In the capital, the king lay dying. The palace invited priests and doctors from all over to inspect him but nothing worked.
[At the port]
The port had a pungent smell to it, maybe something had rotted in one of the ships. On the path, waged a different war. Hundreds of men, women and merchants along with carriages filled with grain, had to get to work. In the middle of it all, a woman clad in black. She had recently arrived. She was a priestess, in fact the only woman ever to be given a high position by the church.
Her bright yellow hair, always tied in a neat bun could be identified from a mile away. Her deep blue eyes could make one feel lost at sea. She walked calmly among the crowds with an air of quiet dignity. Her jaw looked sharper than a scalpel. The look in her eyes was regal.
She got pushed by the crowds but tried remain steady. But then she was pushed by a row of men and women like the log hitting the church bell. She tripped and twisted her ankle. She fell in the middle of the slow stampede. Time slowed down. She saw a foot coming for her face. She winced contemplating the end. But then a hand, a reassuring and strong hand reached out for hers, pulling her up in one swift motion. She looked down at the pavement as the hand guided her like a little child. The man sat her down on a big wooden crate in the middle of the dusty back alley. She didn't look up but he knelt down.
She seemed a bit spellbound by his hair. Half black, half white, segregated right down the middle. He wore an olive coat. He opened his leather briefcase filled with vials, books and some dressing. He took out some ointment, and applied it gently. His touch was incredibly steady and unwavering. It was the touch of a doctor. She squirmed a bit. He applied the dressing.
After he finished, he looked up into his eyes. He had eyes like raw emeralds. He got up and adjusted his coat.
"If you'll excuse me.", he said, as he was about to leave.
There was still a pain in her ankle.
"P-Please take me to the Imperial palace. I don't have any time.", she pleaded in desperation.
[Through the streets near the palace]
They got many stares as they walked through the streets. After all, it was weird seeing a man giving a woman of the church a piggyback in broad daylight. This area was much nicer and less crowded maybe because it had more nobles than rats living in it. The woman blushed. He walked with a straight face.
[The castle gates]
"Halt!", said the guard with the silver breastplate. The breastplate bore the royal insignia.
"Identification, please."
The man took out his papers from the inside pocket and handed it to the guard. The woman, refusing to get down handed her papers to the man who passed them onto the guard.
He read them, twice and then thrice.
"Hmm. So, you're Doctor Wren Hale....."
(He folds them over and opens the other set of papers)
"...And you're Priestess Ila Bishop?"
They nod.
Another guard comes over and takes Wren's briefcase.
"Hey, what are you doing, you bastard?!", Wren said with visible anger.
He opens it and closely inspects each vial and hands it back.
"Okay, you're free to pass."
Wren sighs and walks in, he climbs the steps to the tall, marble castle.
They reach the central atrium and meet a man.
He was old and tall. He had a grey beard, no too bushy and a pointy face.
"I appreciate having you come here for his majesty, but you will have to wait as his majesty is unconscious."
Wren puts Ila down and extends his hand.
"A pleasure to meet you; I'm the chancellor, you can call me Estemar.", he said as he shook it.
[In front of the king's chambers]
Wren and Ila sat on the floor in front of the room in which the king laid. The doorway was shut off by a black curtain. Inside, a low, rhythmic sound of reading came. A gospel or something, Wren couldn't be less bothered.
"How humiliating!", Ila said as she grew more frustrated.
"Shut up." Wren said dryly.
He took out a glass slide out of his briefcase. He looked at it through the sunlight which came from a window high above them. It was a fungus, he poked the glass once for no particular reason. He carefully arranged glass beakers and test tubes and test tube stands.
"You're not seriously going to give that to the king are you?" asked Ila with a smile that slowly turned serious.
Wren arranged its broth for further extraction.
"This,"
(He said with a triumphant smile as he watched the clear liquid accumulate,)
".... is Penicillium Chrysogenum, and yes, I will be giving it to the king. "