The Exorcist Doctor

Chapter 137 -Shared Goals // Uneasy Company

“... Was this you?” Arnell asked, wincing as Gael continued dragging him forward.

Gael’s shoulders bounced as he laughed, and the bottle in his hand wagged like a bell in a mad priest’s sermon.

“Of course it was me!” Gael said, loud enough that a few nearby heads turned and then cheered again because it sounded like an announcement. “I told everyone we were hosting a feast in your place to thank you for not leaving them to rot in an alley. You know, at first it was just a few Myrmur Hosts we cured, but then those guys extended the invite to their friends, and then their friends also invited their friends, and, uh… well, a third of this entire building’s population is here.”

Then Gael leaned in close as if to share a secret. “Also, between you and me, half these people probably don’t know who the hell you are. They’re just here because they heard there’d be meat and laughter, but who really gives a shit, right? A good feast is a good feast.”

Arnell blinked at him. Gael kept tugging him through the press of partying bodies toward the far end of the forge, but more than the crowd, his eyes kept snagging on the machines around his forge.

His belts weren’t frayed. His cog teeth weren’t missing. That old printing press lever that’d been stuck for months, even before he came down with a Myrmur, was now oiled and shiny-looking. Even the pipe joints he’d patched with bad prayers and worse solder looked tight, sealed, and clean.

“What about those?” Arnell asked, pointing weakly towards his machines. “Did you… did you fix them too?”

Maeve slid into step beside him before Gael could answer, a glass of juice in hand. “Not quite,” she said. “Gael told Calvos that you’re going to be the Heartcord Clinic’s primary engineer in Ironwych from now on, so after you left this morning to go shopping, about fifty Steelborn engineers came in and fixed everything as a show of goodwill and partnership between the east and the south.”

Arnell stared at her. Fifty. Engineers. In his forge.

“So that’s why everyone was acting weird today?” he murmured, the memory of flinching shopkeepers and trembling hoodlums clicking into place like a lock. Saintess, they didn’t think he was important. They thought he belonged to someone important.

“Well, fixing up your place was a one-time thing. Don’t expect them to come again for maintenance,” Gael said, patting his back. “You’ll need to keep this place running by yourself, but if you run into any trouble, you could maybe talk to the Steelborn engineers about it. I think we’re on friendly enough terms now that they’ll help.”

As they reached the window at the far end of the forge—far from the partying and feasting near the main work area—Gael finally released him from the headlock, and then the two of them stepped towards the window to peer out into the rainy night.

They looked like they were going to jump out at any given moment, so Arnell planted his feet and grabbed the lever by his side first, stopping Gael from grabbing it and opening the window himself.

“I… I don’t understand,” he said, half-breathless as he forced the words out before he lost. “What do you mean you’re now on friendly terms with the Steelborn? Weren’t you just fighting them last night?”

“We’re business partners now,” Gael said casually. “In the future, if they wanna talk to anyone about what we want them to make, they’ll have to go through you—”

“And what’s this about me being your clinic’s engineer?” he said. “I’m… I’m just a smith. A completely random one you found sick on the street and helped. There’s gotta be someone more suited for this.”

Gael’s grin could’ve been a knife if it wanted to be. “All of my employees were random ass bitches we either fought or helped. That’s the Heartcord Clinic’s way. You think we put out job postings and interview people for open positions?”

“You did,” Maeve interjected.

“Not the point,” Gael grumbled, looking at Arnell firmly. “Besides, you are good. You’ve got steady hands. You can carve bioarcanic glyphs, which already puts you above half of them amateur ironworking tourists in the ward.”

Then Gael raised his flower gauntlet and flexed it under the lanternlight. The precise, neat, and small glyphwork shimmered across the leather like ink trapped under glass.

“See? This is your work, which is frankly a hundred times better than mine, so how about it?” Gael said. “Working for us and helping oversee our production in the east don’t seem like such a bad job, right?”

Arnell looked between them as they waited for his answer. The noise of the feast pressed in from behind, but for a moment, it all felt… distant.

His gaze drifted past them instead, back across the forge.

It looked… right. Clean in a way it hadn’t been in decades. Not the sterile clean of a clinic, no, but the Steelborn engineers made sure to give it the careful, lived-in polish of a place that mattered to someone.

Once, when he and his mother had first moved into this place, she’d kept the floors swept every night no matter how tired she was. All of the tools were properly aligned by size and purpose, and even the walls were scrubbed until the soot gave up and retreated. He’d been younger then, and always so reluctant to help out with the cleaning, but how long had it been since the last time there was a proper family in this place? Twenty years? More than that?

When he looked back at his workbenches—at the men and women now sitting around them, feasting and laughing and joking to their hearts’ content—he saw her sitting hunched over them, telling a younger him all about her boring day with just the brightest smile on her face.

… So when he finally spoke, his voice came out quieter than he meant it to.

“If I keep helping the Heartcord Clinic,” he asked, eyes still on the forge, “will I be able to help Ironwych get rid of Myrmurs?”

He didn’t know why he expected a delay before an answer, because Gael answered instantly, his grin sharp and bright with conviction.

“Fuck yeah,” he said. “We’ll wipe those bioarcanic parasites off the face of the world, and nobody will cough themselves to death in back alleys anymore. Nobody in Bharncair’s dying early because something crawled inside them and decided to stay.” Then he tilted his head, eyes glinting. “And you’ll get paid handsomely for all the work you do. Should’ve started with that, actually. It really sounds like a decent job offer, eh?”

Arnell smiled back. That was all he wanted to hear, so he lifted his hand and held it out.

“On one condition,” he said. “I won’t be the Heartcord Clinic’s primary engineer. I’ll be the proud and sole owner of Arnell Forges, and the clinic will simply be my priority client. I’ll talk to the Steelborn for you, but I won’t defend you to the death. I’ll make stuff for you, but I won’t go to war for you. How about that for a business arrangement?”

Gael shrugged and took his hand like he didn’t even need to think about it. “Eh, that works just fine. Didn’t peg you for the type to sell yourself short anyways.”

Arnell smiled again—a little embarrassed by the praise—and then cleared his throat as he retracted his hand. “But… uh, what will I actually be doing for you guys?”

“As I said, I’ve got a production agreement with the Steelborn,” Gael said. “They’ve got the most factories in Ironwych, and I already handed them schematics for one of the big things I want mass-produced.”

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Maeve crossed her arm. “But Gael doesn’t trust them entirely, you see.”

“No shit,” Gael said cheerfully. “Never trust a man who makes weapons for a living and smiles while doing it. Point is, I don’t wanna rely on the Steelborn for everything the Heartcord Clinic’s gonna need in the south, so instead—” he spread his arms toward the forge “—we’d like this place to become our personal factory. “From now on, any machine or item the clinic wants mass-produced, the schematics will come to you. You’ll build it and you’ll deliver it, no Steelborn middlemen. Easy-peasy, right?”

Arnell huffed out a breath. “Building things for the Heartcord Clinic doesn’t sound easy at all.”

“You’re an Ironwych man. Since when has hard work ever scared anyone from this ward?”

“... I suppose it hasn’t.” Arnell gave him a small, crooked smile. “And… what smith doesn’t want to see just how far his forge can be pushed?”

“Great!” Gael said, and immediately shoved several thick wads of scrolls and blueprints into Arnell’s arms. Arnell staggered half a step, instinctively clutching them. “So these are the first few things I want delivered by the end of next month: auto-ventilators, reinforced pipes, pressure-safe levers, and a few control assemblies. All for the clinic. The complicated schematics will come later once we’re ready to push things to the next level.” He paused, tapping one blueprint with a finger. “Oh, and sometimes I’ll send you some bioarcanic equipment up here that needs upgrades. Glyphwork refinements. You’ll help me handle that too.”

Then Gael reached past him and yanked the lever, making the window creak open. Smoky wind immediately rushed in, carrying rain and the distant clatter of the city.

Arnell took a step back from the window. “And where are you going now?” he asked. “Aren’t you staying for the feast, at least?”

Gael glanced over his shoulder at the crowd before shrugging. “Eh. This feast is lame. The ones we throw at the clinic are better—

“Don’t be rude,” Maeve immediately smacked him on the back of the head before turning to Arnell with a gentle smile, dipping her head. “Our work’s taking us elsewhere for now. Thank you for hosting us and for agreeing to all of this. I know we’ve made some… fairly large demands, but I think you can handle them.”

Arnell tilted his head. “And how do you know that?”

Maeve studied him for a moment.

Then she tilted her head at Gael.

“Actually… I don’t.”

Gael laughed. “She just tried to sound smart without having anything prepared.”

Maeve scowled and grabbed his collar, shoving him towards the window. Right before the two of them could jump out, though, Gael glanced back.

“Oh—almost forgot. I’ll send a few Saint’s Hands up here permanently so we can keep in contact. Also, they’ll be your assistants. Anyway, thanks, bye.”

And with that, they were gone.

Arnell hurried to the window in time to see them drop onto a lower roof—and immediately crash straight through a rotten section. Gael’s curses echoed up the sky, colorful and heartfelt.

He winced, and then let out a quiet laugh.

All that courage he’d built up, every word he’d rehearsed, and they’d left before he could even tell them to go.

… Hah.

What a strange couple.

But despite that, he wondered when he’d see them again.

The abandoned apartment was probably a pretty thing once upon a time. Gael could tell by the peeled wallpaper patterned in dying roses, the warped wood trim that still clung to the corners like stubborn fingernails, and a few velvet-lined furniture scattered here and there, but none of that meant anything when it came to cushioning his crash-landing on what he’d thought was a sturdy roof.

Maeve was already upright, brushing debris off her sleeves, but Gael had to claw his way out of splintered boards and smashed plaster with all the dignity of a drowned rat climbing onto a dock. His cane was stabbed into the floorboards, taking his weight. His alcohol, of course, stayed hugged to his chest like a holy relic. He swayed once as he stood up, then caught himself with a soft laugh as he took another long chug.

“Lay off the 85% already,” she grumbled, calm in tone, murderous in meaning. “Thank the Saintess nobody was living here.”

“What? I’m hydrating.”

“You’re poisoning yourself.”

“Well, as I always say, medicine and poison are just two sides of the same coin, and I’m good at coin flips.”

Before they could start bickering, though, Jin and Vivi started climbing down into the apartment through the hole in the roof. They were supposed to meet up there, but since Gael broke the roof on landing… well, it was no trouble for Jin. The man hopped straight down and took the impact with his knees. Vivi, on the contrary, had to hop down in small, measured steps with her skirt in hand, and it took her a while to get down.

But once they did, Maeve looked at Jin and frowned.

“Are you sure the two of you can just leave Ironwych, though?” she asked. “You’re Exorcists assigned here. Doesn’t that mean you have to stay in this ward?”

Jin shook his head lightly. “We chose Ironwych. We can leave it if we want.”

“Chose?”

“When they asked us to choose our assignments between Wraithpier and Ironwych, we picked Ironwych because it seemed less dangerous,” he clarified. “But we don’t have to be in Ironwych. Exorcists in Bharncair don’t operate like in Vharnveil. There’s no quota we have to fulfil. You hunt, you bring proof of kill, and the higher ups give us stipends per kill. As long as we’re able to kill Myrmurs, we can make a living wherever we go.”

Maeve looked away slightly as though she were embarrassed. Gael wouldn’t blame her for not knowing that, though. She’d technically never passed the examination to become a fully-fledged Exorcist, so of course she wouldn’t know the details of how the Exorcists functioned.

Nevertheless, Gael’s grin widened as he patted Jin’s back.

“And that is exactly why you guys need side hustles,” he said, taking Maeve’s hand and tugging her towards the next closest window. “If you rely entirely on hunting Myrmurs to get paid, what happens if you can’t hunt any Myrmurs for a week? Two weeks? Do you just go broke and get shanked by some hoodlum while you’re sleeping homeless in the rain?” Then he tossed his bottle away and picked up his cane in a mock toast. “Not to worry, though. As long as you stick with the Heartcord Clinic, at least you won’t be sleeping on the street. We have… benches.”

Then they kicked through the window together and hopped out, landing on the next lower roof that didn’t collapse under them this time. Jin followed them silently, but once again, Vivi didn’t fare as well. She hurried after them down a narrow stairwell, then slid down a rusted pipe, and then hopped across a few more ventilator units just to catch up, but by then, the three of them had already hopped down to the next roof across that.

Maeve glanced back once and paused. Seeing Jin wasn’t about to offer his own Host a helping hand, she stayed back and held out hers.

“Come on. I’ll carry you.”

Vivi looked at her, all flustered. “I.. I couldn’t possibly—”

But Maeve wasn’t asking. She picked up the Vharnish, slung her onto her back, and now the two girls were on pace.

“We never said we were joining your clinic, though,” Jin said, sliding down a wall and onto a balcony without looking at Gael.

“You never said you weren’t,” Gael said, stomping and falling through the weak ceiling to join Jin in the abandoned apartment below.

“We only share the same goal of investigating the series of artificial Myrmur Hosts.”

“And there’s a saying that when two knives cut towards the same throat, the city counts them as one hand,” he replied. “We’re basically on the same side already, so you might as well join our clinic and take our benefit packages. Besides, we could totally use more Myrmur-hunting specialists in Blightmarch. The Saint’s Hands still need more training before I’m comfortable letting them run the south completely, so if you could help out there, I’ll even think about upping your salary.”

Jin said nothing as he kept following Gael south. Gael wish the man would just say it already, since the two of them were already tagging along as if they were in, but—surprisingly—it was Vivi who mustered the courage to admit it.

“We’ll follow,” she said quietly. “We… couldn’t find any leads on our own in Ironwych, but the moment you two arrived, things started moving along.” She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “I think… if we stick with you, things’ll keep moving along. Isn’t that right, Jin?”

For a second, the Hunter and Host pair looked at each other, and they shared a quiet conversation only the two of them heard. Gael noticed it, of course. He just didn’t feel like pressing them about their story while his head was swaying from the 85% bottle of alcohol he’d just downed.

“... Alright,” Jin said at last. “We’ll follow—”

“No shit, I figured. Anyways, according to that unconscious artificial Myrmur Host lady who woke up just this morning—and Calvos backed this up as well—it seems as though most of these artificial Myrmur Hosts have recent footprints in Bleakhearth, the Western Ward of Masks.”

Maeve frowned. “Footprints meaning?”

“As in, the last thing that lady remembered before she woke up in Ironwych with a parasite inside her was being in Bleakheart, enjoying herself in the golden lights and pretty music. Damn if she couldn’t remember what happened weeks after that, but Calvos also said the Raven and his assistant seemed to have come from the west. Therefore, we know our next destination.”

Then he paused and glanced sideways at Maeve.

“... But it’s been a month since we left Blightmarch, and I’m kinda missing the kids,” he said, grinning from ear to ear. “Let’s go back and see how the clinic’s been faring without us first.”