My First Ally Might Be a Quack

This time, only a single torch burned in the room, and the embers in the hearth had long since died. Without bothering to reignite the fire or light any other torches, Jerkface snatched the lone source of light from its wall sconce and strode toward the door, every bit the brute his nickname implied.

My eyes widened in terror. As I lunged for the torch, he raised it high above my head with a malicious grin. Then, he crossed to the bed, ripped away the thick comforter, and exited the room. A true, biting fear coursed through me, as cold as the stone floor. I made another desperate grab for either the torch or the comforter, but once again, I was too slow. I threw myself against the heavy door just as it slammed shut, but I could feel him holding it from the other side. The moment the lock’s final, resounding click echoed in the sudden, total darkness, I began to pound on the wood with my good hand, shouting and begging for him to open it, for anyone to come. But no one came.

My efforts were wasted. The temperature in the room had already begun to plummet. I gave up and began to feel my way through the oppressive dark, succeeding only in stumbling over a chair on my way to the bed. After grabbing the one thin sheet left, I moved to the closet and heedlessly pulled down several of the gowns stored within. Finally, I took the pillows from the bed and retreated to the farthest corner of the room. There, I huddled on the floor, wrapping myself in the layers of fabric. At least in a corner, nothing lurking in the shadows could sneak up behind me.

I was profoundly grateful when dawn finally broke and the maids entered the room. I could see the reprimand for the messy pile of garments on their faces, but they held their tongues. The light they brought with them was so bright that I couldn't look at it for long, so I kept close to the walls as I moved. Who knew what horrors might still be hiding in the room’s shadows? Just because they had left me alone for one night didn't mean they were gone.

The following week passed in much the same wretched fashion, with the only variation being whether he held court on his throne or worked at the desk in his study, where I would be chained to the desk leg. I had not spoken a single word since the morning after my second night of terror. For a time, my silence seemed to suit him, as he returned the comforter and kept the fire in the hearth lit. A week later, however, he was visibly growing irritated with my muteness. To be honest, I was growing tired of it myself, as I can be quite a chatterbox, but I wasn't taking any chances. I despised the dark more than anything. A tiny, twisted sense of pleasure came from seeing that my silent compliance was becoming its own form of rebellion, a new and effective way to annoy him.

Today, however, we did not go to his study or the throne room. Instead, he led me to a rather dim and dismal room on the second floor, lit only by a single, grimy window. The space was lined with shelves holding labeled jars, and a few books sat on bookcases. I instinctively averted my eyes from one jar labeled Leeches. I was escorted to one of five slightly unclean beds arranged beneath the window and instructed to sit. I grimaced at the stained mattress but did as I was told. A moment later, a rather unkempt man with gentle eyes entered.

“And what is the matter, sir?” the man inquired. This must be the doctor.

“I am fine,” Jerkface declared. “But you are to see to her. Her arm is broken.” I was genuinely shocked that he was actually going to have my arm examined. My surprise was lessened somewhat by the fact that the physician who would be treating me looked like a bit of a quack, but I couldn't really complain. For some reason, Jerkface then left the room, leaving the doctor and me alone.

“And your name is—?” he prompted, trailing off. I said nothing. For all I knew, Jerkface had some power over this man, and this was just another test designed to make me fail. The physician sighed. “My name is Isaak. I am the doctor here at the castle.” I gave him a slight nod of acknowledgment. “I am sorry this has happened to you,” he said softly. “The King is not the kindest of men.” My eyes widened. The maids were the only people who had shown me any real consideration since that first day, and all they could talk about was how fortunate I was. Thinking that perhaps this doctor wasn't so bad after all, I offered him a tentative, gentle smile.

“So, I hear you go wherever the King goes,” he commented in a conversational tone as he began to gently examine my arm. I nodded. “That is likely why people have been telling you that you’re fortunate. The monarch is paranoid. He usually disposes of whoever is assisting him after a week or so, unless he has absolute faith in them.” A shiver traced its way down my spine. It didn’t surprise me. Mr. Psycho had no respect for human life; he surely wouldn’t care about the families his victims left behind.

“Then do you know of the royal decree? No one has been able to confirm if all of them have reached their destinations. You see, my cousin is a soldier at heart, and while I’d like to see him in Kingston, I do not want to make the journey if he has already enlisted. He is incredibly patriotic. So, do you know?” I nodded. The poor man. He seemed so decent, and I would hate to see him travel all that way for nothing. “So, all the decrees have arrived at their destination?” he asked again. Once more, I nodded. He then asked if I was just nodding for the sake of nodding. At that, I let out a laugh—a true, heartfelt laugh—and shook my head no. “Thank you,” he replied, a relieved smile spreading across his face. “You don’t know what a help you’ve been.” At that exact moment, the King returned.

I gave the doctor a smile before we left; he seemed like a lovely man. I hoped I would see him again. He smiled back, and I trailed behind the Tyrant as he exited the room. As we proceeded down the hallway, I finally broke my long silence. “Why did you have my arm looked at?” I asked. My voice croaked slightly from disuse, but not too much, probably because I had just laughed. He grinned.

“The village leader came this morning with high praise for you. It seems that since he took your advice, the people in his village are no longer falling ill,” he remarked. I understood. This was a reward. What am I, a dog? Medical attention is a basic human right! He should have given it to me days ago!

I blurted out a question that had been circling in my mind. I didn’t want to yell at him after what had happened last time, and I figured this would be a much safer topic. “I have never heard your name in all the time I’ve been here. What is it?”

“Viktor.”

“Viktor?” I asked, unable to hide my surprise. I honestly thought his name would be more… demonic. Malevolent? Something sinister and foreboding. But Viktor? That sounded so… normal.

“What? Did you think I would have a more evil-sounding name?” he asked, a glint of amusement in his eye. That was exactly what I was thinking, so I chose not to answer.

“Natalia,” I said instead. “My name is Natalia.” I watched as his brows furrowed in confusion. What was so perplexing about Natalia?

“I thought your name was Rochelle.” How could he possibly think that? Rochelle was my middle name, but I never, ever used it.

“Rochelle is my middle name.” And then there was silence again.