A Spoiled Rule

Chapter 19

After setting Tholle carefully on the floor of the attic, Jackson hurried to Liam. "I will secure the bottom floor."
"I will help," said Liam, making his way as quietly as he could down the rickety wooden stairs. He wasn't surprised to find Coulím following. It was quiet on the bottom floor of the bar, and Liam assumed most zombies were eating away at Mettiam or roaming through the wreckage of the building they had fallen through. Jackson secured the door at the front of the bar, while Liam and Coulím secured the back. The alleyway bar seemed to be one of the few survivors of the first hours of the plague. Everything was intact, save for an upturned table and a couple of smashed bottles of rum.
As Liam did not have a golden latch to secure the door, he grabbed a chair and was planning to snap off its leg when Coulím intervened. "Allow me," he said, lying down the chair and kicking at its legs until one came loose. "I haven't seen any fight while they were undergoing our treatment."
Liam didn't want to hear anything of his state of health, for it reminded him of his weakness and threatened to buckle his knees. "I'm glad the blade of your family rests with you."
Coulím smiled. He wedged the leg of the chair between the handles of the door. "I am, as well. Did you send the thief to find it?"
Liam shook his head. He grabbed another leg and forced it through the handles. "I was unaware of his intentions. Tholle is a stubborn thief. I knew only that he wanted to go out and steal."
Coulím gave the door a firm shake, and when the legs did not budge, he turned. "Is he sick?"
Liam shook his head. "He was drugged by Mettiam. The drug... It shuts down the mind, though you can still partly hear what is going on around you. You cannot think, so you speak either nonsense or spill secrets, or nothing at all."
After a brief silence, Coulím dipped his head. "I am sorry you went through that before. How long does it last?"
Liam paused. He was not certain of the answer. "I shall have to ask Stephen. In fact, I must ask Stephen many things." He called to Jackson. "Is the front secure?"
There came no reply.
Liam immediately turned to find Jackson standing near the front door, frozen, his eyes on the right side of the room, where a zombie stood very still. Liam recognized it at once to be William. Liam recognized much danger, aside from the fact that they were in a locked room with a zombie. Even dead, William still held power over Jackson.
"It doesn't come to us, though we speak," whispered Coulím.
Liam could sense mounting fear in Jackson. Liam took a few slow steps toward his guard, and when William's gaze snapped toward Liam, he stopped. Now beside Jackson, he spoke quietly. "He can no longer silence you, Jackson."
Jackson's breaths were shaky.
William bolted for Jackson. Liam grabbed his knife, but William's arm shot out and knocked the blade from his grasp. Pain flared in his wrist. William tackled Jackson to the floor, and Liam retrieved his knife.
Jackson kicked at William with both of his feet and the dead guard flew off of him. Jackson scrambled to his feet just as William ran for him again. Liam threw his knife, but he missed and the blade caught in the opposite wall.
Coulím ran to Jackson's aid and held out his arm just as William's jaw unhinged. William clamped down on Coulím's armor.
Liam watched. He knew this battle had to be won by Jackson. With Coulím's arm serving as a barrier, Jackson stared into William's dead eyes with tears. William's reaching hands grasped Jackson's shirt. Jackson automatically raised his knife and shakily sunk it into William's head, and after a moment, William sank to the ground, letting go of both Jackson and Coulím.
Liam retrieved his blade and bent down over William. He sighed and gently closed William's cold eyelids. "Now you shall rest with," he said quietly. He stood and sheathed his blade.
"I-I will secure the door," said Jackson faintly, and he gathered two legs of a chair and pushed them through the door handles.
"Is everything alright?" asked Prima, who was standing halfway up the stairs. Her eyes landed on William and she covered her mouth.
"Everything is alright," said Liam. He turned toward Jackson, who now stood near the door, his head bowed. "There is nothing to be ashamed of," said Liam quietly. "You did not allow William to silence you this time, and you freed him. That is worthy of honorable recognition."
Jackson nodded his head, but said, "I let harm come to you."
"My wrist is fine," said Liam. He hardly worried for his wrist, as his entire body ached.
"I... I shall stand guard down here."
"Only for a little," said Liam. "You must rest."
"Guards rest in secrecy," said Jackson.
Liam sensed Jackson's uncomfortableness, but he paid no mind. "Maybe so, but tonight you shall rest as a king." He turned away from Jackson, allowing the man privacy to show his emotions. Liam started for the stairs.
"I don't think I will be needing this tonight," said Coulím, more to himself. He unclasped his shoulder hinges and pulled his armor from his chest.
Liam noticed a blood stain at the shoulder of Coulím's shirt. "You're bleeding?" he asked, confused.
Coulím glanced at his shoulder. "It's no more than a flesh wound. Mettiam's retractable knife caught me slightly between the joints of my armor. I don't need-"
Immediately, Coulím stopped, and Liam followed his gaze. On the arm Coulím had held out to stop William from biting Jackson sat blood. It was seeping from a gash on Coulím's wrist which was not protected by his armor.
"Stephen! Harvey!" Liam shouted, and he was momentarily startled by how loud his voice was. He didn't believe he had that much volume in him.
Both Stephen and Harvey pounded down the stairs. Harvey slapped his hat over his mess of hair.
"Stephen, Coulím has been bitten," said Liam hurriedly.
Immediately, Stephen pulled a roll of gauze from his jacket, momentarily oblivious to the amount of pain the action caused him. "Wrap it very tightly above the wound," he advised, and Liam did so.
"Harvey, are there any alive ships with propellors?" asked Liam.
"Yes," replied Harvey immediately.
"Take Coulím back to Dínam," said Liam clearly.
Harvey clenched his jaw and nodded. "Aye."
Coulím was shaking his head. "I will turn before we reach Dínam."
"He's correct," said Stephen grimly. "My estimate at most is ten minutes."
"Leave now and hurry as fast as you can to the ports," said Liam. To Harvey, he added, "And bind Coulím if you must!"
"Aye!" Harvey said, ushering Coulím toward the door.
"And Harvey," continued Liam, "Find a crew in Dínam."
Harvey smiled faintly and gave one last nod before releasing the door and disappearing beyond with Coulím.
Liam could think of no words to say, so quietly he and Stephen climbed back up the steps. With each step, butterflies of weakness fluttered through Liam's legs. When he reached the attic, he found Gresham lying on a bed tucked into a corner, Prima sitting beside him holding his hand. Tholle was lying semi-conscious on his back.
Stephen muttered under his breath and pushed his hair out of his eyes. He then reached into his coat pocket and pulled out some gauze.
Liam could not help the chuckle that escaped from his lips. "I've been meaning to ask how it is that you still have gauze in your pocket when a building fell on you."
"Of course I have gauze," said Stephen rather seriously. "How did he get so close to you?" He pulled a rag from his pocket and poured some alcohol on it.
"You swiped some bottles downstairs, too? With your purple hands?" Liam asked.
Stephen smirked. "Yes, I did. This may sting." He touched the rag to the cut on Liam's face that Mettiam had made. Liam winced, but no more. He was too tired to show much more pain.
"How did he get this close to you?" Stephen asked again.
"Who? Mettiam got close to me with a retractable knife," said Liam quietly. "Coulím saved Jackson, and I went to speak with him, and that's when we both noticed he'd been bitten." After a pause, he said, "I tried to find you in the rubble."
"I assumed you did," mumbled Stephen. The rag he held was now covered with blood, and he switched to bandages. "I woke under a piece of stone, and I crawled out and saw Gresham and Prima. Then when I saw Jackson without you, I... I thought you were dead."
"Will Gresham be alright?" asked Liam softly. Prima had curled onto the small bed beside her sleeping brother.
Stephen glanced at Gresham. "He should be. The stone was wedged between the side of his ribs, though it was a clean removal. It didn't puncture his lung, so he is very lucky. It did not even break his ribs."
"And your hands?" asked Liam tentatively.
Stephen paused, his eyes frozen on his purple hands. "If I don't perform surgery on them by tomorrow, I will lose them," he said, and Liam could hear trembling deep within his voice.
"You wish to perform surgery... yourself, on your own hands?" Liam hissed. "Stephen, tell me what to do. I know the basics. I will do the surgery if you tell me how."
"I've lost any pain medication, so it is likely that I'll pass out during the surgery," Stephen continued. "But I know what must be done to save my hands. Very well, you will operate. Allow me to finish with you first." He placed a bandage over the gash on Liam's face. "It's not too deep, but I'll have to look at it in the morning." He took another breath and gazed at Liam. "You are still running a fever," he observed. "How is it that you survived the battle?"
Liam hesitated. He didn't know whether Stephen saw the moment in which he considered losing the battle, but he was not prepared for confession. In due time he shall. "I have yet to figure that out. I'm exhausted, and this fever is causing much pain... It must be the will to fight for my people."
"It must be," repeated Stephen softly. He pressed his fingertips to Tholle's neck and waited. After a dangerously long moment, he took a deep breath. "His pulse is slow but quick enough to just barely reach consciousness. Theron, can you hear me?"
"It is Tholle," said Liam.
"Tholle, can you hear me?" corrected Stephen.
After a moment, Tholle slurred, "Pocket... In pocket..."
Liam wondered whether it was the papers stuffed in Tholle's shirt or something else he spoke of, though his gut told him it was something else. Liam thought back to his own bad experience, and remembered a sour rag being stuffed in his mouth. "The rag... Have you searched for a rag?"
Stephen's eyes widened. He shook his head.
Liam unbuttoned Tholle's shirt and searched through various hidden pockets. He found numerous papers with scribbles and a few golden bracelets. Finally, in a small pocket near the shoulder, Liam pulled out a papery thin rag that carried a sour smell. Immediately he became dizzy.
Jackson spontaneously appeared and took the rag, stomping down the stairs and disappearing with it.
"Liam, in my pocket there is a small case. Can you take it out for me?" asked Stephen quietly, his hair sticking to his forehead. He was rubbing a rag of alcohol over his hands.
Liam found a simple leather case within Stephen's pocket and opened it. Inside, he found a needle, surgical wire, a sort of tube, a thin blade, and tweezers. Liam's stomach flipped looking at the sharp tools. "Perhaps you should be unconscious for this, Stephen."
Stephen took a deep breath and shook his head. "I must tell you what to do. We'll get this over with. The tools are already clean." He shakily lie his hands flat against the floor. "Cut a mountain peak into both of my hands, so that the peak reaches my middle knuckle."
Immediately Liam knew he held no knowledge at all concerning medical training. No basic knowledge could prepare him for a surgery. Yet he could see determination within Stephen's eyes. He knew what must happen. Liam grabbed the thin blade and hovered over Stephen's hands. "Prima, can you... Are you... Will you be beside me while I do this?"
Prima lifted her head and stood, her hands brushing along Gresham's chest. She glanced at the knife in Liam's hand and nodded. "What do you need, Stephen?"
"Be beside Liam," said Stephen, clenching his jaw. "This is the hardest thing he'll ever have to do for a friend." He grabbed the rag of alcohol and stuffed it into his mouth and nodded toward Liam.
"How deep should I cut?" asked Liam.
Prima took the rag from Stephen's mouth. "Two to three centimeters." Prima stuffed the rag back into his mouth.
Liam didn't want to prolong Stephen's pain, so carefully with sweaty fingers, he cut into Stephen's hands. At first, Stephen tried to hide the pain by closing his eyes and biting down on the rag, but the pain could not be concealed. His cries were muffled, so that no zombies would hear from outside the walls of the bar. A few tears escaped down his face, and color drained from him.
Liam needed a rag. He needed to stop the blood flow. He needed to do something, but he didn't know what, and he was beginning to panic. His hands shook.
Stephen opened his eyes, and for a moment, Liam recognized the signs of passing out, but Prima removed the rag and he spoke. "Y-You must... Use the tweezers. Align the second... third a-and last bones beneath the knuckles."
Liam didn't question how he must align the bones. He grabbed the tweezers, took another breath, and lowered them toward what he thought to be the first bone that needed realigning. There was yellow-white beneath the red, and Liam grabbed at it between the tips of the tweezers.
Stephen stayed conscious for the first two realignments, but fell unconscious for the third, along with the surgery of his other hand. Prima guided Stephen's head back and Liam tried his best to perform the surgery correctly, though he knew they were missing vital medical technology that would do much better. Liam wished his friend could rest afterwards, but Prima gently shook Stephen and pulled his hair out of his eyes, and he woke. His eyelids were only half-open, but he seemed aware of what was occurring.
"D-Don't have rods to keep the bones from moving," said Stephen faintly. "Just... Just wrap them both tightly... Make sure I can't move my fingers w-when you do so."
Liam and Prima both grabbed the gauze. Stephen fell back unconscious when they began wrapping his hands, and when they were done and Liam was sure Stephen would not be able to move his fingers, he sat back and gazed at the blood on his hands. Another person's blood should not be on his hands, no matter the circumstances. He felt sick, though it was a different sort of sickness than the one causing his fever. He could hear Stephen's slow breaths, see Gresham's sleeping form. He could practically feel the drowsy confused state Tholle was stuck in, and feel Prima's stares on him. He could sense Jackson's attentiveness and grief. Prima noticed his distress, and she said, "You are troubled."
At these words, Liam became overwhelmed with grief, and he could not stop tears from spilling down his face. He could not hide them, no matter how quiet he made his sobs. He grabbed frustratingly at his hair, wanting to shout at the top of his lungs. He had given up before Mettiam. He shouldn't be sitting in the attic. He wasn't mad at Tholle, but at himself. He was no king.
Prima grabbed onto Liam's shaking hands and bore her large concerned eyes into his of despair. "You did good, Liam."
Liam's tears continued for a minute more until he began to catch his breath. He took deep breaths, his throat aching. He fought the urge to reply to Prima, tell her she was mistaken. His sorrow wouldn't benefit anyone.
"I don't have the right words to console you," said Prima softly. "I won't try to console you, for it can't be done. I will only speak the truth and hope that will be enough."
"You haven't seen the bulk of my reign," said Liam hoarsely. "You do not know how I've ruled."
"I don't need to be a citizen of Harksgold nor a palace royal to know that you rule fairly and justly," said Prima, conviction in her tone. She gave his hands a squeeze. "If you didn't show any emotion or admit any weakness, you'd be like Mettiam. You don't have to be king over us, Liam. You were never king of Harksgold because you were more than that. You are more than that, Liam. You're a friend."
"Being a friend doesn't make a king rule fairly," mumbled Liam. His heart was heavy.
"Being a friend allows a king to serve his people with love. It allowed you to stay in Harksgold as long as you could. Any other king would have fled at the first notion of the plague." Prima gently touched Liam's face and turned his focus toward her. "We all respect you and hold no blame. Grief is good, but do not focus your grief on yourself."
Liam took a deep breath and nodded. "You should have been my advisor."
Prima laughed. It was a beautiful light sound. "You need no advisor, Liam."
Liam cleared his throat, his mind wandering toward Harvey. The poor man may be escorting a zombie at this moment. Coulím didn't deserve to be infected. What was worse, the blue medicine most likely would not work on him. "I fear for the portmaster's safety," said Liam quietly.
Prima's smile disappeared. "Harvey is grieving, but sending him out into the sea might heal his grieving heart. The sea is his love. As for Coulím... We shall see," she said quietly. She gave his hands one last squeeze and stood, returning to her brother.
Liam sensed Jackson, and he turned, finding the guard searching for a spot to sit. He chose a spot against the wall closest to the stairs, and gave a small nod.
Liam smiled. "Now you rest as a king. Rather, a displaced king."
Jackson returned the smile. "Now I rest as a displaced king." He rested his head against the wall.
Liam took another breath and laid down on the dusty floor. If he listened intently, he could hear the muffled shuffling of lifeless corpses outside the bar, though he knew no corpse suspected their presence. He could finally have a moment of rest on his own terms.
Tholle muttered under his breath. He lie near Liam, eyes fluttering, as if he was struggling to open them. Sloppily his hand slapped his chest, and began rummaging through the numerous pockets within his shirt.
Liam lifted his head. "Tholle? Tholle, what is it that you search for?"
A moment later, a folded paper with a string around it was in Tholle's hand. His eyes opened no more than a few centimeters and he took very large breaths, as if he had forgotten how to breathe. He turned his head and let his hand fall near Liam. "Plan," Tholle said faintly.
Liam grabbed the plan and unraveled the string. He carefully unfolded it, afraid he'd rip the thin paper. He held it before his eyes.
He quickly realized he was looking at a masterpiece. He couldn't believe that Tholle had learned to draw on his own. He had created exactly what Liam asked for, and the most thrilling part was that Liam knew exactly where they were going to live within the kingdom. In the corner of the paper was a new name. Liam carefully folded the paper and tied the string back around it, holding it to his chest. "Thank you, Theo."
"It was my honor," said Theo faintly.
Liam closed his eyes. After some time passed, only the sound of sleeping breaths filled the air. He had never experienced such peace; not even in his childhood. How free from courtly and royal principles he was. He could rule however he wanted. He shall rule as a friend. He shall build a new kingdom; a new palace. It would not be one of glory but one of safety and comfort. And finally, he could sleep in a room with people he trusted.
How unique and beautiful of an attic he lie in.