In a matter of moments, the hospital room had become the unlikeliest war-room Karl could have ever imagined—not that he had spent much time in war-rooms. The closest he’d ever gotten was standing outside the tents at the army’s war camps, listening to Geoffrey present his plans to the heads of the Third Crusade. But now, to be involved in that process—and not just involved, but an integral part of it? Karl felt proud of himself. It was a rare feeling, and he savored every drop.

On an ordinary day, rescuing their comrade would have been all the reason they would have needed to mount a strike against the enemy, but here, there was so much more at stake.

Karl loved the way Geoffrey had put it: “The wheels of fate are turning; we have been chosen to ride them. We will strike back at the Mewnees. We will reveal DAISHU’s intentions to the world, and the Trenton people will rally to our side.”

“Leave it to an Athelmarch to try and land a blow on Hell itself!” Bever said, with a laugh.

Karl sat atop his bed, with the console in his lap. The others gathered around either side. The device’s Map feature was nothing short of incredible. It showed an overhead view of the hospital, like an architect’s drawing. A red dot on the screen indicated the console’s current location. It had taken a minute or two for Karl to make sense of how to use it, but the tool was fairly intuitive. Pressing the up- or down-pointing arrowheads at the side of the map allowed him to navigate from one floor of the complex to another. By moving his fingers across the screen in certain ways, he could accomplish all sorts of marvelous things. He could change the portion of the map displayed, he could rotate it, he could even make the image larger or smaller. It was magical. Truly magical.

“Will it do what we need?” Geoffrey asked.

Karl nodded. “Yes, I think it will.”

“He said they were taken to the basement of General Labs,” Bever said.

“Give me a moment, Sir Bever,” Karl said. He could only enter the letters one at a time. Karl wondered if there might have been a quicker way to enter the letters, but he didn’t have time to explore that.

“Don’t pester him, Bever,” Geoffrey said.

Karl pressed Go.

The section of the map displayed on the screen hurtled from their current location to the first underground floor of another building—GL 1Ba, it said. A rectangle appeared in the middle of the screen, asking Karl if he wanted to add GL 1Ba to his route.

Karl looked up at Geoffrey. “Should I add it to the route?”

Athelmarch looked bemused. “What does that mean?”

Karl thought it through as logically as he could manage. Before asking the map for the location of General Labs, Karl had, on Morgan’s suggestion, asked for the location of the security office Dr. Howle had mentioned. In doing so, Karl had discovered the device could display a red path on the map, to mark the journey you were supposed to take—a red path on the screen—to show the journey they would have to take.

“I think… it means it will tell us the way to both locations, in one go,” Karl said.

“Why ask?” Morgan said. “Of course you should add it.”

“Sorry,” Karl muttered, as he pressed the green circle beneath the rectangle of text. The green circle meant yes, and you had to push it to convey your choice to the machine. Simply saying yes aloud didn’t accomplish anything.

A moment later, the map shrunk, the view pulling out to show a single red line. It marked out a path from their room to the security office, and from there to General Labs.

Karl handed the console to Geoffrey. “Take a look,” he said.

Geoffrey did. The Count of Seasweep then passed it around.

“It even shows the distance,” Karl said, “and the travel time.”

“What?” Duncan asked. “How?”

“It indicates a thirteen minute travel time,” Geoffrey said.

“Say what?” Duncan asked.

Karl’s father was as pious as any priest he’d ever known, but Karl suspected his father would have stooped to killing a man, if it meant getting his hands on technology like this. The time and labor it would save in planning caravans’ routes would have beggared belief.

“It’s a measure of time used in mechanical clocks,” Karl said. “My father has one.”

Mechanical clocks were quite the luxury, only available to nobility or townsfolk, like Markus Prestingham, who were wealthy enough to afford it. Villages had to make do with sundials or hourglasses, while bigger towns and cities had the benefit of clock towers in their churches and cathedrals, to ring out the hours for everyone to hear.

“How much of an hour is that?” Bev asked.

Bever, Morgan, and Duncan came from humble backgrounds; Bever having been born in a fishing village down the coast, several days’ journey from Elpeck.

“A little less than a quarter,” Geoffrey said. “I’m most concerned about the travel time from the security office to the General Labs building.”

“It may take longer than that,” Morgan said, with a scoff. “You’re certain you want to risk us using their future weapons?”

Geoffrey let out a harsh cough. Clearing his throat, he sipped down water from a cup from the room’s miraculous sink. “Dr. Howle told us they keep their weapons in the security office,” he said. “We would be fools not to make use of them.”

“There’s no guarantee the information Karl found for us will be enough for us to operate these modern firearms,” Duncan said.

“You’re one of our best riflemen, Duncan,” Geoffrey said. “What you do not know, you will learn as you go.”

“That might be difficult if we cross paths with their soldiers,” Duncan replied. “Perhaps we should wait for Dr. Howle to—”

“—No,” Geoffrey said, stern, but calm. “If any stand in our way, we will deal with them accordingly. A physician of this era would not understand the necessity.”

“Times might change,” Bever said, “but skill is eternal.”

Morgan rolled his eyes. “I wish I shared your confidence.”

“There is no danger until we reach the security office,” Geoffrey said. “We will get what we can and follow the route to General Labs.”

“What’s left?” Duncan asked.

“Only the execution,” Morgan quipped—a bitter pun.

Geoffrey shook his head. “We don the robes they put on their patients wear.” Coughing, he walked up to one of the cabinets built into the wall. “The nurse said they should be…” Opened the cabinet. “Here.”

Everyone went up to the cabinet and pulled out a white and blue patterned gown of their own. It took a bit of work to get it free, and still more to put the things on. It seemed they were meant to be worn in reverse, with the fastenings at the back, like a lady’s bodice.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“What a flimsy thing this is,” Bever muttered, patting down the cloth.

The robes were sleeveless, giving space for their garments to stick out, but, Karl had to admit, it made them seem less out of place.

Lass, Karl thought, I hope it’s enough.

“Hold on to the console, Karl,” Geoffrey said, handing over the device. “Ironic,” he added, with a grunt and smile. “We’re centuries into the future, but you’re still our trusted pack-boy.”

Karl felt as if his chest would burst with Sunlight. He stood up a little taller. “It’s an honor, sir. I get to carry the magic. It’s like a sorcerer’s grimoire from a Romance.”

“Guard it well,” Geoffrey replied. He turned to the others. “Let’s be off.”

And out the door they went—the back door, the one I’d not taken.

Their journey to the security office was uncanny and alien. The hospital’s halls were a cenotaph to a world they would never know. The world of tomorrow weltered and drowned as it came undone all around them; a swan song, left out to rot.

Geoffrey’s concerns about them getting noticed proved groundless. This place was mired in a war as fierce as any battlefield Karl had ever known. Seats and long chairs held the slumped-over bodies of the dead and the dying. Some expired where they stood, splayed out on the floor. Karl recognized the physicians by their odd garb. They were indefatigable, transporting their patients to and fro.

The reality of the plague was even worse than what the videos had shown. People vomited up black ooze, as if the land was spewing up tar. At one point, Karl had had to use the console’s map to find a detour around a hall clogged by people the Green Death had robbed of their memories. The poor souls were doomed to wander and wail, lost in a nightmare without beginning or end.

It was hard for him to watch.

Karl tried to lose his gaze in the console’s screen, not that it did much. He kept looking over his shoulder, still on his habit of checking up on Fink. Even on the coldest night, the horse would be warm and wet and full of life, a fire in flesh that Karl could lean against, and know he wasn’t alone.

But it was just as hard for him not to look. Karl lingered, head slowly turning as he watched a line of physicians pass. It looked like they were going to try to guide the lost ones back to their rooms.

Karl made the Bond-sign and muttered a prayer under his breath, as did Geoffrey and the others.

Bever leaned in to whisper in Karl’s ear. “It almost makes the ‘Pox seem kind, doesn’t it?”

Karl didn’t know what he could say to that, so he didn’t.

Finally, they arrived at their first destination.

“Karl,” Morgan asked, “is this it?”

Karl briefly glanced down at the map. “Yes.” He nodded. “Yes it is.”

The five of them stood in an alcove in a hallway, in front of two glass-paned cabinets filled with food held in transparent, satiny packaging. Beside the cabinets sat a pot, bearing a small tree. At first, Karl thought it was mostly denuded—leaves stripped, branches bare—but then he saw the few remaining leaves were made of cloth.

He didn’t know what to make of it.

The security office lay ahead of them, across the hall. If there was any doubt that this was the place, it was dispelled by the text embossed on a rectangle on the wall by the office’s big, double doors. The doors were open, and were kept that way by struts unfolded from their base.

“What’s the plan?” Duncan asked.

“We go in and ask nicely?” Bever said.

“Ever the fool…” Morgan muttered.

Geoffrey bit his lip. “We will do what we will do.” He glanced back at them from where he stood, at the head of their group. “Come,” he said, “forward!” His hospital gown fluttered around him as he marched forward, revealing his armor underneath.

Karl and the others followed. Karl felt his heart rise up into his throat as he stepped through the doorway. Duncan and Bever gasped.

“I stand corrected,” Morgan muttered.

Asking the security office for the return of their weapons wouldn’t have gone badly at all, nor would it have gone anywhere else, because everyone here was dead.

The security office was a large open area, like a garden, barren and death-seeded. The wall at Karl’s right was almost entirely bare, while the wall to the left was inlaid with dark blue panels of some kind of glass. The panels were almost entirely opaque, but let in just enough light for him to make out objects and figures on the other side, though were little more than darker blurs the darkened surfaces. A shiny polished stone counter sat dead ahead, and it was that which made them gasp.

There was a wall behind the counter, with walking space between itself and where the attendants sat. The wall was studded with console screens that showed what Karl could only guess were videos of other parts of the hospital. There were dozens of them. They had to be coming from the cameras Dr. Howle had mentioned.

Sword and Angel… Karl thought.

The wall was a mosaic of horrors, with each screen a tile. The people manning the counter were dying or dead, it was difficult to tell which. The Green Death had ravaged their bodies. The fungus was sending up growths and shoots from the ulcers the plague had eaten into their flesh. Some of the growths were spreading onto the counter like hungering ivy. Moaning and weeping lingered in the air. A cough ripped through the sound, as loud as gunfire, only to cut out just as suddenly, fading with a quiet groan.

Whoever it was, Karl knew they were dead.

Bever made the Bond-sign “Angel’s Breath…” he muttered. “They’re all dead.”

Duncan shook his head. “And no one’s come to check.” He scowled. “Have they no honor?”

“I… I think… there’s just too much happening,” Karl said. “A man can only be in one place at a time, after all.”

“There’s nothing we can do for them,” Geoffrey said.

A sickly-sweet stench clung to the air, like candied rotten fruit.

Bever shook his head. “If I get my axe, I can put them out of their misery.”

“That you can,” Morgan said, softly. “That you can.”

Geoffrey interrupted the solemnity of the moment by clearing his throat. “If the people of this era have any sense,” he said, “they would not keep the weapons out front.” Approaching the counter, he clambered over it and then turned toward the wall with the dark panels, pointing down the gap that led behind the paneled wall.

“This way.”

Bever, Duncan, and Morgan followed Geoffrey over the countertop. Bever crossed it in a single, vaulting bound. Karl took a different route, noticing a door in the counter off to the side.

He didn’t want to drop the console while climbing over the counter.

Walking down the path behind the counter that went passed the paneled wall brought them to the office’s core: an even larger open space, maybe twice the size of the entry area, filled with tables set up in aisles with walls of console screens mounted in front of them, arranged like a mason’s bricks.

There was a startled yelp.

Karl turned to the left. There was a dying man on the floor in the far corner of the room. A fungal growth was emerging from a crack in his scalp like a misshapen cockscomb, having sloughed the hair off his skull. He cowered in terror, moaning wordlessly, pawing at the wall with fingers rotten and bloody. Karl froze, as did the others. The man seemed to calm once they’d stopped. He folded into himself and he broke down, streaming soft tears.

Geoffrey took a step forward.

The cowering man screeched like a wild animal, recoiling in mindless terror, as if Geoffrey was the demon.

Geoffrey stopped and made the Bond-Sign. “By the Godhead…” he muttered. Holding out his hands, he slowly stepped away. The cowering man watched him with an empty-eyed stare.

Geoffrey turned to face Karl and the others, with a look of utter defeat on his face.

Morgan shook his head. “Take your own advice, Athelmarch. There’s nothing we can do here.”

Duncan stepped forward. “Gof… look, there’s a door.” The rifleless rifleman pointed at the wall on the other side of the aisles of console-walled desks. “It’s open.”

Geoffrey tried to respond, but a coughing fit stole his words away.

Karl swallowed hard.

The fit had clearly disturbed Geoffrey. The Count regained his composure with a nod. “Let’s go.”

Through the doorway lay a narrow hallway, lined with rooms. The sickly sweet stench that peppered the air was even stronger here. Strange, shallow depressions marred the floor in long, slender streaks, as if carved in by many small strokes of the edge of a spoon. Here and there, the walls were covered in messy streaks of dried ooze.

“Spread out,” Geoffrey said. “The weapons have to be here somewhere.” He glanced at the stains and the abraded depression. “But be careful.”

Everyone nodded and then picked a room to search.

Karl chose a room at the far end of the hall. The door was closed. Turning the knob, he started pushing the door open when a shout belted out from another room.

“I’ve found them!” Duncan yelled.

Karl moved toward the sound, only to stop dead in his tracks as a low, rumbling voice spoke from the other side of the door, like a murmuring regal.

“Is someone there?”

Before he even knew what he was doing, Karl turned and pushed the door open.

The door swung inward, revealing one of the serpent-monsters Karl had seen on the consoles’ videos.

The creature was tall, neck bending down where it abutted the ceiling. Its face was a man’s, but on a head that was anything but. The creature’s head was elongated lengthwise, as if someone had grabbed the man’s face by the nose and stretched the skull in that direction, yet leaving his facial features unchanged. Glistening golden globes blinked on the sides of his head, surrounded by rinds that had once been ears. Spines grew out from his lengthened neck and back, the tips of which swelled with golden protuberances. One of his hands was deformed—a claw. His legs were burnt, blackened twigs on either side of a plump cap of rust-colored flesh.

A budding tail.

Karl screamed. Footsteps pounded against the floor.

Time seemed to slow. Suddenly, Karl felt as if all of his nerves had been turned inside-out. Saliva frothed down his lips, and his limbs lost their vigor. Then the console fell from his hands, hitting the floor right as his vision suddenly tasted blue.