Candle to the Devil Chapter 12

            While the government within the Walled Cities did their utmost to keep the cities safe, several cities fell to the Afflicted. Jeonju and Hamheung were early casualties, from both lack of security and the speed of which the virus spread. Soon it became apparent that other measure would need to be taken to not only ensure that the cities remained safe, but to protect the remaining lives of those in the other cities in case of an outbreak.

            Officials agreed that the best way to protect the other cities was to reduce the number of Afflicted left behind after a city was breached. This meant, however, devising a cruel and ruthless system. Once a city was breached, it was nearly impossible to stop the invasion and curb the number of casualties. Only one recordation of such a feat was the city of Beijing, during the early Walled Cities Period where an outbreak from an infected railroad worker was systematically culled by authorities and an entire area of the city put in quarantine for weeks.

            Some cities tried to devise inner walls that could be closed to keep infection contained. This proved to not only be costly, but it also led to several riots over where these walls were to be made and whether or not the nobility could build their own walls to protect areas of interest and leave the common folk largely unprotected. Only one city successfully used the multiple inner wall system in Asia; Kolkata the capital of the Indian state of West Bengal.

            It later came to pass, that an efficient and ruthless device could be used to quickly eradicate life within an infected city. These devices were named Incineration Towers. Placed strategically within the city and connected through an underground system, triggering only one of these devices would lead to the destruction of everything within the walls. Once an Incineration Tower was activated, the heat conducted within these tower-like devices would surge through the underground systems of highly flammable liquid that would then set the city aflame. The system dictated that there were engineers at each tower day and night to initiate the city’s incineration in case of an outbreak.

            These devices, while sinister, could have been a defining factor in the ending of the RCN viral strain, though their usage is still very much in debate in higher circles. While some argue that the deaths of those within the city walls led to the success and well-being of those within uninfected cities, others say that the devices were inhumane and meaningless in the overall fight against RCN.

-excerpt from And the Flames Ever Burned by Melissa Chung

Chapter 12

Geum-eocho Street, Hanseong

Monday, 10:14am, May 9^th, 1858

The basement looked like an alchemist’s lab to Chanyeol. He watched Kyungsoo stare down through a contraption—he’d told him its name long ago and he’d forgotten it—with wide eyes and pursed lips. On the far wall, a table was covered in beakers and phials that bubbled. It smelled odd—not bad, but not pleasant either.

The place was still in a state of disarray, with equipment lying in boxes against one wall. There weren’t enough tables yet, or shelves for storage. The furnace in the corner remained unlit.

“What’s that?”

“Hm?” Kyungsoo straightened in surprise. “When did you come in?”

“Just now.” Chanyeol shut the door and walked toward the table where Kyungsoo had begun scribbling notes.

“It’s research.” He didn’t elaborate, which was just as well. Chanyeol probably wouldn’t understand anyway. Kyungsoo was fun to watch when he was concentrating, but not fun to listen to when he was explaining. It was all far too complicated for Chanyeol’s tastes. And even though Kyungsoo was never condescending, it always sounded a bit like he was being talked down to. It was something nobility never understood. The way they worded things as if they should be obvious, the large words that they thought everyone knew.

“How is the office coming along?”

Chanyeol shrugged, then felt foolish as he realized Kyungsoo wasn’t watching. “Baekhyun and I bought most of the equipment and supplies Jongdae asked for, but we can’t build his machines. We’ll have to wait for him to get here.”

“He should be here by the end of the week, shouldn’t he?”

“That’s what he told us.” Chanyeol felt uneasiness building in his stomach. He didn’t understand it, but he’d thought something was off since a few nights ago. Jongdae should have sent them a telegram by now. He had said he would before sending the machines. Maybe Chanyeol would go down to the telegraph station and have them wire the old office…

Kyungsoo looked up and gave a small smile. “Remind me later to come by and check on Baekhyun’s leg.”

            Chanyeol nodded. “He seems to be walking better, but he’s still got a limp.” That hadn’t stopped him from heading out every few nights into town, but Chanyeol hadn’t questioned him about it. It was good to see Baekhyun up and doing something rather than moping about. Teaching the other man how to read was an uphill battle, made worse by Baekhyun’s pride and Chanyeol’s own lack of knowledge.

            “That’s all in his head. The knee cap is functioning perfectly.” Kyungsoo frowned, “I can’t help him with his mind. That isn’t my forte.”

            “Is it anyone’s?” Chanyeol hadn’t heard of any ‘mind doctors’.

            “It’s an interesting area of study. There are a few people that have looked into it, but the medical field hasn’t legitimized any of the findings.”

            “So it’s a bunch of quacks.”

            “Well,” Kyungsoo laughed, “That’s what they’ve said about the rest of the medical field for centuries. So maybe one day it will become a true area of study. Who knows?” He scribbled something else down.

            “The house looks nice. Upstairs, at least. This place is still a wreck.” Chanyeol glanced over at one of the glass vials and watched it bubble for a few moments. “Yixing and Zitao have done a lot.”

            Kyungsoo nodded. “They’re diligent. I appreciate their hard work. Everything was in proper order upon my arrival.”

            “What are you going to do with them now that you don’t need them to move things?”

            “I thought they could stay on with me for a while. I need people to look after the house. When you’ve taught them enough Korean they can try and find jobs elsewhere if they want.” Kyungsoo frowned at something he was looking at. “…mmmm, I’ll have to do another test.”

            Chanyeol walked toward his friend and glanced down at the scribblings in his notebook. Most of it was in English that Chanyeol could not read, but there were a few messy hangul in the side margins. Pagoe was written next to a long mathematical equation.

            “Kyungsoo.”

            “Hm?” Kyungsoo continued writing.

            “…what is your research? Are you sure it’s safe?”

            Kyungsoo paused, pen threatening to spill a large glob of ink on the paper below. “It’s just a bit of guesswork, Yeol. Don’t worry about it too much.”

            “That looks like a lot of research for guesswork.”

            “You can’t even read it.” Kyungsoo frowned, a flicker of irritation crossing his face before it softened again to his usual demeanor. Chanyeol had seen this happen more than once. Kyungsoo had always hidden his anger like that, even when they’d fought as children. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

            “If it isn’t anything to worry about then why won’t you tell me what it is?” Chanyeol needled, and he saw the frown curling the edges of Kyungsoo’s lips again. Kyungsoo looked back at his work, and for a moment Chanyeol thought that was the end of the conversation. The sound of Kyungsoo’s pen scratching against paper echoed.

            Kyungsoo’s favorite way of engaging in arguments was by pretending they were already over. If he felt that the situation was too heated he’d simply stop talking about it. Sometimes Chanyeol thought it was because he didn’t trust Chanyeol to remain if he really yelled at him. That was stupid, of course. They’d been friends for ages. A little fighting wouldn’t change that.

“Humans are fragile.” Kyungsoo stared down his microscope, jolting Chanyeol out of his thoughts. “But for some reason we’ve persisted. The only strong point we have is our ability to adapt. It’s kept us alive until now and if we allow ourselves a bit of free thinking we’ll continue living.”

“Free thinking?” Chanyeol eyed him warily. “Free thinking sounds a bit dangerous.” The British excommunicated people for that.

“Oh, it is dangerous.” Kyungsoo assented, looking up from his work to meet Chanyeol’s gaze squarely. “It’s dangerous to the people clinging to power through God and Divine Will and Right.”

Chanyeol gripped his arm tightly. “Kyung, be careful.”

“Hm?” Kyungsoo blinked, before he gave a bright innocent smile. “No one else is here. You can’t believe that there are spies around waiting to find some information to have me thrown from court? We’re not in the palace. I’m just a doctor. And it’s just a bit of experimentation.”

Chanyeol had seen what happened to those that questioned authority. On the small scale he’d helped clean Jongdae’s wounds after a scathing article. He’d heard the horror stories of execution and excommunication. He could only imagine what might happen if Kyungsoo were to speak out publically, whatever it was he was working on.

Kyungsoo, of all people, should have known what happened to those that challenged power.

Gyeongbokgung, Hanseong

Wednesday, 1:19pm, May 11^th, 1858

Lord Bruce had left, and a part of Suho’s headache had gone with him. Aiding Lord Oh enable Lord Bruce’s unknown tastes had been a noxious twisting in his stomach that had only now loosened. He hadn’t asked Lord Oh what Lord Bruce looked for in the red light district. He didn’t want to know, and he knew his nerves wouldn’t be able to handle it, even if his slowly diminishing morals could.

He was thankful that the man was gone but a part of him almost wanted him to remain. With him there, the court had been relatively quiet in hopes of seeming strong and unified toward the British. If there was one thing they could agree on other than slavery, it was that Joseon needed to remain strong in the eyes of the West.

            Now that he was safely on a ship headed back to London, the court was beginning to fester, like an open wound. It was only a matter of time before the smell of rot was noted by the emperor.

            Joonmyun had not expected the emperor to demand his presence. His position, while high in the House, had been given to him, not earned. He did not see how he could be of any help to anyone with so little political power. Also, it was well-known to everyone now that he was allied with Lord Oh. That meant any hopes of the emperor gaining an ally in him was slim. Even if Joonmyun had wanted such an alliance—and he didn’t entirely believe he did—the threat of crossing Lord Oh was more dangerous than a puppet emperor.

            He had visited Gyeonbokgung only a handful of times before this. The palace seemed cold and dead, more like a tomb than the center of Joseon’s power. The House of Lords in Deoksugung held far more prestige, even after it had been renovated to fit the architectural style of its counterpart in London.

“Lord Kim arrives to meet his majesty!” The courtier crowed as Joonmyun stepped into the royal hall. He was a eunuch, from the look of his robes. The British had forced Joseon to outlaw castration of imperial servants years ago, but the eunuchs from the previous emperor’s reign remained. Their castration had become a sort of status symbol among those that served the emperor, as if only eunuchs could be true and loyal servants.

            Joonmyun had no problem with the outlawing of the practice. He’d heard enough horror stories of earlier castration methods and even the newer, safer ones made him cringe.

            The eunuch shuffled back a few feet and bowed his head as Joonmyun walked forward toward the throne where the emperor sat. When he had been young, Joonmyun had been in awe of this man. The Emperor of all of Joseon seemed a powerful thing.

            It had taken only a short period of time for the awe to wear thin. The Emperor was a puppet of the House of Lords, nothing more. The austerity of the palace was a front. The only reason he remained at all was because of Britain’s own monarch. China had long since rid themselves of such ties, having only nobility leading each city like a group of feudal lords.

            The man in front of him was no son of heaven.

            He was old, and tired, and human. His beard was whiter than the last time Joonmyun had seen him, and his wrinkles were far more pronounced. The bright crimson of his robes seemed faded somehow, and the throne room smelled of a mixture of incense and mothballs. Joonmyun tried not to show his distaste.

            Joonmyun knelt, “Lord Kim Joonmyun greets His Majesty.”

            “Rise.” The emperor rasped, and Joonmyun did so. He lifted his head and paused for a moment. Standing to the emperor’s left was Lord Kim, the Cabinet Secretary. The room in the air seemed colder now.

            The emperor shifted on his throne and the wood creaked beneath his weight. “I have heard that you recently became engaged to Lord Oh’s youngest daughter.”

            “Yes, your majesty.” Joonmyun nodded. He was not entirely certain yet where this conversation was going.

            “Congratulations are in order, then.” The emperor smiled, and it almost seemed sincere. He did not have the cold, calculative demeanor of the nobility that surrounded him. Either he felt he was above such plotting and power struggles or he had given up.

            “Thank you, your majesty.”

            “Once a man marries he has much to focus on. A wife and children are a great responsibility.” The emperor paused. “It seems almost cruel to make you bear such a weight and still hold you to your responsibilities as Lord Great Chamberlain.”

            Joonmyun looked up quickly, too shocked to follow protocol, and his gaze met Lord Kim’s. The Cabinet Secretary’s face was impassive, but there was something glimmering in the depths of his eyes. This was not something the emperor had decided on his own.

            Was this how Lord Kim dealt with all of his political enemies, or just the ones weak enough to pick on?

            Joonmyun mustered a pleasant smile. “We are merely engaged, your majesty. The marriage will not take place for at least a year. It is much too early to think of children and the running of a new estate. There is no reason I cannot faithfully serve your majesty.”

            “Faithfully serve?” Lord Kim murmured, almost too low to hear. His lips curled into a sneer beneath his trim beard.

            Whether the emperor noted Lord Kim’s mocking tone or simply chose to ignore it was unknown, but he smiled genteelly at Joonmyun all the same. “I am glad to hear it. Your father was a very wise man. I hope you will serve Joseon as well as he did.”

            My father was a coward with his finger in too many pies. He didn’t choose a side for fear of picking the wrong one and it nearly ruined our family. Joonmyun swallowed and lowered his head again in a sign of customary reverence, “Your servant only wishes to do what is best for Joseon. I will continue to do so readily.”

            As Joonmyun was dismissed and found himself walking down the empty, cold halls of the palace, he found himself shaking. Between the emperor and Lord Oh, a choice had to be made.

            The emperor and Lord Kim’s Joseon was like a wounded tiger. It bled and growled and was in this moment more dangerous than the last for there was nothing left to lose. But soon it would bleed out. It would fall, and the hunter would skin it and place the pelt in its salon for the world to see.

            The future did not lie with the emperor. The future of Joseon was parliament and progress, there was no way around it. Joonmyun didn’t believe in everything that Lord Oh did. He knew the man was cruel. He knew that the moment Joonmyun became useless to him he would be tossed aside.

            Joonmyun swallowed and looked to his hands. They were still trembling. Was he really that afraid? Yes, yes he was. He was a coward, just like his father. This battle for power between Lord Oh and Lord Kim would kill him, he was certain of it.

The Blue Crane, somewhere on the East Sea

Friday, 4:32 pm, May 13^th, 1858

           

            Jongdae couldn’t remember how long they’d been at sea, but he’d slowly developed some resistance to his crippling sea sickness. He’d managed to spend the entire day without vomiting, though the thought of food while on deck made his stomach do flips.

            His charming personality hadn’t withered over the course of his illness, and Minseok had threatened to pitch him overboard daily. It was only Minseok’s immediate dislike and distrust of the smuggling crew that kept him from going through with any of his threats.

            The crew ignored them for the most part—it was what they were paid to do—but it kept Minseok’s options for company quite limited.

            The two were in Minseok’s cabin; the place where they always ended up. This same cabin that Jongdae had also frequented since the first two nights on board when the captain had threatened to dump them both in the ocean if he found Jongdae ‘snooping around’.

            Minseok wasn’t entirely happy with his new roommate, but the closer an eye he kept on Jongdae the better, and that was easier to do when they shared the same sleeping quarters. Jongdae had made himself comfortable in a small nook on the far side of the wall, fastening a hammock out of some burlap. Minseok didn’t want to think how Jongdae had acquired it, or the accompanying sack he’d stuffed with old rags for a pillow.

            Jongdae was in his hammock now, eyes closed as he drummed his fingers against his stomach. In. Out. One. Two. No vomiting. No nausea. Don’t think about the vomit—shit. He took a few more breaths. In. Out. One. Two.

            Minseok couldn’t help but eye the briefcase resting beneath Jongdae’s hammock. He’d brought it aboard and kept it close ever since. It was well-made, expensive leather. It wasn’t the kind of thing that Minseok expected a newspaper editor to own. Most of Jongdae’s clothing seemed quite lavish. He’d thought perhaps it was just Jongdae’s fondness for showing off, but it left him curious all the same.

            And curiosity was the only thing he had to pass the time. “You seem rather…rich for a newspaper editor.”

Jongdae didn’t open his eyes, but a slow smile tilted his lips. “That is because I wasn’t always a newspaper editor.”

Minseok blinked. “Hm?”

“My father was a merchant of Jeonju before it fell. Luckily he left me a hefty sum in the bank at Hanseong in case anything was to happen to the family.” He opened an eye and glanced sidelong at Minseok. “It was a nice investment, and it let me do whatever I wanted without worrying about food and shelter.”

A Jeonju merchant, hm? “Why didn’t you continue the business?”

“I gave it to my sister.” Jongdae answered back, sitting up. He swung his legs over the side of the cloth to steady himself and then proceeded to fluff his pillow. “She has a better mind for business. I took my half of the inheritance and opened up my office.”

“Why journalism?”

“Why not?”

The deflection wasn’t what Minseok had expected, but he supposed it was better than a witty rebuttle. He’d expected some kind of sarcastic remark. Jongdae’s decision not to answer the question meant that the reason he’d turned to journalism wasn’t just because he’d thought it would be fun. 

Jongdae leaned forward a bit. “Now what about you? A General Inspector waltzing around with the imperial seal on his identification tag... Let me guess, your father is a member of the lesser political party. It would explain your loyalty to the emperor—wait.” His eyes widened and his smile stretched. “You’re the emperor’s dog!”

He barely saw Minseok move. By the time he realized what was happening the other man had slammed Jongdae against the wall. The back of his head hit a pipe and stars danced in front of his eyes. It took him a few moments to blink them away.

Minseok puffed out his cheeks in annoyance and Jongdae would have found it cute if Minseok’s hand wasn’t around his throat. He gave a smile that he hoped looked relaxed. “Now calm down,” He winced as his voice cracked. “Dogs are good animals. Everyone loves dogs.” The hand tightened.

A new tactic would need to be used. “If you strangle me you’ll have a hard time explaining that to the crew.”

Minseok let go slowly. Jongdae took in several deep breaths and glared. “You’re rather sensitive, aren’t you?” He threw up his hands as Minseok stepped forward. “Alright, alright, it was a joke.”

Jongdae was almost entirely certain that Minseok would have found a way to murder him if they hadn’t heard the yelling from above deck. The two exchanged looks before darting up the stairs—Minseok was faster, Jongdae still had to clutch his stomach and find his bearings as the boat rocked back and forth. The waves seemed to be getting rougher. Had they hit a storm?

The deck was utter chaos.

Sailors were running around tending sails and shouting orders at one another. Most of them had seemed to forget their duties and were crowded around the port side of the ship.

The sky had just begun to darken, but above the sailor’s heads Minseok could see an unearthly, orange glow. He and Jongdae shoved their way through the crowd. A loud siren pierced the air, traveling quickly across the bay toward their ship.

Hong Kong was being overrun.

“My god…what is going on?” Jongdae managed, turning to Minseok. But the other man’s eyes were trained on the harbor. His grip was tight on the railing, eyes scanning the city. Finally he shoved away and began searching the ship. Another sailor took his spot beside Jongdae.

“They’re breaking through the gates. Oh god.”

He could hear the sounds of gunshots rippling across the ocean. The guards at Hong Kong’s front gate were trying to hold off the Afflicted with little success. The next minute or so was spent listening to gunshots and sirens and seeing the occasional flash of an electrical surge.

Jongdae felt like a coward because he never once entertained the idea of going to help. Not like Minseok, who shouted at the captain and demanded they go to shore and collect any survivors.

The entire city seemed to go silent for a brief moment, and then a blaze of flame so bright Jongdae had to close his eyes filled the sky. It burned through his eyelids, imprinting the backdrop of the city onto them. He heard several sailors cry out, but their sounds were nothing compared the screams that began the moment the Incineration Towers were lit.

Jongdae felt sick. He was glad he wasn’t the only one to rush to the side and empty his stomach. I had been doing so well too. Two days without puking, he thought absently, and the calmness told him he was in shock.

He’d read about the Incineration Towers and he’d walked past the ones in Haeju on severa occasions, but he’d never witnessed them being used. He never wanted to again. It seemed as if Hong Kong had become incased in hellfire, the flames and smoke twisted into the air and spiraling upward into a column of orange-tinted gray.

The heat waves hit them at some point, almost blistering. The smoke was thick and carried with it the scent of charred flesh. The moment his stomach seemed to be under control the smell would hit him again and he’d double over the side. Soon there wasn’t anything left to throw up.

They remained anchored off shore until Hong Kong was nothing but a pile of ash and bones.

Jongdae’s gaze was trained on the churning waters in front of them. Night had fallen quickly, enveloping them in an inky black haze. The city had been reduced to a dull glow, but he could still hear the occasional yell. Who could have possible survived those flames?

“What’s that—in the water sir, what’s that?”

“Where are the spotlights?” The captain roared. “Position them toward the bay!”

The lights were lit, blazing to life behind him. Jongdae flinched, reminded of the Incineration Towers that had blazed hours before—it seemed a lifetime ago.

There was movement in the water a mile or so ahead of them. Jongdae narrowed his eyes. Those were…people? Survivors! People had managed to swim into the bay before the Incineration Towers reached them!

“It’s people sir!”

“They’re swimmin’ in the water!”

Minseok was beside him again, straining to catch a glimpse of the people in the dark water. His lips were pursed and his face pale.

“Gather your guns, men.” The captain ordered, looking out at the ocean. “Shoot them as soon as they are within range. Aim for the head, boys.”

Minseok’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Those are people out there sir, not Afflicted.”

The captain leveled a hard look at the younger man. “We can’t let anyone on board. They might have been infected.”

“Afflicted can’t cross running water. They’re swimming here. They aren’t infected!” Minseok argued, looking desperately between the captain and the floundering survivors.

“It could take days for the change to be completed. I will not endanger my crew for a few damned Chinese.” The man shoved past them and began barking orders to the crew. “Get your guns, you lazy asses, and heat those engines! We have to make it to Beijing.”

Minseok reached into his sleeve and Jongdae grabbed his arm, shaking his head. “That won’t help you here, not with these people. The emperor’s seal means nothing to them.” Jongdae’s grip tightened as Minseok tried to pull away. “Look. None of the other ships are going back either. No one is going to help. Everyone knows it’s suicide except for you.”

Minseok looked back out at the bay. It was true. Of the few ships that had been sufficiently manned and anchored far enough out at sea, none were stopping to help the people of Hong Kong. Most of the ships had left the moment the fire had begun. Only a few had stayed, and they remained silent and still as their crews stared out at the destruction on shore.

“Let’s go belowdeck.” Jongdae managed, swallowing back a mouthful of bile. “Come on.” He didn’t let go of Minseok’s arm, even as several sailors armed with rifles began to take their positions along the railing. “Come on.” He repeated weakly.

Minseok looked ready to protest, ready to fight, but his shoulders sagged and he took a few steps backward, letting Jongdae lead him to the stairs. They’d just reached them when the gunfire began.

Sunkyungkwan University, Hanseong

Friday, 8:11pm, May 13^th, 1858

            “Have a good evening, Professor Do.”

            Kyungsoo waved farewell to the group of students as he exited the main hall and walked out onto the grounds. Evening was beginning to fall, but several groups of students were still milling around the gardens.

            They’d taken to staying within the grounds as of late after a stern warning from the headmaster. Several new Joseon purist groups had sprung to life in Hanseong, and the mobs that filled the streets to listen to their talks was unsettling. Even with the police to keep them in line it was hard to get further into town safely on foot.

            Even in his carriage, Kyungsoo never felt entirely safe. The groups hadn’t resorted to violence of any sort, only staged protests. But they accosted people on the streets and made it difficult for anyone to get past.

            Kyungsoo also knew that the main reason that the headmaster was warning students away from going out was his fear that they would somehow get involved with one of these groups. The students of Sunkyungkwan were known to be a powerful ally in government. They held the singular ability to stop meetings of parliament and to directly bring proclamations from the people to the emperor. As long as the president of the student body and the rest of the student council agreed to it, they could make things very difficult for anyone they opposed.

            This power was one rarely used. Kyungsoo believed the last time the students had gathered had been when he was seven, over a regulatory system for the meat industry within the walled cities. It had led to the government sanctioning all meat to keep the prices stable so that the commonfolk could afford them.

            If the student council and enough of the student body became enamored with this idea of a Korean-only Joseon, it could cause quite a lot of problems. Kyungsoo didn’t think they had much to worry about. Several of the student council members had fathers that were avid supporters of the British influence in Joseon, and his student Luhan was the council’s secretary. It would be difficult to get a unanimous decision on the subject out of that group.

            But still…those that feared change were dangerous, especially if they were ignorant.

            Kyungsoo shook his head. He had problems of his own to deal with, he didn’t have time to worry about politics. He neared the gate and frowned as he spotted a crowd of students mingling at the entrance.

            One of the students glanced back and noticed him, “Professor Do! Someone is looking for you!”

            Kyungsoo’s frowned deepened. Someone was looking for him? As the student spoke Professor Do’s name, the crowd parted instantly to let him through, all watching intently. Standing on the curb just outside the gate was a woman.

            She was dressed in an elegant hanbok with a multitude of brightly colored pins scattering her hair, and a well-worn shawl pulled across her shoulders. As she spotted him her eyes brightened, “Are you Doctor Do?”

            Kyungsoo nodded warily. “I am. Who might be asking?”

            The woman lurched forward and grabbed his hands, clasping them tightly between her own as she looked up at him desperately. “Doctor Do, you must hurry!” Tears clung to her eyelashes.

            Despite the oddity of a stranger clinging to him, his heart went out to the crying woman. “It’s alright, tell me what’s wrong.” He tried to use his best, most soothing voice, the kind he often reserved for young children.

“I’m a friend of Kai. He said that you would come. You’ll treat him. He said you worked on immigrants so you’d be willing to help us.”

Kyungsoo gave a small nod. “Ok.” He didn’t know who this “Kai” was that he was meant to know, but he knew that someone was sick, someone that no one else would touch. Kyungsoo had always had a weak spot for those discarded by society. “Where is Kai? We can take my carriage.” He was thankful he’d brought his medical bag with him. He’d been giving a lecture on medical equipment earlier that day.

The woman let out a relieved sob. “Oh thank you, thank you.” She began pulling him toward the street, “Hurry, you have to hurry.”

“Of course, of course.” Kyungsoo nodded, waving off his students with a smile. They began to disperse, but they continued to stare at the two, even as Kyungsoo summoned his carriage and allowed the distraught woman to give the driver Kai’s address.

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