lord Bruce. He was a tall man, with a bushy beard the color of rust and a matching handlebar mustache  both peppered with gray. The lines around his mouth and eyes showed he laughed often. He had been fit once, board-shouldered and muscled, but in his later years he’d acquired a bit of a stomach and a second chin mostly hidden behind his beard.

Joonmyun and Lord Kim bowed as he stepped forward, and the lesser officers behind them hurried to do the same. Joonmyun straightened and caught Lord Oh’s gaze. The other man was smiling readily, a smug smile that Joonmyun disliked. He wanted to ask him why he’d decided to interfere with Joonmyun’s duties but he would not do so in front of Lord Bruce and others of the House of Lords. That would have been disrespectful to someone older than himself and so he held his tongue on the matter.

Lord Oh noticed Lord Kim and laughed brightly, “My, my,  but you certainly do stand out.”

Lord Kim gave another nod toward Lord Bruce, ignoring Lord Oh who had voiced the comment. “I know how interested Lord Bruce was in the traditions of Joseon’s court on his first visit to our capital.”

Lord Bruce’s eyes lit up. “Yes, yes I remember now. Is this the outfit you mentioned?”

“Yes sir.” Lord Kim continued smoothly, and Joonmyun didn’t fail to notice the tightness of Lord Oh’s jaw as he began to grind his teeth.

Lord Bruce laughed, “The color is quite noticeable, isn’t it? You’re Lord Kim aren’t you?”

The Cabinet Secretary gave a nod. “Yes, Lord Bruce. I am his majesty of Joseon’s Cabinet Secretary. I am pleased you remember.” He motioned toward Joonmyun. “This is Lord Kim, the Lord Great Chamberlain.”

Lord Bruce grabbed Joonmyun’s hand in his larger one and gave it a brisk shake. “Another Kim?”

“There is no relation sir.” Lord Kim nodded again. “He inherited the position this year after his father’s death.”

“I see, I see.” Lord Bruce nodded. “You were in charge of my lodgings, were you not?”

“I was, Lord Bruce.” Joonmyun felt a tingling at the back of his neck. Had something gone amiss?

“What a marvelous place. What is the hotel called?”

“The Palace of Pearls, Lord Bruce.”

“The food served was fantastic.” Lord Bruce praised. “You chose well.”

Joonmyun hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until he released it and felt winded. He gave a gracious smile and another nod of thanks. “I am glad you are enjoying your stay. If you have an request do not hesitate to tell me.”

“Shall we take a tour of the House of Lords now, Lord Bruce…” Lord Oh tried to steer the other man toward the steps, glaring icy daggers at Lord Kim.

Lord Bruce’s smile fell and he turned toward Lord Oh with a harsh look of his own. “The last time I was in Hanseong I mentioned an interest to you as well, Lord Oh, but when I arrived at the train station I found myself bereft of my curiosity. Perhaps you would do well to remember that.” He walked briskly up the stairs, the lower rank officers scrambling out of his way.

Lord Oh stiffened, before he stalked after the other man.

Joonmyun glanced at Lord Kim. The other man was still smiling. “It seems as if Lord Oh is losing favor. How unfortunate.”

As Lord Kim walked ahead of him up the steps, Joonmyun was left to wonder if Lord Kim had anything to do with the incident. Perhaps he should have taken Lord Kim’s nickname more seriously.

Dogs were frightening creatures when backed into a corner.

Sungkyunkwan University, Hanseong

Wednesday, 9:00am, March 30^th, 1858

Kyungsoo cleared his throat and shifted the large box in his arms. He looked down at his watch and tried to drown out the thrum of conversation on the other side of the door. Someone bumped into him, telling him to move out of the way as they walked inside.

Kyungsoo blinked and took a few steps back. He was the same age as half of these students—and younger than some—and the only reason he was the one standing in front of them lecturing was because he’d spent his entire educational life in British boarding schools and universities. If any of these students had been given the same opportunity they’d be doing the same thing—and probably doing it better.

He suddenly felt ten times more insignificant and a million times more nervous than he had two minutes ago. He also realized that he needed to prove himself. He took one last, deep breath and braced his shoulder on the door, pushing it open as he went.

The lecture hall was designed like a proscenium, with a large space at the front of the room and chairs that surrounded it in lines that rose upwards in the back. It was monstrously large and filled to the brim with students. He glanced briefly at the top tier, which he noticed was occupied by the older students, judging by the badges on their jackets. Then he looked to the podium and small table in the central space at the bottom, a few yards from the door where he stood.

This was not designed to be a medical lecture hall but it was the only one large enough for the majority of the student body. He began wondering how he would go about this lecture without the proper space and tools. Perhaps he could have a second table brought in?

No one paid him any attention as he walked up to the podium. The box in his arms was heavy and that, coupled with the complete disregard they were showing him, irritated him. He glanced around one last time before he let the box fall onto the small table with a loud bang.

The classroom went silent as all heads turned to the podium and therefore Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo had given presentations in front of entire lecture halls full of British scholars that thought he was an inferior human being. That made this a bit easier to handle. But what if they thought his knowledge was lacking? If he messed up they’d say he was a failure and that he should have given this chance of a British education to someone else.

He cleared his throat and tried to look less terrified than he felt. He knew his big eyes didn’t help. “Good morning. I am Dr. Do Kyungsoo, your professor for this lecture.”

No one looked like they believed him. He didn’t blame them. He busied himself with emptying the box to keep from looking at them. “I had the honor of riding the train here from Haeju. I recognize several of you from the ride.” He paused and glanced up, watching several people shift in their chairs. “I also overheard several of you complaining about having to take this mandatory lecture course.”

 Some of the students exchanged glances, now worried. What else had he heard on that train? They hadn’t suspected him because he hardly looked like a professor. He could see them mentally retracing their steps and trying to recall their conversations on board. He continued talking, walking to the front of the table.

“I cannot promise you that this will be interesting. Very few of you will find medical biomechanics half as fascinating as I do.” He heard a low exhalation of breath as most of the students tried to suppress groans. He ignored it, “But I can promise that it will be informative. And that is why you came to Sungkyunkwan, isn’t it? To become informed, intelligent individuals.”

He caught the eyes of a few students. The ones in the front few rows—first years—straightened in their seats. This was a good sign, at least. “I can see that some of you are older students. I hope that you will understand that I will be teaching this course under the assumption that you have no prior medical knowledge. I’ll apologize to the medical students now.”

There was a ripple of laughter that went through the lecture hall and he picked out the medical students and filed away the information for later. He clapped his hands together, glanced down at his pocket watch and noted the time, before he began the lecture in earnest.

“Long ago, there was a belief that base metals could be combined with heat and magic to create the most valuable thing in existence. Eternal life. This was the field of alchemy and alchemists lived and died striving to discover these secrets.

45 years ago, a doctor discovered that metal and heat could be combined to create just that. There was no elixir of life, but doctors discovered something else. The ability to give life back to those that had lost a part of it. An arm, a leg, even a lung. A mechanized lung.

We did not combine metal and heat and magic. We combined metal and circuitry and science. This, coupled with medical knowledge, has created the revolutionary process that has saved our dwindling populations in the throes of a deadly virus.

We can bring back what was lost. In a way, current doctors have become the alchemists of old. We cannot make people immortal, but we can do the next best thing. We can prolong the life you have.”

He paused for a moment and glanced around the lecture hall. They were all hanging on his words, waiting for what was to come next. He’d worked on this little opening speech for two weeks, and it was certainly fulfilling its purpose.

“So perhaps medical biomechanics does not interest you. But I am sure that if you were to lose a limb right now, you would thank your God that there are those that are interested. Because the skill to attach circuitry and gears to nerves and bone is not easily developed.

My lectures will focus on the process of biomechanics in attaching artificial limbs. Anything beyond that will be far too advanced for the non-medical students here. I will touch on the very basic concepts of nerve circuitry. Assignments will be given every two weeks and will consist of written responses to questions I will give during lecture. I suggest taking extensive notes.”

Some of the students weren’t pleased with this. They exchanged glances, looks that told him they thought this lecture was a waste of their time. They weren’t all medical students after all.

But even the most basic of knowledge could save a life, and that was Kyungsoo’s purpose. To save lives, even if he wasn’t physically operating on them.

“Surgeons were once called glorified butchers. They killed more than they saved. Alchemists fed their clients quicksilver and unknown concoctions and drove them mad. Somehow we have learned to combine aspects of the past with the innovations of the present to create a field of study that can truly be called medicine.

But before we can understand how this new technology works, you must understand the body in its basic form.” He grabbed a roll of paper from his box and unraveled it to reveal a detailed sketch of the human body.

“We will begin with the skeletal system.”

[A/N: I realized that I use a bit of vocabulary that you might not be familiar with, so I decided that if there is anything I think might need explanation I will add it into a footnote section at the bottom of each chapter. If there is anything I forgot to place here that you need explained feel free to ask me.]

Footnotes:

Dalryeongpo: the traditional court attire for court officials. The color denotes rank. Red is for 1^st senior to 3^rd senior rank. Blue for 3^rd junior to 6^th junior rank. Green for 7^th junior to 9^th junior rank.

Hyungbae: a rank badge made up of embroidered cloud patterns and animals. Hyungbae with two animals are reserved for 1^st to 3^rd rank.

Gakdae: a belt typically worn by royalty. Can also refer to a simple sash.

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Candle to the Devil: Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Medicine in the 1800s was a hodgepodge of techniques, both good and disastrous. It was the turning point within medical history, on the cusp of scientific innovation. Medical practitioners were often teetering on that very same ledge; performing complicated biomechanical surgeries one day and phlebotomy the next. Where the line was drawn between superstition and science is unknown.

--excerpt from museum pamphlet entitled Medicine Through the Ages

Haeju Weekly Press

Sunday, 7:12am, March 20^th, 1858

Everything hurt, but he couldn’t feel the pain. He knew it was there, that his entire body throbbed, but all he felt was a dizziness that made him want to vomit. His throat was dry, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth, and he coughed as he slowly opened his eyes.

The light stung so he closed them again but the throbbing in his body intensified in the dark—he could feel it now—and he found himself staring groggily up at a wooden ceiling. Where was he?

He should be dead, shouldn’t he? The horse…and then Afflicted. The Afflicted! He tried to sit up but a firm hand shot out from his left and pressed him gently back down. Baekhyun didn’t know who this person was, with their wild curls and a cheerful smile plastered to his face. “You’re awake.”

Baekhyun blinked again and shifted on the bed, only to illicit a frown from the man now looming over him. “Hey, I was told not to let you move. Doctor’s orders.” His voice was deep, it didn’t fit him. And it was too loud. At least, it felt loud, like he’d cupped his hands to Baekhyun’s ear and begun yelling in them.

He was going to vomit. “Where am I?” He managed to bite out, “How did I get here?” This didn’t look like a surgeon’s office or a hospital.

            “Your friends brought you.” The man sat back in a chair that had been pulled alongside the bed. It creaked, and the sound echoed behind Baekhyun’s eyelids.

            “Friends?” He didn’t have friends.

            “The two Chinese guys. They’re with Jongdae right now.”

Two Chinese…he was beginning to remember. Someone had grabbed him before he’d fallen completely. The two brothers. They’d saved him? Why? And why did it matter? He’d never be able to walk again. He looked down at his legs and his brow furrowed.

He still had two legs. “…how…?” He croaked out, ending in a coughing fit.

The man beside him hurriedly grabbed for a glass of water on the side table. He propped Baekhyun up and lifted the cup to his lips, looking worried. “How what?”

“My leg.”

“What about it?” The other man didn’t seem to understand what Baekhyun was asking. “Kyungsoo fixed it.”

Fixed it? You couldn’t fix something like that.

“Well, he replaced it.” The other man recanted, “He couldn’t save your knee so he rebuilt it.” He held up his hands with a bright smile, “but don’t worry, Kyungsoo is a good doctor. Your leg will be good as new. You won’t be able to tell the difference.”

            Baekhyun scoffed. His leg was swollen, wrapped under what felt like miles of linen and salve. He didn’t understand how he’d be able to walk again, not like this. And what did he mean rebuilt? How could you rebuild something like that? How was he going to pay for it? He didn’t have money to pay a doctor. He couldn’t afford his own mother’s medicine, how would he be able to pay for a new knee?

            “Kyungsoo said that in a week or so we can start getting you up and practice walking with your new kneecap.” The other man held out his hand to shake, “I’m Park Chanyeol, by the way.”

            “…Byun Baekhyun.”  He didn’t take the hand offered him. He turned his head and glanced around the room. It was well-built and although sparsely furnished the furniture looked well made. “Where am I?”

            “Haeju Weekly Press!” Chanyeol said proudly, still grinning like an idiot.

            Haeju Weekly Press…the name sounded vaguely familiar. Baekhyun couldn’t afford newspapers and he couldn’t read, so he’d never paid attention to the names. But that one was one he’d definitely heard before. Ah, that’s right, they’d run a story on the illegal smuggling of firearms by the local constable.

            But the real question became why he was at a newspaper office in the first place? It didn’t seem like a likely place for a doctor to be, and even less likely for the two Chinese men to know anyone here.

             The door opened and a young man with wide eyes walked into the room, rolling up his sleeves as he went. He paused upon seeing Baekhyun awake and then looked to Chanyeol, “What are you doing in here?”

            Chanyeol scratched the back of his head with a sheepish smile. “I wanted to check up on him.”

            Kyungsoo gave a small smile before he turned to Baekhyun. “I’m doctor Do Kyungsoo, the doctor who performed your surgery. How are you feeling?”

            Baekhyun swallowed, “…nauseous.” And panicked. More than a little panicked. He couldn’t afford this. What was going to happen now?

            Kyungsoo gave him a sympathetic, knowing look before he pulled back the blankets. “That’s to be expected. The medication I gave you to dull the pain was very strong but it makes you feel out of sorts for a while.” He glanced at the bandages surrounding Baekhyun’s leg before he reached into his bag—Baekhyun hadn’t even seen him bring it in, the pain medication must have been very strong—and pulled out a pair of scissors. “I need to check to see how your leg is doing.”

            Baekhyun gave a weak nod and tried not to flinch away when the doctor began cutting through the bandages. He tensed and his leg muscles twitched, sending a sharp pain up his body that made him hiss.

            Kyungsoo began to peel away the bandages before he caught Baekhyun’s eye and gave another reassuring smile. “It’s going to look bad because the skin hasn’t healed completely. Don’t get discouraged.”

            Bad was not the word that Baekhyun would have used to describe his leg. Horrific was a more fitting term. The skin from his thigh to his calf was a mosaic of purple and jaundiced yellow, and it was covered in a thin whitish coating that he supposed was some kind of salve. It had dried in some places, turning into a chalky powder. In others it had clotted atop his skin like curdled milk. It smelled like it looked, and his nauseous returned tenfold. He gripped the edge of the mattress to steady himself.

Where his knee should have been there was a series of interlocking bent, metal plates. He could see the edges of wires before they disappeared behind swollen, bruised skin. It felt almost like his knee was vibrating—a soft hum, like the buzzing of a wasp.

            “Once the swelling goes down I’ll be able to check the wires.” Kyungsoo had placed a delicate hand atop the device, his other hand touching the inside of Baekhyun’s thigh as he stared with a thoughtful frown, head cocked to one side. “You’re healing up quite nicely. There is no sign of infection and your body has taken to the circuitry well. I’ll give you another shot of penicillin and some laudanum to dull the pain before I redress the bandage.”

“I can’t pay. I don’t have any money.” Baekhyun bit out.

            Kyungsoo blinked. “Alright.” He went back to his medical bag and pulled out a small box, which he opened and began fiddling with.

            Baekhyun stared. “That’s it?” That couldn’t be it. He’d been given a new knee—and medicine. Medicine was expensive, especially penicillin. He’d heard about that before—it was a new; it was said that it could cure everything. It must have cost a fortune!

            Kyungsoo had pulled out a needle from the small box and a bottle with words in English stamped across the label. “I willingly took on the surgery myself, so any costs for the treatment are mine.”

            Bullshit, Baekhyun wanted to yell. Only rich people could afford to pay for this kind of thing and the rich never did anything out of the goodness of their hearts, especially not for someone like him. There had to be some hidden agenda.

            “The skin is tender so this might hurt.” Kyungsoo warned as he placed his hand on Baekhyun’s leg before pressing the needle against the skin. It did hurt. Chanyeol had to grab his leg to keep him from injuring himself as Kyungsoo nearly lost his grip on the needle. It felt like Kyungsoo had injected liquid fire under his skin. It crawled up his thigh and into his abdomen.

            “Alright, you can let go now Chanyeol.” Kyungsoo answered softly and he placed the needle down beside the box it had come in. He looked to Baekhyun, “I can give you the next shot in your arm, so don’t worry.”

            Baekhyun swallowed back a retort. He wasn’t scared it just hurt like hell!

            “This salve is something I made myself,” Kyungsoo continued, pulling out a jar of what looked like slime. “It helps with the electric circulation and keeps down the swelling around the mechanic joints.” He made a face, “It smells horrible though.”

            So that was what he’d smelled. Before he’d thought his leg was rotting off. He knew what flesh rot smelled like and it had been eerily similar. Kyungsoo unscrewed the lid and Chanyeol groaned, pulling his shirt collar up to cover his nose. Baekhyun pressed his sleeve against his face—only then realizing that he was wearing some kind of cotton shift and not his hanbok.

            Kyungsoo didn’t seem bothered by it. The only indication he smelled it at all was a brief wrinkling of his nose before he scooped out a handful of the stuff and placed it on Baekhyun’s knee. It was cold, like a night in the middle of winter without a fire, and he shivered unconsciously.

            “Chanyeol, can you help me lift his leg? I need to wrap it.” Kyungsoo had already finished, wiping his hands on a towel from the end table. “We’ll try and make this as painless as possible.”

            That was no reassuring.

            By the time Kyungsoo finished wrapping his leg and had given him a shot of laudanum he was near delirious with pain. Chanyeol pressed a cup of water to his lips and he drank greedily.

            Kyungsoo and Chanyeol spoke for a moment but Baekhyun didn’t catch what they said before the door closed and Kyungsoo had left. Baekhyun blinked wearily, trying to stay conscious.

            “Kyungsoo went to get us some food. You’ve only had some broth we spoon fed you while you were unconscious. Kyungsoo says you need to eat well if you’re going to get better.” Chanyeol helped prop Baekhyun up with pillows, grinning brightly, as if he hadn’t just seen the horror that was Baekhyun’s leg.

            “I really can’t pay.” Baekhyun reiterated.

Chanyeol shrugged. “Kyungsoo has enough money. He’s pretty rich.” Baekhyun recalled Kyungsoo’s clothes and supposed that was true enough. He’d dressed like a British noble—or at least how Baekhyun expected a British noble to dress.

            He remembered what Chanyeol said about food and only then realized how hungry he was. Unfortunately he wasn’t sure he could keep anything down, not with the smell of that disgusting poultice floating through the room.

Haeju Weekly Press

Sunday, 9:10am, March 20^th, 1858

           

The water was hot, almost scalding. Yixing hadn’t had a hot bath since they’d left China. He wanted to sit in the tub and soak and never get out, except that the tub was terribly crowded with his leggy brother scrunched into the other side.

            At first, Yixing had suggested taking separate baths but Zitao had pointed out that hot water was expensive and they didn’t know if they were going to be charged for it. It had taken much coaxing for Yixing to get him to take the hot bath at all.

            They had no money and no job prospects. Even now, Yixing was certain that they were going to be thrown out of the house. Now that Jongdae knew they didn’t have any money to repay his kindness he would certainly send them on their way.

            Zitao’s knee bumped against his own as he reached for the bar of soap his brother held.

            “If we can’t pay they’ll send us to debtor’s prison.” Yixing scrubbed his arm furiously, watching the skin redden.

            “Tonight we should leave.” Zitao whispered. They had overstayed their welcome, he was certain. Jongdae hadn’t questioned them on what they were going to do and he’d allowed them to stay in his home for three days now. It didn’t make sense and Zitao knew that Jongdae’s kindness would come to an end soon. Besides, the other man had woken them up that morning and told them to take a bath and then come downstairs to discuss what they were going to do next.

            It was time.

            “Where will we go? We can’t run away. That’s against the law.” Yixing looked at his younger brother in confusion.

            “…I don’t want to die here.” Zitao swallowed, voice cracking. “I want to go home.”

            “…Zitao…”

            “Gege, what are we going to do?” Zitao had meant it when he’d said he had no intentions of returning to the railroad company, especially now that they knew they’d been cheated completely. But the reality of what he’d said had finally sunk in. They had nothing to their name, they would starve to death or worse, die of some horrid disease in the cramped debtor’s prison if Jongdae turned them in. They had to run away to survive. Perhaps they could find work somewhere else…there HAD to be somewhere else.

            His hand shook, and his brother noticed—Yixing always noticed—and he laced his fingers with his own and rested their foreheads together. “Xiǎodì, I will protect you.”

            “Who is going to protect you?” Zitao asked brokenly.

            Yixing didn’t answer. He unhooked their fingers and climbed out of the tub. He glanced at the clothing that Jongdae had given them to wear. Western clothes. Would they have to pay for those as well?

            He heard water splashing behind him and knew that Zitao had gotten out of the bath as well. He reached for a towel and began drying his hair.

            Jongdae and the doctor were sitting at the table when they came in from the bathhouse, fully clothed and entirely uncomfortable. The doctor looked slightly better than the last time they’d seen him, falling asleep at the table after a night of surgery. He’d been busy the past few days checking up on the injured boy and making house calls. They’d barely seen him.

“Ah, here they are.” Jongdae gave the two a crooked smile. “Come and join us for breakfast.”

The two sat silently at the table, heads down. This would probably by their last meal here. They were about to be told to leave. No one was nice enough to let three people live in their house without payment. Perhaps they’d let the Korean boy stay because he was injured but the other two were perfectly healthy.

“There will be more job opportunities in Hanseong.” Kyungsoo stirred his tea. “I’m planning on buying property as well. I’ll need someone to help with the upkeep and moving. That would give them something to do for a while until they found a job.”

He was too nice. Jongdae watched Kyungsoo and wondered if people like him could really exist. He waited for the two Chinese men to respond until he remembered that they didn’t speak Korean and therefore had no idea what Kyungsoo had just said.

“How soon would they need to move?” Jongdae asked the doctor. He realized that although Zitao and Yixing did not understand what was being said they were paying rapt attention.

Kyungsoo shrugged. “I’ll need to find a house first. I have my own quarters at the University but I would need to find alternative housing for them if they came with me right away. Besides that the tracks aren’t complete.”

“So they’ll be here awhile?”

“If you need money to house them…” Kyungsoo began, but Jongdae waved him off, “I’m more worried about the police barging in and executing us all for fear of infection. It isn’t safe here for them.”

Kyungsoo sighed, even as he began piling food atop a silver tea tray. He’d been worried about that as well. When he’d gone out for house calls he’d listened or any news of the incident. No one had heard anything, and that was what shocked him. Had the men at the gate not said anything for fear of getting in trouble?

“What are you doing, by the way?” Jongdae asked, looking over the food that Kyungsoo had amassed.

“Chanyeol and Baekhyun-ssi haven’t eaten yet. I thought I’d bring them up some food after their stomachs settled.” Kyungsoo motioned toward the tray. “Would you ask them about Hanseong?” Kyungsoo smiled at the two Chinese boys before heading up the stairs, tray in hand.

            Jongdae nodded, watching the doctor leave. It couldn’t be possible. He couldn’t figure Do Kyungsoo out and that bothered him. Jongdae liked to know what he was dealing with. There wasn’t such a thing as inherently good people, he knew that. So what was Do Kyungsoo?

            He’d think about it later, mull it over with a cup of brandy. Right now he had his two Chinese men to deal with. How on earth had he agreed to house all of these people? He felt like the owner of an orphanage, not a newspaper editor. He shook his head before turning to Zitao and Yixing. “Are you two attached to Haeju?”

            Yixing felt his stomach drop. Was that his way of saying they were going to send them back to China? No. No they couldn’t go back there. They’d die if they went back. He remained silent. His throat had constricted painfully.

            “We’re not going back to China.” Zitao whispered, almost fearfully, as if waiting for Jongdae to begin yelling. It really surprised Yixing sometimes, how his brother could go from fearless to fearful so quickly.

            Jongdae blinked, and slowly a smile spread across his face. It was a crooked smile, but not unkind. “I never said you were. I was talking about Hanseong.”

            “…Joseon’s capital?”

            Jongdae gave a curt nod. “The doctor is heading to Hanseong once the trains are up and running. He is buying some property in the city and needs someone to maintain it for him. He offered you the job until you find other accommodations in the city.”

            A…job…? Had he heard correctly? They weren’t kicking them out they were…giving them jobs? Yixing’s usual stoic mask fell, brow furrowing. He looked to his brother. Zitao looked like he hadn’t understood what was said. Their eyes met and Zitao shook his head. This was a trap. It wasn’t real. Something had to be wrong.

            “He said it would be basic things like moving equipment and cleaning the house while he was out. Of course you won’t be able to move in right away. He has to go and buy a home first and then he’ll send for you.” Jongdae continued as if he hadn’t seen the looks of disbelief etched on the brothers’ faces. “…well?”

            “What would we do before then?” Yixing asked calmly, feeling anything but. “You said he won’t have a house right away. We would have to wait somewhere.” That was the catch, wasn’t it? They’d be kicked out before then and they’d die before they had a chance to take the doctor up on his offer. They were being cheated again.

            Jongdae bit his bottom lip, “Well, I have room here, for the time being. You can pay for your board by running errands for me. After all, meals aren’t free.”

            No, no they weren’t, and that was why none of this made sense. Running errands to pay for room and board? That didn’t add up. But they had no other options. Under the table his brother sought his hand and gripped it tightly. He was shaking. That’s right, he had to take care of Zitao. He’d promised to protect him. “…can we think it over?”

            “Of course, no hurry.” Jongdae grabbed for a roll. “But I am going to ask you to do a little job for me in exchange for those clothes, if that’s alright.” He motioned to the ones they were wearing with his butter knife.

            Zitao and Yixing exchanged glances. “…what kind of job?”

            Jongdae’s grin stretched.

Baggerby and Green Railroad Company

Sunday, 2am, March 27^th, 1858

            Wu Fan found himself awake and staring at his ceiling. He glanced at the clock on the wall in the half light. 2am. He sighed and turned on his side. This had become a common occurrence ever since he’d come back from the Deadlands.

            If he slept, all he saw was shadowed eyes staring at him with uncontrolled hatred. Two days before new immigrants had arrived. He’d met tem at the docks and he’d looked at all of them in hopes of a familiar face and it had struck him that he was an idiot. They were dead. He had left Zhang Zitao and his brother in the Deadlands and they would never come back.

            There had been a rumor. A city guard had told a drunken tale of two Chinese survivors that had managed to come home unharmed with an injured boy before disappearing back into the city. The story was never confirmed, and the other guards had shut him up quickly before questions could be asked.

            He had hoped, for a small moment, and then he’d wondered why he hoped at all. All he knew of the two brothers were their names. They weren’t close, they had never been friends. They had never spoken directly to one another. It had always been him shouting orders and the immigrants blindly obeying.

            So why did he look for Zhang Zitao every time new Chinese immigrants arrived at the barracks? He was getting soft.

            The track had been repaired. They’d spend a few days on cleanup duty with the new recruits before they’d sent them out to finish the job that their predecessors had begun. Once more Wu Fan sat atop his horse with a gun in his hand and no intention of firing it. Only this time there were no attacks. The Afflicted had gone back into the forest, probably to feed off of whatever wild game was left.

            The trains would be functional come morning. The station had been overrun that afternoon with people demanding tickets. Most had been students and professors at Sunkyungkwan. Those with receipts from their past tickets were able to redeem them for the first train out that morning.

            It always surprised Wu Fan how foolish people were, to believe that sitting in a metal box would save them from the Afflicted if they attacked. Well, as long as the train kept moving they’d be fine, he supposed. He certainly didn’t care. If they died, they died.

            All Wu Fan needed was himself.

            “Son, no one is ever going to do anything for you that you can’t do for yourself, and they’re going to expect something out of it. So don’t rely on anyone. Use your own skills and survive because no one is going to risk their lives for you. Everyone is looking out for themselves. Don’t forget that.”

            Wu Fan gave a small groan and sat up. There was no point in trying to sleep now. He tugged on his boots and grabbed his jacket, throwing it over his shoulders as he opened the door into the pitch black hallway.

            No one else was up so there was no reason for any lamps. He’d fallen asleep with a gas lamp burning, but it didn’t take long for his eyes to adjust to the new level of darkness. He walked down the hall and out into the night.

            The stars were out, small pinpricks of white on a black canvas. A soft mewling cut through the silence and he looked down to see a cat staring up at him, golden eyes glinting. It began to curl around his legs, still mewling.

            “I don’t have any food.” He replied, feeling foolish for talking to a cat. He tried to shake it off by nudging it lightly with its boot but that did not deter it. The cat merely curled itself tighter around his ankles.

            “Ramsey’s dog will kill you if he finds you. He loves chasing cats and ringing their necks. You had better leave.” He’d seen the dog come bounding up to the foremen barracks with a kitten in its jaws just the other day.

            Now that he thought about it, this cat looked eerily similar. “Was that your baby?” He reached down and scratched it behind the ears, feeling the purr travel from his fingertips up his hand. “You must have been Chinese in a past life. Even the Korean dogs are trying to kill us.”

            The cat slowly unwound itself from his legs and scampered a few feet away, turning back to see if he was watching. He raised an eyebrow. “Go on, I’m not going to follow you.” He didn’t have time for cats. The cat gave one last meow before slinking off into the darkness.

Haeju Weekly Press

Sunday, noon, March 27^th, 1858

            The door creaked open and Baekhyun gave a bright smile, “Good morning…oh.” He blinked, smile falling a bit as the person who entered gave a wolfish grin.

            “I’m sorry I’m not who you were expecting.” Jongdae held out a tray, “But I did bring food to make up for it.”

            “Where’s Chanyeol?” He tried not to sound too let down. He’d gotten used to Chanyeol over the week; comfortable with him. Chanyeol was simple, like him. With the way Kyungsoo and Jongdae dressed, it was easy to tell they were above him even if they didn’t act it. Chanyeol said that Jongdae was rich but he wasn’t noble but there was something about him that made Baekhyun uncomfortable. They weren’t commoners like him, but Chanyeol was.

            “He took the doctor to the train station to see him off. He left for Hanseong today.”

            Left? But doctor Kyungsoo couldn’t leave, they were going to begin his physical therapy today! He was supposed to begin walking! What if something went wrong?

            “The doctor checked you over last night and said you looked fine. He taught Chanyeol the stretches you’re supposed to do,” Jongdae snickered, reading the panic in his eyes. “You’ve gotten pretty comfortable here.”

            Baekhyun stiffened. It sounded oddly like a threat even though he knew it wasn’t. It was just…he had a hard time believing any of this had happened. People weren’t nice so how come he was being treated this way?

            Even those two Chinese had been kind, and he’d done nothing to deserve that.

            “They didn’t have to save me.” I cursed them. I hated them. Even if they didn’t understand the words, they should have known how I felt. But the two Chinese had saved him. The rich doctor had healed him. Jongdae was housing him. And none of them were demanding payment.

            Was he the only cruel, untrusting person here? He always thought everyone was as bitter as he was. He wasn’t comfortable with his revelation.

            Jongdae watched him closely, before he gave a laugh, as if reading Baekhyun’s thoughts. “Oh, you don’t have to worry. Everyone is just as selfish as you are.” He smiled. “Yixing and Zitao did it to prove a point. That they weren’t like the British. I’m sure they contemplated abandoning you more than once. Doctor Do wanted to maintain his image as a selfless, caring doctor. He only did his duty as a physician. You can be sure if he couldn’t afford to restock his supplies he would have charged you, kind hearted or no.”

            “And you?”

            Jongdae grinned. “I get a story out of all this.” He spread out his hands. “So don’t worry. We’re all in it for ourselves.”

            It was oddly comforting, his words. It meant he wasn’t the only one looking out for himself. Everyone was just like he was. He didn’t know if it was the truth or not, but it helped.

            “What about Chanyeol?” Baekhyun asked, because Jongdae hadn’t mentioned him.

            “Chanyeol? He just loves cleaning chamberpots.” Jongdae teased, and Baekhyun flushed. Chanyeol had offered to help him when he needed to use the restroom since he couldn’t get out of bed. It was probably what had brought the two closer together. Having someone share in something as personal—and mortifying—as relieving himself certainly strengthened bonds.

            Jongdae stood with a sigh. “Well, I have a paper to edit. Don’t think you’re getting off the hook, I still have to interview you too.” The door closed behind him and Baekhyun was left alone again.

            He leaned back against his pillows and looked around the room that had become a second home to him. His only home now, really. Jongdae had informed him that he couldn’t just go back and continue living his normal life. If the government of Haeju found out that he was still alive they would hunt them all down for fear of infection. It was only through the grace of the cowardice of the gate guards that they’d survived this long.

            There wasn’t much for him to go back to, he supposed, but he worried about his mother. Kyungsoo had gone a few days ago to check on her and given her some medicine. Baekhyun was going to pay him back for it. He’d pay him back for his leg too, once he got the money.

            He didn’t know how he was going to do it, but he would.

            Byun Baekhyun was indebted to no one.

Hanseong Central Station, Hanseong

Tuesday, 8:22pm, March 29^th, 1858

The train station was busier than he had expected. He stepped off of the platform into a throng of shouting bodies. The air felt thicker in Hanseong; dirtier. Perhaps it was because there was no breeze from the ocean to sweep away the exhaust from smokestacks. It reminded him of London.

He was beginning to miss Haeju already. He hadn’t wanted to leave, especially with Baekhyun just beginning to walk again. But there was nothing he could do. He had a commitment to keep.

Speaking of commitments, a carriage was supposed to be waiting for him when he arrived. Unfortunately he couldn’t see over the top hats and plumed bonnets of the crowd so he had no idea if one was waiting or not.  

“Dr. Do! Dr. Do!”

Kyungsoo looked around for the source of the voice through the chaos. He was shoved from behind and lost his footing. There was a moment of terrifying realization that he would be trampled to death, but he was grabbed from behind and righted.

“Keep moving.” A voice murmured in his ear as he was lead through the crowd by strong hands. He tried to glance back but as he was jostled all he saw were full lips and a top hat.

By the time they exited the station Kyungsoo was out of breath and a migraine was forming just behind his eyes. His rescuer let go of his arm and gave him a long stare. “Shall we get going?”

Kyungsoo frowned. Was this the man that was supposed to pick him up? No, impossible. This man was too well-dressed. Well, it wouldn’t do not to introduce himself…Kyungsoo began searching his pockets for his business card. He glanced up to see the other man watching him oddly. Maybe they didn’t exchanged business cards in Joseon? He felt a bit foolish now.

“My carriage is over there.” The other man motioned down the street.

“Your carriage?” Kyungsoo’s wide eyes widened even more. Was this man giving him a ride? “Thank you!” It didn’t cross his mind that the other man could be a serial killer or a mugger. Kyungsoo just wanted to get to the University and begin preparing for his first lecture.

They settled into the carriage and Kyungsoo smiled brightly at the other man. “Could you take me to Sunkyungkwan University, then?”

The other man paused, and his smooth smile faltered for a moment. If Kyungsoo had been looking closer he would have seen the disbelief etched on those sultry features, but he was much too preoccupied with worrying whether his trunk would arrive safely ahead of him. That was when a low, steady laugh filled the carriage and the man’s shoulders shook, “Yes.” He finally nodded with a last chuckle. “Of course.”

“Thank you again.” Kyungsoo smiled. “This is my first time in Hanseong so I wasn’t sure if there would be carriages for rent like in London.”

“London?”

“Yes.” Kyungsoo nodded amicably. “I studied medicine there. Oh I haven’t introduced myself. Dr. Do Kyungsoo.” He held out his hand to shake. There was a brief moment where he wondered if they shook hands in Joseon to greet one another and was just about to pull back when the other man leaned forward languidly. His hand was warm as he shook Kyungsoo’s and he let go with a gentle flick of his wrist. “Kim Jongin, at your service.”

Jongin. A nice name. “I had not expected such a warm reception, especially from a stranger. You are very kind.”

Jongin’s smile tilted his full lips and it was almost mocking. “You give me too much credit, I’m sure.” He leaned back in his seat and watched Kyungsoo through half-lidded eyes. “If you studied in London why did you return here?”

“I missed home.” Kyungsoo shifted his umbrella in his lap.

It was a normal, civil conversation and it ended as pleasantly and artificial as it began. Soon the carriage slowed to a stop. “We must have arrived.” Jongin opened the door for Kyungsoo and he stepped out. He turned to say thank you one last time—and pay for the service—but the carriage was already lurching forward. He watched it travel down the street.

Then he gave a small sigh. That had been quite an odd experience, but a pleasant one.

A man at the gate looked him over. “Who are you, sir?”

“Dr. Do Kyungsoo.”

“Your trunk arrived just now.” The man nodded. “Come with me.”

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