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 9th, 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 11th, 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 13th, 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 13th, 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.
