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Royal had been wandering the Boneyard for days, with no luck. Another step brought another twinge in his bad leg, and he grimaced. He hadn't expected it to be so difficult to find someone in a place so empty. There was nothing out here but dust and bones. And snakes. He would have stopped to rest by now if it weren't for the shattered serpents that wormed their way through the ground like maggots through old meat. Ignoring the pain in his leg and the shifting of the sand beneath him, he pressed on, but it was only a few more feet before his boots sunk deep into the sand and another sudden, sharp pain sent him falling to his knees.
This had to stop. Panting, he forced himself back to his feet. Night was falling. He hadn't wanted to spend another night out here. A part of him wondered if the rumors he had been following were just that- rumors. Surely, no one would choose to live out here. He heard a faint hissing sound and staggered onward. It could have just been the sand shifting again, but the air was deathly still.
In the distance, he could see the red glow of small campfires beginning to pop up. Survivors, small clans, and wanderers like himself, no doubt. If he didn't find what he was looking for soon, he would just have to find a friendly looking campsite and see if he couldn't talk his way into a place to stay for the night. A place to rest and think of a new course of action. Maybe he would go back to the Ruins and see what he could dig up- there. In the distance.
Finally, on the horizon, Royal could see his destination. A tall building, silhouetted against the sunset, half-covered by one of the ever-spreading patches of rot that dotted the landscape. It was actually the fading light that had made it visible. The large sign over the entrance had been illuminated by magic, and despite the foggy, hazy air, it glowed a vibrant red. The tireness seemed to melt away from his aching limbs, and he continued on his way.
He made it as far as the door before his leg twisted under him again, this time leaving him on his hands and knees on the doorstep. He sucked in a sharp breath of mostly dust and some air. How much of his life had he spent wandering? It hadn't used to hurt this much. Slowly, he got to his feet, careful not to put too much weight on his right leg. Leaning against a nearby pillar, he took a few minutes to collect himself before making for the door.
The interior of the building was a stark contrast to the wasteland outside. It was no longer the perfect, sterile white it probably had been when it was built, but it was obvious that a lot of effort had been put into keeping it clean. Several chairs lined the walls in the entryway, a pair of tables breaking up the rows. Each table held a small potted plant- artificial, upon closer inspection- and a few pamphlets and magazines, all yellowed with age. At the end of the room stood a desk, an empty chair behind it. It looked like there really ought to be someone sitting there to greet visitors, but a thin layer of dust told Royal that no one had been there for some time. Luckily, there were plenty of people around anyway. They just all seemed too busy to notice him.
A tiny woman in a nurse's uniform rushed back and forth, pushing gurneys and barking orders, while a gangly, tired-looking young man stood by taking notes. The woman's ruddy pink skin was covered in deep scars and pockmarks. The young man, meanwhile, was dark-skinned and "only" covered in painful-looking, unnaturally green pustules. A third person- or at least, Royal was pretty sure it was a person- lumbered in, limping on legs of mismatched size and length. She brought with her a cleaver and the stench of death that Royal had thought he would leave behind outside.
"Well? Is that the last of them?" The small, scarred woman asked, shoving the last gurney into the same storage room as the others. She slammed the door shut, and the sound echoing off the walls of the entryway almost covered the sound of things crashing to the floor inside the storeroom. The larger figure nodded, breathing heavily under her plague doctor's mask. "Finally," The small one said.
"So I should go now?" The young man asked, his voice raspy and muffled under his own thin surgical mask. A reddish-green stain had begun to spread across it. Royal found himself holding his breath.
"Yes. Go straight back to quarantine. You sound awful," She replied. The way she said it left no room to wonder if she might have meant it as a friendly jest. The young man nodded, coughed, and turned to go. Then the nurse turned to Royal. "Okay, whaddaya need? You sick? Injured? Just looking for a place to sleep?" She glared at him. She looked like she was daring him to be more amused than intimidated.
"No, not at all," He said. She narrowed her eyes further. "I was actually hoping I could speak to whomever runs this establishment."
"Why?"
"Well, I've heard... amazing things about the work you-" She cut him off with a snort. Now it was Royal's turn to glare. "About. The work you do here. I was just hoping I could speak to the doctor. One scholar to another."
"Does speaking with him involve the sword?" She asked, nodding towards the rapier hanging at his hip. Perhaps he should have left it outside. But then, wasn't everyone armed out here? The hulking figure, now leaning against the dusty desk, certainly was. She was watching the scene unfold with interest... or perhaps falling asleep. It was impossible to tell through the dirty lenses of her mask.
Royal swallowed the urge to say anything about the smell, which was quickly becoming unbearable. It reminded him of... something. Shaking it off, he took a breath through his mouth and said, as calmly as he could, "The sword is merely a means of self-defense. I would be more than happy to leave it here if you-"
"I would," She said, holding out her hands to take it. Royal gave a moment's pause before unbuckling the scabbard and handing it over. The blade was almost longer than she was tall, but she took it without flinching. She tossed it behind the counter with a clatter, and told him, "Alright, come on. Romero, you come too." She led Royal through the door on the far side of the room. The masked woman, Romero, nodded and followed along behind them. Probably acting as insurance, Royal thought. The short one clearly didn't like the look of him. It was almost funny, he thought, how worthy of suspicion he was out here. Though he was no longer a part of the Lightweaver's army, he still carried the crest and wore his old armor. Anywhere else, he looked like the most trustworthy person you could hope to meet.
The hall was long, and empty. Unlike the lobby, no effort had been put into making it feel more inviting. The doors on either side were marked with small signs, but that was the only thing that differentiated them from one another. The subtle patterns on the wallpaper repeated themselves endlessly, interrupted only by the occasional mysterious stain. Overhead, one of the pale lights flickered and buzzed. Electricity, this far out into the wasteland? Royal hadn't expected a plague hospital to be so cutting-edge.
With the smell of death literally following them, Royal found himself becoming more and more unnerved. Perhaps he would have found it easier to remain calm if he had his sword by his side. Not, he reminded himself, that he expected to be attacked here. He was not here to fight. He had not lied when he'd said the sword was only for self-defense, and no one here had any reason to want to hurt him... he hoped.
"So," He said, breaking the silence. The nurse said nothing, but her posture betrayed angry disappointment that he had done so. "I don't suppose I could ask your name?" It always paid to be polite, after all.
"No. You could not," She said, before stopping abruptly in front of a pair of doors. So abruptly, in fact, that Royal nearly ran into her, and Romero actually did run into him. She placed a heavy hand on his shoulder to steady herself, and Royal froze in place. Was it her gloves that were so cold, or was there no living flesh contained within them?
"Sorry... about that," Romero wheezed. Royal nodded and kept his eyes fixed on the wall. He held his breath and his position as the nurse reached up and pressed a small button on the wall in front of her. After several agonizing seconds, the doors slid open with a quiet chiming sound. Elevators as well? This place must have cost a fortune to build.
"Just come on," The nurse said, and beckoned the two of them inside.
If being followed through the narrow, dimly-lit halls by Romero had been bad, it was nothing compared to being stuck in an elevator with her. Royal couldn't tell if the tiny space really was airless, or if he was simply imagining it getting harder and harder to breathe. The nurse stared straight ahead at the wall, saying nothing, standing perfectly still. Romero stood beside him, seeming to take up all the space in the elevator and then some. Her heavy, rasping breaths grated at Royal's already frayed nerves, and he clasped his hands together to steady them. She was probably just sick, he told himself. This wasn't like him. It took far more than a wheezing nurse's aide to throw him. Or at least, it had used to.
The elevator stopped with a jolt as it reached the top floor, and opened out into a hallway that looked much like the one downstairs. It looked cleaner, though. Newer. Or perhaps just less well-used, and less utilitarian. The lights all worked, and there were some small decorations here and there. Pots containing more fake plants rested on the floor. On the walls hung a few amateur portraits of landscapes, with short, motivational rejoinders written beneath them.
Not all the doors up here were marked with signs, and the ones that were were only marked with names. The one they stopped as was near the elevators, thankfully. Having the opportunity to rest for a moment had only reminded Royal how exhausted he was, and he wasn't sure if he could walk much further.
"Tremain! Somebody's here to see you!" She shouted, pounding on the door and abruptly breaking the silence that hung over the hospital like a shroud. From inside the office came the sound of rustling papers, but no other reply. "Ugh. Just come on." She pushed the door open- unlocked, though it did have a lock- and barged in.
The room was, to put it bluntly, a mess. A discarded pair of heavy gloves and a lab coat that might have once been white were tossed on the floor just inside the door. The walls were lined with shelves, and the shelves were piled high with tattered, well-used books and papers. The only gap in the bookshelves came in the form of a single, small window on the furthest wall. There was a desk at the back of the room- or at least, Royal hoped there was a desk under all those papers- and a few chairs, but those had been similarly re-purposed to serve as extra storage space. Behind the desk stood a man, small, but not quite as short as the nurse, with red hair turning to gray and crooked glasses sliding down his nose. He was busily scrawling something in the margins of another file. He also hadn't seemed to notice them come in, despite the noise. Much too absorbed in his work, apparently.
There wasn't much room to walk with how cluttered everything was, but the nurse pressed onward. Royal stepped where she did, and Romero just pushed things aside as she dragged her feet.
"Tremain! Did you hear me? I said there's someone here to see you!" The nurse said, leaning over his desk. Tremain glanced up for a moment, nodded, and went back to his paper. After another few seconds, he seemed to realize what was happening.
"Oh, Vascula! How long have you been there? I'm sorry. I was just finishing up this- is someone here to see me?" He asked, leaning to the side to peer around her. The nurse, apparently Vascula, heaved a sigh and dragged her hands slowly down her face. Silently, she turned and stormed out. Royal and Romero stepped smartly out of her way. The slamming of the door behind her caused a small snowstorm of papers to fall from the shelves around them, though Tremain didn't seem bothered by it. "Well, I suppose that's a yes," He said, catching one of the papers as it fell and adding it to the stack on his straining desk.
Royal stepped forward and quietly cleared his throat. "Are you the head doctor here?" He asked.
"As a matter of fact, I am! What can I do for you?" Tremain smiled, but didn't look up from his papers. He sounded like he had been living in the wastelands for quite a while, but he still spoke with a faint accent that Royal couldn't quite place. Judging from the color of his eyes, it was probably from somewhere in the Tangled Wood.
"I'm here to talk to you about the Afterlife Project," Royal said.
That finally seemed to get the doctor's attention. There was a slight shuffling of papers as the folder he had been organizing slid out of his hands and rejoined its brethren on the floor. "Where did you hear about that? What did you hear about that? Because I assure you, the reports of the deaths were highly- just who are you, anyway?" He spluttered.
"No, no, doctor, you misunderstand," Royal added, extremely consicious of the fact that Romero was reaching for her cleaver behind him. "I'm only a scholar, like yourself. I've heard such incredible things about your work. I was hoping we could talk. But if you're busy, I'll just be on my way." With that, he turned slowly- very slowly, both to give Tremain time to think and to make sure he didn't catch Romero by surprise- and started out the door.
"...What... have you heard about my work, exactly?"
Royal stopped in the doorway. He smiled to himself before turning back to face Tremain, who had gathered up his armful of papers from the floor and was now absentmindedly spreading them across his desk. "Only what everyone knows by now, I'm sure. You've made quite a name for yourself out here."
"Hmph. Not necessarily a good one."
"Well, genius is never truly appreciated in its time, is it, doctor?" Royal asked. Tremain paused as he said that, unable to hide his smile completely. Perhaps this would be easier than Royal had expected. "And regardless of a few naysayers, you're still the doctor who cured death itself, aren't you?"
"Almost cured," Tremain said, softly. He stopped to think for a moment before hurrying out from behind his desk and whisking away a stack of books to reveal a chair. He gestured for Royal to sit before returning to his proper place. "Well. I suppose I'm never too busy to talk to a- a fellow scholar! Where did you say you were from, mister...?"
Royal gratefully accepted the offered seat. Relief and exhaustion flooded over him in equal parts. He hadn't filly realized until now how tired he really was. "The Hewn City. Though I haven't been home in some time."
"All the way from the Hewn City! I certainly hope you haven't come all this way just to talk to me about my failed pet projects," Tremain said, inspecting a nearby overturned teacup. It seemed to be slowly dawning on him what a disaster his office was, as if he himself was not responsible for the state it was in. Royal smiled politely and was very careful not to stare at the mess. It was challenging, considering there was more mess than room.
"Well, not exactly. I have a proposition for you, doctor, and I think it will be the perfect opportunity to put to good use everything you learned from the Afterlife Project."
Tremain looked interested, though he was trying to hide it. Royal really would have expected someone from the shadowlands to have a better poker face. In the doorway, Romero shifted, causing another small avalanche of books and papers. It was a good thing this place wasn't lit by firelight- the whole place would surely be in flames within minutes.
"Oh, Romero- you can go, really," Tremain said, finally noticing her presence. "I'm sure Vascula is waiting for you. Besides, you've earned a break!"
Romero shrugged, sheathed her cleaver, and limped out. The door slammed shut behind her again, and miraculously, the room and its contents remained largely intact.
"She's our surgeon," Tremain explained. "You should see her work- it's really something! She's the genius here, really."
"Yes, she... certainly is something," Royal said, quietly hoping that the doctor would open a window.
"Now, about that proposition you mentioned?" Tremain asked. He looked like a child who had just been told he was being given a present. Royal had heard that the Afterlife Project had gone south quickly and with little warning. Maybe something new to work on was just what the doctor needed.
"Tell me, doctor," Royal said, slowly. "...How much do you know about Emperors?"