Dimitry kept this morning’s shipment a secret. Given the nature of its contents, he had no choice.
The Church was a continental force capable of crushing empires and likely had spies lurking among the populace. If they discovered the sacrosanct yellow rocks, the ones that were heretical for him to own, Dimitry would attract unwanted attention. Especially once religious authorities learned that demons harvested them.
The thought of six crates of sulfur leading to a kingdom’s downfall was strange. And yet, Sophie’s fearful response and the queen’s warning left Dimitry unwilling to tempt fate. Limiting who knew about the controversial chemical was imperative to Malten’s survival. His survival.
Among the privileged few in the know were the staff of this world’s first chemistry lab. Midday light pouring through orange stained glass windows illuminated their forward-leaning postures as they fiddled with medievalesque equivalents to cutting edge equipment: uneven green beakers, pestles, mortars, and forceps.
A gray-haired man lifted a yellow stone smelling faintly of rotten eggs and dropped it into a balance scale’s pan. The seesaw shaped weighing device tilted too far to the left. Clewin added too much sulfur. “How exact do I have to be?”
“As exact as possible.” Dimitry dragged a ceramic pestle across a matching mortar’s walls, powdering any charcoal caught between the two. “Remember, seventy-five percent potassium nitrate, fifteen percent charcoal, and ten percent sulfur.”
One of Clewin’s three apprentices looked up, her expression puzzled and in awe at basic math.
Her mentor wasn’t as impressed. Clewin’s eyes furrowed. “And this is supposed to kill heathens?”
“If we do it right, it is.”
“I don’t mean to doubt your methods, but I never heard of holy sands killing anything before.”
“That’s because sulfur isn’t just holy sand.” Dimitry tapped the side of the mortar to loosen charcoal stuck to the walls. “It's a chemical with far more exciting uses than baptizing newborns or whatever the Church does with it.”
Clewin cut chunks from the sulfurous rock until the balance scale’s beam aligned with the table’s edge. “What kind of uses?”
“Rifles, cannons, and bombs.”
“Bombs? How do you mean?”
Were people in this world unaware of explosive weapons? Dimitry lowered his pestle. “As soon as we combine all three powders, you’ll see what I’m talking about. Is everyone ready?”
“Is the potasem saltpeter good enough?” An apprentice slid a bowl full of white dust across the table. “I don’t think I can crush it any more.”
Dimitry dipped a finger into the bowl to discover a soft sensation mimicking fine chalk. Although a few potassium nitrate crystal fragments remained, he couldn’t expect perfect results without equipment capable of milling on a microscopic level. “Looks good. How about the sulfur?”
“I have it, Jade Surgeon.” A woman wearing a brown apron cradled a small plate as she scuttered through the former church. “I hope it meets your expectations.”
So did he.
“Thank you.” Dimitry placed all three chemicals into a neat row. At last, he had every ingredient necessary to make black powder. However, now that he did, Dimitry didn’t know how to proceed.
His time in university chemistry labs told him that most exothermic reactions required activation energy before they could start, but what did that entail? Would the mixture explode if combined without appropriate procedures or equipment? If shaken? Only when placed near an open flame?
The closest Dimitry got to handling black powder was when he dabbled with fireworks on New Year’s eve. Since they were illegal in his city, he launched only small rockets. How he wished to have experimented more back then. A lack of understanding meant that caution was the best way forward. There was no point in risking his own or his employees’ safety. “Everyone step back. This could be dangerous.”
Caution in his eye, Clewin nodded. “B-be careful.” He stepped back until he bumped into the room’s far side wall.
The apprentices did the same.
Holding his breath, Dimitry poured crushed sulfur and potassium nitrate into the ceramic pestle containing the charcoal he ground earlier.
While some powder drifted into the air, it didn’t explode.
So far, so good.
Dimitry swirled the mixture until it became uniform.
Still no explosion.
Although having intact fingers relieved him, Dimitry’s brows furrowed. The powder’s appearance was strange. He brought it closer to his face.
Clewin approached with hesitant steps. “You all right?” Not receiving a response, he glanced inside the pestle. “Is it supposed to look like that?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You called it black powder, right?”
“Yeah.”
“It looks kinda gray to me.”
Dimitry placed the mixture onto the table. Despite following the vision’s formula precisely, the black powder he made was more gray than black. Why? Did this world’s chemistry differ from Earth’s? A possibility, but a conclusion best saved for when all other explanations failed.
The presence of impurities was more plausible. Although sulfur and potassium nitrate’s lack of discoloration indicated purity, Malten’s charcoal burners stacked many additives onto wood before setting it all alight. There could be countless contaminants in their product. But did it matter? Would the gray color decrease efficacy? There was only one way to find out. “Let’s go to the roof, I want to test—”
The sound of grinding tools and crunching powder.
Dimitry’s heart skipped a beat. His head twisted to see a horrifying sight.
An apprentice pounding at the black powder mixture.
“Don’t!” Dimitry grabbed her pestle and mortar before an untimely explosion turned her face into a modern art exhibit.
She bowed. “S-sorry, Jade Surgeon.”
“It could have blown up in your hands. Never grind black powder after all the components are mixed. Understand?”
“My apologies.”
“Be more careful. I can fix a cut, but I can’t replace your limbs.”
“Is it really that dangerous?” Clewin asked.
“I hope so.” Dimitry pointed to a small, wooden container he purchased from a local blacksmith. “Get the tinderbox, and we’ll find out.”
The gray-haired man grabbed the medieval matches, then, with three apprentices in tow, followed him up a set of spiral stairs.
Winter’s gale chilled Dimitry when he reached the former church’s weather exposed roof. Beyond the lavish, decorative arches overlooking Malten’s streets, iron-reinforced buildings sandwiched frozen roads supporting figures huddled in loose rags and people whose skin was no longer purple. Although their plague vanished, starvation, homelessness, and frostbitten extremities remained.
Dimitry couldn’t afford to house and feed everyone. He could, however, help keep heathens from trampling them before spring arrived. Or at least he hoped he could. If his discolored black powder failed to work, neither explosives nor flintlocks would be a possibility. This city would have to survive on limited soldiers and a dwindling vol supply.
He licked his thumb and raised it, leaving it prey to a drifting cold. The frail wind made for suitable testing conditions. Dimitry crouched and tilted the mortar in his hand to pour a thin line of black powder onto the granite floor.
Clewin massaged the burn scar on his neck. “What should I do?”
“Start a fire at one end to light the trail.”
“Is that safe?”
“Good to see you being cautious.” Dimitry stood. “Normally, you wouldn’t want even a spark near explosives because it could set all of them off, but it’s fine when there’s this little. We have to test it somehow.”
Clewin paused, nodded, and gripped a horseshoe-shaped piece of steel in one hand and a flint rock in the other. He struck them several times before falling sparks lit a cloth fragment on fire. After placing it beside the black powder trail, he jumped back.
The apprentices looked on with wide-open eyes as scant white smoke smelling of spent fireworks rose from the burning mixture.
Dimitry’s eyes fixated on the fire crawling along a line of gray-tinted black powder. He watched it with bated breath. However, unlike the others, his focus didn’t originate from child-like astonishment. It came from the nagging desperation building in his abdomen. Fear that the substance wouldn’t be powerful enough. That producing gunpowder wasn’t as simple as he thought. If he failed, this night of repentance would be just as bad as the month prior.
Several excruciating seconds passed before the flame reached the end of the trail. The black powder burnt, smoldered.
But it did so slowly.
From the perspective of this world’s residents, the ‘weapon’ must have been a knick-knack that provided momentary entertainment. An expensive toy that served no purpose.
And their assessment would have been accurate.
Dimitry knelt beside the exhausted flames and ran his finger through a residue that shouldn’t have existed. The black powder in the relic’s vision combusted almost instantly and without leaving much remnants. His did not. What did he do wrong? Was it an error on his part? Were the chemicals contaminated?
His questions had no answers. All he knew was, the black powder he made was useless.
The worst-case scenario.
Without the ability to ignite rapidly, it couldn’t propel an iron pellet nor generate enough pressure required for explosives.
Dimitry’s boot tapped restlessly against the ground. Could he correct the faults before massive stone contraptions raided the city at the end of the month?
Clewin straightened his wind-ruffled gray hair. “That was interesting, but how are we supposed to use this on heathens? Do we set them on fire?”
“I’ll show you later.” Dimitry maintained a calm expression despite growing doubts. “For now, I want you four to keep grinding chemicals as finely as you can. Don’t mix them until I tell you to. Black powder ignites only after its components are combined.”
“R-right.”
Haste in his step, Dimitry strode down the former church’s stairs.
There was much to do and little time.
The muffled banter of recently housed and employed hospital staff echoed from the downstairs cathedral dormitory. It leaked from the floor to bring unfitting liveliness to a quiet office containing a brainstorming surgeon and his grooming faerie companion. Precious ran a cloth down her green wings, their gentle chiming nearly inaudible amongst distant chatter and winter winds whistling through the cracks of boarded windows.
But the frigid frost didn’t bother Dimitry. His racing thoughts wrestled with a more urgent problem. Elbows resting on his granite desk’s surface, his eyes fixated on the golf ball-sized relic in front of him. He had spent all afternoon studying its five repeating visions, hoping to solve the black powder problem.
His only lead came from the scene of a faceless man loading and shooting an arquebus. They used two types of gunpowder: a chunky variety to propel the lead pellet within the weapon’s barrel, and a finer derivative as priming powder.
Neither resembled the product Dimitry produced. They burned instantly, in a cloud of white smoke, and their granulated forms hinted at an unknown process between mixing powdered reagents and using them in weaponry.
What was the missing step?
Or were there multiple missing steps?
And what purpose did they serve?
How the hell was he supposed to figure it out?
Dimitry rested his forehead against the cold desk’s surface. Although he had a background in chemistry, working in several laboratories before landing a spot in medical school, there was no way for him to reverse engineer a manufacturing process refined over hundreds of years.
Was there?
Precious yawned. “Dumitry, you need to relax a little.”
“I am relaxed.”
“Are you seriously trying to lie to me?”
“Yes.” Dimitry leaned back in his chair and glanced inside a padded blanket drawer containing a lounging faerie. “It’d work better if you stopped reading my emotions.”
“Couldn’t even if I wanted to.” Precious looked up, revealing golden irises peeking from under blonde bangs. “You know what your problem is?”
Dimitry sighed. “I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
“Sticking your nose in other people’s business.”
“It’s strange hearing that from a creature that can’t stay out of my head.”
Precious paced inside the drawer with her hands behind her back like a tiny, lecturing professor. “You’re a doctor, right?”
“Right.”
“You’re good at poking people with sharp sticks and doing…and doing whatever it is you do. Right?”
“Close enough.”
Precious stopped walking. “So why are you getting involved in politics and diplomacy and weapons now, too? You’ve been staring at that stupid relic all evening, and it’s just making you panic. Just admit you’re not good at everything.”
“I thought you enjoyed seeing people panic.”
“Not the ones that feed me. You know how hard it’ll be to find another human if you go off the deep end? Let me tell you: really hard.”
A grin spread across Dimitry’s face. “Is that your way of saying you’re worried about me?”
“You wish.” Precious wrapped her shivering arms around her torso before huddling in a drawer corner. “And look, I lost my warm spot because of you. Can’t you do something about the cold?”
“I’ll get around to it someday.” Dimitry leaned back in his chair and looked up at a granite ceiling. Negotiating with demons, hunting Church spies, developing firearms he knew little about. Maybe Dimitry was reaching beyond his station. Perhaps one day, he would climb a tree he couldn’t get down from, leaving him trapped in a ruse of his own devising.
And yet, he couldn’t afford to do nothing. The night of repentance drew closer by the day, the hour, the minute, the second, and if the result of last month was anything to go by, this city wouldn’t survive unscathed. What if the walls completely crumbled this time? Would heathens trample everyone beneath their feet?
How many would die?
His expertise as a surgeon did nothing to help people once they passed. But he did have something else. Something no one other person in this world did—a modern education. Centuries of contemporary thought and tribulations in history. Although Dimitry wasn’t an expert in much besides medicine, his fragmented memories could help him survive in the last bastion of humanity willing to take him in.
That was why he couldn’t sit idle.
A gentle knocking against the former study’s door. “Mr. Dimitry?”
It was his head nurse.
“Watch your head,” Dimitry whispered to Precious.
“Wai—”
He slammed her drawer shut and stood. “Lili, you can come in.”
The nurse rushed into his office. The pink ribbon tying her red hair into a ponytail rested over her brown apron—attire unsuitable to her profession. Dimitry would have to get his employees proper uniforms one of these days.
“Mr. Dimitry, there’s a man who says he feels like someone is slicing his belly open from the inside.”
Guess that meant Dimitry’s brief break was over. This time, it was a patient with a vague symptom. The cause could have been anything from diverticulitis to kidney stones. Dimitry strode past her and through the doorway. “Did he complain about anything else?”
Hands curled to her chest, Lili trailed behind him. “He said some people had to carry him here because of the pain.”
“Why? Does it hurt so much that he can’t move?”
“I don’t know. He said the pain got worse when walking. His wife is with him now.”
Dimitry ran down one of the former cathedral’s towers. “Did they say exactly where it hurts?”
“I—I didn’t ask. It sounded excruciating, so I came to get you as soon as possible. My apologies, Mr. Dimitry.”
“You made the right call. Like I say, if you have a patient you can’t treat on your own, come to me. Medicine isn’t something you should learn through trial and error.”
“I’ll watch carefully.”
“Good girl.”
“Girl?”
An inquisitive glare dug into Dimitry’s back. He glanced over his shoulder to see a pretty, freckle-faced girl with furrowed eyebrows—one who appeared to be the same age as him. Although he transferred into this world with a youthful body, it did little to alter his tendencies to speak like someone in their mid-thirties. “Sorry. Force of habit.”
Lili smiled. “Be more careful next time, Mr. Dimitry. You reminded me of my father for a moment.”
“A good man, I hope.”
“Stubborn, but kind.”
Her words reminded Dimitry of his own father. Was he still there? In that rickety house overlooking the suburbs from a street corner? Those creaky floorboards. The speakers echoing mindless shooting and explosions as his dad watched television from his favorite living room sofa.
“Mr. Dimitry?”
Just as Lili’s words put Dimitry into a reminiscing trance, they also pulled him out of it.
“Come on, let’s go.” He marched through the cathedral’s bottom floor, past giant marble arches, and two rows of recycled beds. His untrained porters and housekeepers chatted away in small groups beside granite walls. The only qualities his hospital shared with a proper one were busy nurses, freezing air, and lingering death.
Dimitry entered his makeshift emergency room and approached the only man clutching his abdomen. The first step was to establish friendly relations with the patient and their family. He smiled before opening with his standard greeting.
“Hello. My name is Dimitry Stukov, and I’m the surgeon here. I believe you’ve already met my nurse, Lili Jung. How should I refer to you two?”
“J-Jade Surgeon,” said a woman hovering over the patient. “Clemet was just sitting and—”
“That’s not what he asked,” the man interrupted her. “My name is Clemet, and Phye here is my wife. She gets like this when she’s worried.”
Although Phye went silent, she continued to fidget in place.
Her panic didn’t help the situation. Dimitry dragged a chair forward. “Can you sit down and take a few deep breaths for me? I promise we’ll take excellent care of your husband.”
Phye hesitantly complied.
“Clemet,” Dimitry said, “Lili told me you had pain in your belly. Can you point to where it hurts?”
His finger moved towards the bottom right of his stomach. “It doesn’t hurt so much right now, but if I get up, it feels like I’m getting stabbed.”
“When did it start?”
“It got really bad last night. I couldn’t sleep at all.”
“But is that when it started?”
“I-I’m not sure.” Clemet’s hand moved towards the center of his swollen belly. “It kind of hurt here yesterday, but it wasn’t so bad.”
“Can you describe how it felt before it became bad?”
“Maybe like… a dull aching?”
The first thing that came to Dimitry’s mind was appendicitis—a common complaint he heard while working in the emergency room. Patients initially experienced vague pain near their belly button, which then worsened as it shifted towards their abdomen’s lower right quadrant. Every symptom matched Clemet’s exactly. If the diagnosis was correct, vertical movement should aggravate the discomfort.
“Clemet, can you jump up and down for me?”
“Jade Surgeon, I… I think I would die.”
“That painful?” Dimitry placed the back of his hand on the patient’s forehead. It was hot. They had a fever—evidence of a bacterial infection. If it resulted in an inflamed appendix, bowel obstruction was more than a possibility. “Do you have trouble passing gas?”
“W-what?”
“Is it hard to fart?”
Cheeks red, Clemet glanced at his wife. “Maybe a little.”
Dimitry nodded. “There’s no need to feel embarrassed, it’s a common problem. How about diarrhea or constipation? Anything like that?”
“I… I couldn’t go at all this morning.”
“Did you vomit? Do you feel nauseous?”
“I don’t think so.”
Severe pain, despite a lack of nausea, eliminated gastroenteritis. The location of the discomfort made diverticulitis unlikely. However, it was too early to assume the culprit was appendicitis.
Lili stepped closer. “What do you think, Mr. Dimitry?”
“I’m not completely sure yet, but Clemet’s appendix might rupture.”
“Appendix?” she asked.
“It’s a little pouch attached to the intestines.”
“M-my appendix?” Clemet asked.
“Yes,” Dimitry said. “I’m going to press down on it. Tell me if the pain gets better or worse. Ready?”
Clemet tensed as if in anticipation of intolerable pain. When Dimitry jabbed deep into the patient’s abdomen, their eyes slowly opened. “It hurt when you pushed down, but the pain is gone now. Am I… am I cured?”
“Unfortunately not.” Dimitry kept his finger pressed into the man’s abdomen. “Lili, this spot is called McBurney’s point and is where the appendix is usually found. If the pain gets better when I push down on it but worsens when I quickly let go, it means his appendix is inflamed. That’s what is called a positive Blumberg sign. Remember those words.”
“What are McBurney and Blumberg?” She asked. “Are those organs, too?”
Dimitry held back a laugh. “No, they’re genius surgeons from where I come from. I’ll tell you more about it later. For now, just know that a positive Blumberg sign means that the patient’s appendix is more likely to be infected. Clemet, get ready.” Dimitry quickly retracted his finger.
The patient groaned and grasped their belly.
“Clemet!” Phye jumped from her seat. “Are you okay?”
“It felt like someone cut into me with a hot knife.”
“Try not to worry too much, Phye. We’re a step closer to fixing your husband’s illness.”
Lili studied Dimitry. Her eager eyes, like those of a child overwhelmed by the mysterious workings of a space shuttle launch, demanded an explanation. “What now?”
Dimitry sighed. He would have liked to get a blood test, CAT scan, or at least a pelvic ultrasonography done to support his diagnosis, but this world didn’t have such luxuries. Resorting to simpler methods was all he could do. “Next, we’ll look for the psoas and obturator signs. Clemet, I’ll be moving your leg. Tell me if there’s any pain.”
“Y-Yes, Jade Surgeon.”
After several pained groans, Dimitry confirmed his initial diagnosis. The patient had an inflamed appendix that could burst at any moment. Although removing the organ was the standard treatment, it was also one he preferred to avoid. Open surgery was a death sentence in this world. That was why Dimitry opted for a more expensive, yet equally effective option. He retrieved an aquamarine vol pellet from a pouch.
“Magic?” Phye uttered. “Will that really…”
Lili held the woman’s hand. “It’ll be fine, Mrs. Phye. The Jade Surgeon does this often.”
“Clemet, I want to cast a spell on your belly. It won’t hurt, and your pain will improve soon. If you had a normal infection, I would have you lay down on an enchanted blanket, but your condition requires immediate treatment. If I don’t do this now, there’s a good chance your appendix would burst before tomorrow. It’ll be too late for me to do anything after that.”
“Please.” Clemet’s breathing grew ragged. “Make it quick.”
Dimitry placed his palm against the man’s lower right abdomen. He channeled the energy surging into his body through his other hand, imagining bacterial DNA denaturing via intense heat. “Preservia.”
Phye watched her husband with worried eyes. “Is… is that it?”
“Yes. He’ll be fine soon.” Dimitry rinsed his hands in a bowl of alcohol and water. “The infection is gone, but it’ll take time for his appendix to shrink to normal size. We’ll keep Clemet in the hospital until we’re sure he’s ready to leave. Probably around morning. You can stay with him until then if you’d like. We also serve food in case you’re hungry. However, don’t let your husband have any. It’ll put extra pressure on his stomach.”
The woman pulled a pouch out from under her dress and fished inside. The jangling of coins came from within. “How much do we owe you? We can’t do much more than a gold.”
“It’ll be three silvers at most. A lady named Claricia will come to collect it before you leave. For now, let Clemet rest. He needs it.”
“Thank you!”
“You’re very welcome.” Dimitry nodded, then walked towards his office.
Lili bowed to her patient before catching up with him. “You never told me about the appendix.”
“There’s a lot I didn’t tell you about. When it comes to medicine, there’s always more to learn. It’ll take time. Lots and lots of time.”
“Can you draw me a diagram like last time?”
Although Dimitry intended to brood over black powder some more, he couldn’t deny Lili’s request after seeing the spring in her step, the curiosity gleaming in her eyes. She was his most promising nurse. Her insatiable thirst for knowledge was greater than any pre-med student that shadowed him on Earth, and her ability to grasp concepts as good as any resident. “Let’s go do that now.”
Two pairs of boots tapped against the cathedral’s polished granite floor, their resulting clacks echoing through a vast, empty hall on the second floor. Before long, Dimitry’s footsteps rung alone.
He looked back.
Lili stood in place, fiddling with the pink bow on her ponytail.
“Are you all right?”
“Mr. Dimitry…”
The sight of a confident girl hesitating to speak stopped Dimitry in his tracks. “What is it?”
“Can you teach me your magic?” She met his gaze. “If it helps, I learned illumina from my father’s adviser. I know you’re always busy, but…”
Unlike Lili’s previous request, this one was tough to oblige. Dimitry’s spells relied on scientific principles. Demonstrable truths people in this world explained away by relying on celestial arrangements and holy declarations. Even for someone as bright as her, it would take a long time to untangle her dated education.
And yet, a sorceress nurse would be helpful to have around.
Dimitry smiled. “I promise to tutor you someday. For now, learn from me as much science as you can.”