Chapter 19: Mediation

“Say, Duff, you really don’t look so good.”

The Picard merchant known by the name of Duff grunted as he set down another large crate of product. He reached up to his face to wipe the sweat off his brow. He’d barely moved five or so of these crates before getting winded, his muscles already complaining about the heavy load. It wasn’t always this way, and he had to wonder why it had started today of all days—when he needed his muscles to restock the warehouse.

“Tell me about it,” grunted Duff again. “I feel like garbage. I couldn’t sleep all night, and I kept waking up with the chills.”

His companion, a fellow warehouse worker named Lloyd, took two steps away from him. “Don’t be coming around me then. It sounds like you got the sickness!”

Duff waved his hand dismissively. “No chance of that. No little cold is bad enough to take down ol’ Duff.” He slapped his chest proudly. “After the kind of life I’ve had, it will take a lot more than that to kill me.”

Lloyd shook his head. “I don’t care about you catching it. I care more about me. Shit, I’ve already lost two cousins because of that plague, and I’m not looking to add my name to the rolls.” Lloyd shivered. “I’ve seen what you look like when you die. You barely look human.”

“Will you two stop fearmongering and just unload the crates, please?” asked their boss, the man named Conor, as he strolled through their section of the warehouse. “I’m not paying you to stand around and talk. I’m paying to move crates.”

“I’m not working with him if he’s sick,” said Lloyd, pointing his finger to Duff.

“I’m not sick, you imbecile,” growled Duff while shaking his fist. “I told you I just feel a little weak.”

Conor took a better look at him, his eyes traveling around Duff’s face. “You know, Lloyd has a point. You look a little pale. You sure you’re all right?”

“I didn’t come all the way to Daban from Zarah in less than ten days just to get sent home after working here for five days,” said Duff. “I feel fine. If I were sick, I’d let you know, but I’m not. Now just let me get these crates unloaded.”

Conor shrugged and looked back to Lloyd. Lloyd still regarded him with a suspicious look, ultimately spitting on the ground as a form of acknowledgment before getting back to work. Duff returned to his own crate as soon as Conor walked to another section of the warehouse. He didn’t dare tell Conor about the headache, knowing it might be the straw that broke the camel’s back. Everyone was too jumpy already in this city.

It wasn’t that Duff thought the plague wasn’t real. He’d seen the evidence piled high in bodies outside the main hospital. It’s just that he felt he was still young enough to avoid it at best, or be one of the few that survived at worst. Ultimately, he didn’t give it very much thought, and Duff went back to unloading crates at a more leisurely pace than normal.

The next day, Duff collapsed on his way to the marketplace. The civilians who brought him to the hospital noted that he had a heavy fever, and that he seemed to be delirious and unable to ascertain where he was going. He was admitted quickly, especially after the nurse discovered the swollen areas just behind his ear and neck. She’d seen all too many with the same symptoms for it to mean anything else.

Duff was put on one of the plague corridors with the other victims, scarcely getting his own bed due to the overcrowding. The room he was in was meant to hold two people at most but there were currently seven beds crammed inside, all of them full with patients in various states of the plague. Two of them died before the first day was over. The other five died throughout the course of the week, only to be replaced by more victims.

Duff’s symptoms worsened.

About a week later, Duff woke up from the heavy sleep he’d been in and blinked several times. Finding a rare moment of clarity, he managed to find the strength to push himself up in bed.

He knew where he was, and he knew what had brought him here.

He’d known from the first moment when he landed in the hospital. The plague had found him. It was a beast of infection, and there were many times he thought he was a goner. But as he sat up in his bed on the seventh day, Duff allowed himself to hope.

It was the best he’d felt since he was admitted.

Just maybe he’d beaten the thing.

He was almost excited to see the on-call nurse as she walked in to check on another patient. He imagined she’d be shocked to see him sitting up and looking well again, a clear survivor of the plague. Then he pictured her sheer joy at having a single survivor in this room where death had taken all others.

Instead, it barely registered on her face. In fact, she seemed more depressed at seeing him sit up.

“Do you think I might be discharged soon?” asked Duff as he demonstrated some of his regained mobility. “I’m feeling completely better compared to yesterday.”

The nurse regarded him with weary eyes. “We’ll see tomorrow,” she answered briefly before moving to another patient.

Duff frowned as she walked away. She didn’t seem to care one bit. Wait for tomorrow? Duff rolled his shoulders and then slumped down in his bed. Sure, I’ll show her tomorrow then. Then once I’m out of here, I can get back to work and make some real money.

He could only imagine how good he’d be feeling tomorrow.

Sure enough, what a rapid difference a day made. Duff indeed left the hospital the next day, but it wasn’t on his own two feet.

Instead, he was carried out in a body bag.

The morning moment of clarity from the previous day was a known side effect of the plague. It largely left that afternoon as Duff fell unconscious once again. It barely registered with the nurse anymore, too desensitized after seeing it enough times. Every patient that reached that point always felt like they would be the ones to beat it. It almost never happened, and they usually perished the next day.

His body was placed in a pile with all the others, in line for a burial that was already weeks behind due to the sheer number of the dead. Duff never got a chance to go back to work, and he became just another statistic in the plague-ridden city of Daban.

A city where it seemed there was no end in sight to the ravishes of the pestilence.

King Aedan of Picardy felt his leg shaking under the table. It was a nervous twitch that only appeared at the most unfortunate times, and he brought his hand to rest on his knee, trying to steady the jumpy appendage. It was of little help.

The objects of his anxiety sat across from him at the table. The leaders of the Swabian trade mission eagerly leered back at him, no doubt feeling that they were able to play a significant advantage forward at the crisis that Picardy found herself in.

Aedan had a hard time denying the facts. The situation with Carinthia was heading toward war. Picardy had no other allies. The Galicians couldn’t be counted on to help, and the Apulians had only started to rebuild their army. They would be of little aid in a conflict against the Carinthian armies. No, if he had to fight them, he would need aid from the two other people sitting in the room.

It was the very fact that he needed them that made their self-satisfied smiles so easy to hate.

“We’re so delighted to see you again, Your Majesty,” started the woman, Magda, as she opened her arms wide. “Even during unfortunate times such as these.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” said Aedan in a deadpan tone of voice. “As you know, my time is very limited as of late due to current tensions. If you’ll excuse me for my brevity, I must know what the agenda is for this meeting?”

Magda smiled and bowed her head. “We wouldn’t want to waste your time in the current environment. Not with this raging plague or with the tensions with those dastardly Carinthians. But we did have a simple request that we would like to ask of you.”

Aedan raised an eyebrow. “If this is about the trading permits to Zarah and Burwick, I’m afraid my answer hasn’t changed. Not with the plague still spreading.”

Magda shrugged her shoulders. “We can talk more about that particular piece later—”

“And my answer still won’t change,” Aedan interrupted. “It’s beyond my say to just demand a permit for you. That’s controlled by the trade guilds in those cities anyway, and they have the final say.”

“And here we thought you were the king,” chimed in the one named Adalbert, the cousin of Lord Avila. Aedan shifted his gaze toward the man. “You know, in Swabia, if the emperor asks for something, he gets it,” said Adalbert.

“We aren’t in Swabia,” replied Aedan. “And I cannot break Picard law just to satisfy your whims. It wouldn’t be proper nor would it be right. Besides, aren’t you afraid to catch the plague?”

Magda and Adalbert looked at each other before they returned the gaze back to Aedan. “Plagues are a natural occurrence in the world. What more can we do about it? If your number is up, then it’s up. There’s no sense fighting it.”

“It almost sounds like you don’t care about the lives of your people,” said Aedan stiffly. “Well, in Picardy, we do. And while you’re here, you’ll have to abide by our laws.”

Adalbert looked like he was ready to say more, however a quick motion of Magda’s hand silenced him instantly. She gave him a heavy glare before looking back at Aedan, an easy smile slipping back over her lips. “Like I said earlier, we can discuss it later. Our main task today concerns the soldier maneuvers that you promised us.”

“And?” asked Aedan. “In this environment, you think maneuvers are a wise course?”

“It’s precisely in this environment that we believe they are,” insisted Magda. “If you’re about to go to war, you will need an ally. You’ll need allied soldiers who can help you beat the Carinthians.”

“If it comes to war,” shot back Aedan. “We’re not convinced that it will.”

Magda shrugged. “The Carinthians have already given you an ultimatum. We both know they are unlikely to rescind it, as well as I highly doubt you’ll be rushing to hand over Picard citizens just to satisfy their whims.”

Aedan raised his chin. “There are other ways to solve a conflict.” And I sure hope that Katherine and Jack can work a miracle on this one.

Magda’s smile became more condescending, if that was possible. “I’m sure. But for now, we should discuss terms of our alliance—should it come to war, that is.”

“And what terms would you like to discuss?”

“For one, our soldiers begin to train with yours immediately,” said Magda, checking off items with her fingers. “For two, you allow us to position our men in strategic areas around the city and countryside to be able to repel an invasion.”

“An invasion?” asked Aedan in an incredulous tone. “There will be no invasion like I’ve told you already.”

“Do not be so naive to think they will not land troops,” said Adalbert. “Your position is weak. With all the Carinthians in the city, they will know that. Their ambassador will know that as well. It’s only with Swabian aid that you can hope to repel an invasion. Otherwise, your capital city will fall when the slightest hint of a fight comes to your doorstep.”

“Who do you think you are to lecture me on the strengths and merits of my own army?” asked Aedan indignantly. “You know nothing about our fighting strength!”

Magda snickered. “We know enough that every tenth person in your hospital is in Picard army fatigues. With the sheer numbers that are sick, that can’t bode well for your current strength.”

Aedan pursed his lips. How the hell did they know something like that? While he would never admit it to them, his army had taken the brunt of the plague, and many units were only at best at fifty percent effectiveness. The Swabians were correct. He couldn’t well resist a determined invasion, especially if the Carinthians were adamant about striking back.

As much he hated the smug looks on their faces, he couldn’t turn down their help. Especially if the Carinthians were hell-bent on revenge. It was either embrace an old, unreliable enemy or get crushed by a former ally.

Neither option looked anything more than abysmal but such was the position he found himself in.

“We didn’t come here to start an argument, Your Majesty,” said Magda with every ounce of honey that she could muster. “However, we do wish to be realistic about the unfortunate position that Picardy finds herself in. Fortunately for you though, you do have an ally. Lord Avila is a generous man, and he has made several regiments of men available to you for this brewing conflict.”

“I can only imagine what Lord Avila would like in return for the use of such a force,” said Aedan acidly.

“It’s simple,” replied Magda. “Quite simple, actually. If you will allow our forces to add to yours, train together, as well as be supplied by your own granaries, you can have full use of them. We know your granaries are packed. With the recent harvest and the loss of your population due to the plague, we know you have plenty of food.”

“I have plenty of food now,” corrected Aedan. “But when the farmers who pick it start becoming ill, we’ll have another problem on our hands.”

“We’ll worry about new problems when they arise,” said Magda sweetly. “But for now, let’s focus on getting Picardy ready for conflict.”

Aedan felt his shoulders slumping. “Do I have any say in the matter?”

Magda fixed him with a powerful glare. “Not if you want our help you don’t. Swabia is more than happy to ally with those nations that want her help. Swabia is also willing to leave behind those that aren’t willing to be equal partners.”

“You make it sound like you’re a victorious power dictating terms,” Aedan mumbled.

“Not at all,” replied Magda. “We’re allies, are we not?”

Aedan didn’t answer, choosing a spot on the table to look at. He didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of a response. “How soon will your soldiers be here?”

“Many have just arrived. We’re sitting on two full regiments down at the docks, with more on the way,” said Magda calmly.

“Two regiments here already?” exclaimed Aedan, nearly jumping to his feet. “It takes more than a week to sail to Cormfeld from Swabia! How did Avila get so many troops here in that time?”

Magda’s nostrils flared. “Lord Avila believes in being prepared.”

Aedan wanted to yell. He wanted to take the china that was in front of them and smash it against the wall. He wanted to wipe the smug smiles from their faces and show them the door. Yet two regiments of Swabian soldiers inside the city was a potent threat. He had no doubt if he gave in to his instincts, he would start an all-out war that he just couldn’t win right now, with two enemies instead of just one. Then he would for sure be pushed out of his own capital city.

It also left his very pregnant wife at the mercy of these two wolves across from him. Aedan found his resolve weakening.

“Very well,” he muttered, waving his hand helplessly. “Train all you want.”

Magda beamed with a smile. “Thank you, Your Majesty. We are very grateful for the chance to ally with Picardy. I think you’ll find your new Swabian alliance quite ... fruitful in the upcoming weeks.”

Neither of them waited for his reply before standing from the table and making for their exit. Aedan’s shoulders slumped further. This situation was rapidly spinning out of control. No matter which move he made, it felt like the wrong one. Carinthia on the way to war and Swabia was his best chance for an ally? Who turned the world upside down?

You did, you fool. You’re nothing like the king your father was.

Aedan sighed and turned to look up at the painted ceiling of the palace. His father never would have permitted a Swabian alliance. His father would have laughed at the proposals of Lord Avila, no matter how good he made them sound. The people loved his father. They never roasted him in the press or called for his abdication.

Yet Aedan wasn’t his father, a fact that he had to swallow on his own terms. His father would never have let himself be boxed into a corner without any other options. His only other option was at this very moment sailing in the direction of his prospective enemy.

“May the gods help them,” he whispered, thinking about Katherine and Jack. “I need them to help my kingdom before I lose it all.”

He wasn’t sure how long he sat at the table, glaring a hole at the middle of the fancy tablecloth before he heard a soft voice to his right. He didn’t need to look up to see who it was. He’d only heard the voice half a million times, knowing full well it belonged to the sweet, loving form of his wife.

He felt her arms slip around his shoulders. “Aedan, what’s wrong? Why are you so tense?”

“I’ve just received another reminder of why I’m not my father,” he said dejectedly. “Perhaps of why the people detest me as well.”

She softly caressed the back of his neck. Her hair tickled his ear as she leaned in close. “They don’t detest you, Aedan.”

“They will after what I’ve just done,” he whispered.

“And what is that?”

“Allow the Swabians into the city. Allow them to become allies and to train with our army.”

She quickly let go of him and approached his front, sitting down with an alarmed expression. “Aedan, why? I don’t get the impression we can fully trust them.”

“What else would you have me do?” he asked, his voice raising an octave. “It’s either them or we get crushed by the Carinthians should they invade.”

“Should they invade. Should being the key word,” said Ciara.

“We’ve spilled their blood! Be reasonable! They aren’t going to rest until they’ve had revenge. You know how the Carinthians are with their honor, and you also know as well as I do that we can’t hand over the men responsible. We’d look too weak to the rest of the world.”

“Looking weak is surely better than war,” added Ciara.

“Looking weak will invite more war,” he corrected. “Especially with the army in the shape that it is. With almost every other man feverish and delusional from the plague, we’d be a quick conquest. At least the Swabians aren’t trying to fight us, but help us.”

“For now,” said Ciara warily. “But what if their demands become too much? They’ve already taken liberties that they shouldn’t. They already press more demands that fly in the face of their first agreement. What happens the day you have to turn them down?”

Aedan didn’t have a good answer for that. He took a deep breath since he wasn’t able to find the right words to reply. Part of him wondered if he’d just served up Picardy on a silver platter to the Swabians. He wondered if their demands would ever stop, or what their reaction would be when he stopped being so accommodating of their requests. He hoped to one day be in a better position to do so but that would require an ending to the plague.

And with the body count continuing to rise by the day, that prospect seemed just as unlikely.

Instead, Aedan let out a heavy sigh and turned his sorrowful eyes to his wife. He let them rest first on her very pregnant stomach before traveling up to meet her gaze. “I’m not the king I always imagined I’d be.”

“What do you mean by that, Aedan?”

He knocked his knuckles against the table. “Growing up, I watched my father be king for so long that I felt like I would have a good handle on it. I felt like I knew what it took to be a good king. I felt like I could follow in his footsteps without missing a step. That I had the longest training period imaginable. In a way, I did. He’d been king my entire life, and I had a front row seat to all the lessons that it afforded. I wasn’t even scared the day he passed away and the crown came to me.”

“I remember that day,” said Ciara quietly. “Sad day for all of us. Your mother especially.”

“I wasn’t that upset in hindsight. I knew he was going to pass soon. His health had been atrocious in the last two years before he died, but when the crown was placed on my head, I thought I could follow in his footsteps. That one day, the people would talk about the great King Aedan and all that he’d done for Picardy. Of how the king loved his people and how they loved him back.” Aedan closed his fist and then slowly opened it. “What a fool I am.”

“You’re not a fool,” insisted Ciara. “Naive? Yes, but not a fool. I’m sure your father had his own period where he had to learn to rule as well. He finally got the hang of it. Why can’t you?”

“He had forty years to make his mark,” said Aedan. “I’ve been on the throne less than four, and they hate me. And you know what the worst thing about it is? I don’t blame them. I’m a terrible king.”

“You’re too hard on yourself, Aedan.”

“I’m too weak. I can’t make the hard decisions that he did.” Aedan placed his hands against his face. “I feel helpless.”

Before he could say another word, Ciara launched herself forward and embraced him eagerly. He felt her soft body press against his own, her very pregnant stomach pushing against his chest. Her hands gripped his jaw and her soft green eyes focused on his. “You haven’t disappointed me nor do I think you’re weak, Aedan. You love your people. I see how you suffer now every day, especially when you get the casualty report from the previous day. You only do what you think is best for Picardy, but it isn’t your fault that we live in hard times.”

“It has to be my fault,” he whispered. “I’m the one in charge.”

“All that we can do is choose how we react to it, my love,” she whispered back sweetly, before kissing him lightly. “Your father was notorious for finding his way out of even the trickiest of situations. That same blood runs inside you, Aedan. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

“I have to, Ciara.” Aedan’s hands went to her stomach. “For our child’s sake, more than anything. I can’t let anything happen to him.”

Ciara smiled. “I know you won’t. I believe in you.”

Aedan swallowed heavily. She placed a lot of trust on his shoulders, especially when he felt so undeserving of it. But he couldn’t fail now. He had to find a way to deescalate the situation. If not for Ciara, if not for the country, then for the little unborn life resting under her heart.

“I’ll do everything I can,” he finally whispered, earning another magnificent smile from his wife.

“I knew you would. Let’s start thinking of a way out of this, all right?”

Aedan nodded as Ciara resumed her place in the seat next to him. She beamed at him as his shoulders pushed back, feeling the confidence slip back into his body. In that moment, he’d never been more thankful for his wife. Even when everything seemed dark and hopeless, Ciara was the missing link that helped to pull him back to the light. He shuddered to think what he would do without her.

She was both his spine and his heart, equally important, and for which he couldn’t last long without.

The two of them talked for the next twenty minutes as they went over their options. He decided to issue a call out to their own army units that he stationed within a weeks’ march from the capital city and have them move closer. If the worst case scenario came to pass, he wanted Picard troops to rely on, not Swabian ones.

He just prayed that the task force that was at this moment sailing to Carinthia would make all of this a moot point. The last thing he wanted was more spilled Picard blood, no matter the cost.

It was the second morning on their way to Carinthia when Greg woke up for the fourth time that night. He was cold once again, finding himself a shivering, teeth-clattering mess as he reached for a heavier blanket to wrap his body. It was a marked change from the last time he woke up, when he was almost burning up because he was so warm. The drastic changes in his body temperature were an inconvenience more than anything, but it did get him thinking.

He hadn’t felt quite like himself since yesterday, finding his normal daily actions making him feel much more weak than he normally would have. It was almost embarrassing how quickly he got tired from the simplest of tasks, and Greg spent the majority of the day held up in his quarters, thinking enough rest would do the trick. It was this new worrying development that had him wondering if something was truly wrong.

He couldn’t stop going back to the elephant in the room. The plague back in Picardy was taking over a thousand lives a day, and he’d come dangerously close to the source. Not that he wasn’t used to putting his life on the line, but death from a bullet was much preferred over the long, lingering death of the Picard pestilence. Greg shut his eyes and willed himself to go back to sleep. Perhaps he’d feel better in the morning.

Unfortunately, the morning light brought no relief to his already suffering body. In fact, he felt worse. His joints were achy, his neck was stiff, and his head felt like it was cauldron left too long near a roaring fire. Ripping open some medication, he downed it quickly before returning to bed and trying to walk through his actions in the last few days. His worst fear played on his mind.

If this is the plague, how could I have gotten it? I didn’t go inside the warehouse, and I was only in the city briefly.

He hadn’t even come anywhere close enough to go inside, even if it was an airborne transmission. The Swabians had the place locked up tight, and there was no doubt if he attempted to get inside, he’d alert every single one of them.

So how did I get it?

His brain replayed the scenario from when he jumped on the truck and followed it to the marketplace. He remembered watching the amusing interaction with the trader and his cursing of the Swabian clothing. That robe he purchased had felt so cheap in his hands and so foul in smell that it—

Greg sat upright in a hurry, his eyes darting to the piece of threadbare Swabian fabric on the opposite side of the room. Everything started to click at once. The smell, the start of the pestilence in the marketplace, the Swabian presence—all of it. Suddenly, it made sense. Jack was right about the source of the problem but not the transmission.

The Swabians didn’t need sick people in their warehouse. The issue was clothing.

It all clicked for him just now. It was the reason why it started in the marketplaces not long after the Swabians arrived. The goods were tainted. His eyes returned to the fabric, wanting to throw it overboard at the first opportunity. He had a brief moment of happiness when he realized it was confined to his room, and he might possibly be the only one that was sick, but then his stomach dropped upon another memory.

The sight of Vera picking up the cloth. Putting her nose close to inhale the foul scent.

The last thing he wanted was to have knowingly infected someone like Vera. Sweet, innocent Vera, the girl who made his heart smile with one happy look from her face.

If I’ve infected her, I’ll never forgive myself.

He had to find out. He hadn’t seen her since they last met with Jack shortly before leaving Picardy, but that was mostly due to him not feeling well enough to leave the room. Greg swung his legs out from his bed and firmly planted them on the floor. Even the cool steel beneath his feet wasn’t enough to distract him from the warmth of his head.

He quickly walked over to the Swabian rag, looking around for a bag or something to cover it with so he could pitch it overboard. Even though the damage was done, he still didn’t want any part of it touching his skin, or worse, infecting anyone else. Finding an old shirt that had a hole in it, he used it to wrap the foul garment, holding it slightly away from his body as he made his way out of his room toward the nearest hatch.

The rest of the marines greeted him upon sight, but Greg took care not to get too close and to keep his mouth covered. Many of them looked at him with confusion for his odd movements, although he knew he could answer questions later for those that were baffled.

That is, if he lived.

Once he was on the main deck, Greg gave a heavy toss to the offending robe and watched as it landed in the sea with barely a disturbance. The first task of his mission done, he decided to make his way below deck again, needing to check on Vera. He prayed that she would be all right and her usual chipper self, escaping any possible infection. As he neared her door, he felt his heart race in panic, but he wasn’t sure if that was from his concern for Vera or from the effects of the plague as it worked its way through his body.

His heart dropped as she called out for entry. Inside, Vera looked like a mess. Her blonde locks were tangled around her head as she laid in bed, a pack of cool water resting on her forehead. She turned to look at him upon entry, her weary eyes already confirming his suspicion.

“Hey, Greg,” she said weakly, managing a small smile despite her turmoil. “I’m sorry, I would’ve answered the door, but I just feel terrible lately.”

He hobbled inside and shut the door behind him. “Are you achy? Feverish? Have the chills?”

Vera sat upright slowly as her eyes went wide. “Yes...”