I was afraid it might be bad... But I never thought it would be THIS bad...

Joseph laid alone in his bed in the infirmary, staring at the volute crown moulding adorning the walls. The ceiling itself was equally as filled with swirls, moulded leaves, and small sculptures of angels. In Joseph’s mind, still cloudy from the gin and laudanum they gave him to endure the pain of putting his bones back into their place, those little beings seemed to be dancing.

Svoboda had taken him there, put him in a bed, and left, just as suddenly as he had made his decision to help the young doctor. He said not a word to either Joseph or Mrs. Müller, who had been the one to keep the boy’s condition stable, anaesthetize him, and put his bones back in place before Professor Cerny had arrived to finish up the surgery.

Why is he so violent? Jesus Christ... He broke my hand as if it were a stick! I mean...I know he was targeting Dvorák, but still...

The boy tried to move the fingers on his right hand, but, of course, they were immobilised by a plaster cast.

The walls were covered with a salmon-coloured wallpaper decorated with geraniums. The furniture was simple and made from light pine wood. The midday light the through windows, one with curtains of cream and the other of orange, gave the room a warm atmosphere. The boy held his blankets with his uninjured hand, enjoying the moment of silence and solitude, and allowing the numbing effect of the drugs to engulf his senses.

His mouth was dry, even though they had given him water after the surgery; it was a side effect of the drugs. He could feel the presence of Mrs. Müller, the nurse, but she was too busy with her embroidery to disturb him. The young doctor's eyelids were so heavy...

“Doctor Selden!”

The lad opened his eyes, barely able to move his head towards the voice. When his face met his visitant's, he gasped.

"Aah! Mr. Brenner!"

Joseph’s patient was standing by his side, all smiles. His sturdy figure stood straight, so solemnly! He was dressed in a black coat buttoned above his waist, his yellow waistcoat flowing from under it. His ruffled cravat had three layers, the collar of his shirt covering his pink cheeks, which now looked almost smooth. The boy noticed there was a badge in the shape of a yellow acacia tree on his coat. Mr. Brenner was also wearing white gloves. At his waist, a golden rapier hung, its blade hidden at the man's left side. Covering his loins was a white apron with with golden fringe and brocade, decorated with strange symbols, such as a compass and a square with an eye in the middle.

"Y-You! You look so well!" the doctor said, smiling. It was a miracle! Finally, something good had happened this week!

"I'm feeling very well indeed. I wanted to pay you a visit because I need to go on a trip soon, for my companions are waiting for me."

Joseph frowned, his forehead wrinkling.

"Don't you think it's a bit too...early, for travels? I mean, you look to be in amazing shape, but just to be safe..."

The man shrugged.

"Some things can't be delayed, or rushed, boy." He lowered his head for a moment, then raised it again. "It breaks my heart, but I can't stay by your side as much as you stayed by mine."

"Don't worry, Mr. Brenner! I can visit you later."

The man became serious, then shook his head.

"No. Please, no. But listen, I have a gift for you. When you get better, go to my home and ask my eldest son about it. Tell him I came to tell you, and tell him the hour of my visit. He is already aware of it."

Joseph nodded, smiling.

"You seem so tired, boy. I'll leave you now. I wish you the best recovery, and maybe our paths can cross again, under better circumstances."

The man held Joseph's good hand, slipping something cold into it and putting it to rest again beside the doctor. He pulled the blankets up to Joseph’s neck and patted his head.

"Sleep, lad."

He kept caressing Joseph's head. His hands were so warm now!

The doctor smiled, happy and surprised that he had a visitor, and such a remarkable one!

He closed his eyes, and soon, he was overcome by a wave of dreamless sleep.

***

“Please, have a seat, Your Grace.”

Tariq grabbed the chair with a frown, his eyes never leaving the face of the dean, Malek Dvorák. The dean remained standing, walking in circles around the young prince.

"I thought Mr. Selden was assigned to be your mentor..."

"He is."

"Why did you hurt him?"

"It wasn't my fault."

Your shitty son is the one you're looking for...

Tariq heard the sound of the door being locked behind him.

Are you trying to intimidate me, you old fart?

"Professor Schebert saw it very clearly when you broke Mr. Selden’s arm. He may have his limitations, but he isn't senile, I'm sure."

"Funny how he didn't notice your son putting his dirty boots on my back..."

Tariq stared at the older man for a long moment, frowning. Then, he stood up. The dean was just a little taller than him. When their eyes met, Malek Dvorák raised his eyebrows.

Oh, if only you knew how much I want to smash your son's head in with a hammer right now...until it’s turned into bolognese sauce.

"Why so much violence against him, child?"

Tariq felt the blood leave his head.

Did he... read me?

The older man took three steps in his direction, grabbing the prince’s chin and forcing him to look at him.

"You know...Tariq...you are very beautiful. You don't look anything like the other boys here." His lips contorted into a half-smile. "You shouldn't frown so much. It will absolutely deform your face."

The boy grabbed the man’s arms with both his hands, pulling on them and punching the dean in the chest. However, the man remained completely still.

W-What's going on? Is he like us? H-How?

"I have no idea why Lord Balthazar sent you here, yet. But know this: you'll have to learn how to behave like a prince, or...I'll find a way to turn your life into hell, even if I have to destroy another person's less important life...to make you understand."

Tariq felt his hands begin to tremble.

Is he talking about him?

"What's your relationship with Mr. Selden?"

"We don't have any relationship. He is my assigned mentor."

"Are you sure?"

Calm down, please. This is exactly what he's searching for in you...

"Y-Yes...Mr. Dean."

Malek smiled, approaching the boy again.

He placed his hands on Tariq's shoulders, slowly running over his collarbones and his neck. He closed his hands around the boy's throat, softly, caressing his jaw near his chin.

The prince swallowed when the dean forced him to raise his head and got even closer. He clenched his fists to hide his trembling hands.

Stay still… You already broke the doctor’s arm and made him get bitten by an Egum...

The older man's eyes were less a hand’s width away from him, inspecting the boy’s face.

"Let's make a deal... You'll say you got a warning, but instead, you'll give me your word you'll do all I tell you to do."

The prince nodded, looking over at the window.

"Y-You...have m-my word, s-sir."

The man smiled, satisfied, his eyes never leaving the boy.

"See? You're so much more beautiful when you're not grimacing." The dean motioned with his hand for the prince to go with him to the door. "I knew I could count on your cooperation, Your Grace."

***

Tariq was sitting on the carpet beside his bed, his back leaning against it, staring at the ground in only his shirt and trousers.

Does he suspect of me? Of us? Would he really hurt him? What should I do, Father?

He was still focussed on what had just happened in the dean's office when Filip Svoboda entered the room. He was carrying a bag made of light leather, all wet and dirty with mud and a bit worn out.

It's his backpack!

The prince noticed the other boy was also carrying several pieces of broken wood. It was...or rather, used to be, Joseph's crutches.

Tariq jumped up, forgetting entirely about his “deal” with Malek Dvorák, and went at Filip, ready to punch him in the face.

"HEY, HEY, NO VIOLENCE!" Svoboda dropped all of his cargo on the ground, protecting his face. "Let me explain first, then you can beat me, eh?"

"I dare you."

The shorter boy nodded with that half-sad, half-happy face, tiptoeing away. He opened Dr. Selden's bag, showing its contents to Tariq.

"After the classes were done, Honza and the other boys stole Selden's things and threw them into the lake near the fencing gym." Filip noticed Tariq's eyes widen and his fists clench until his veins stood out. “B-But...I figured he w-would do something like t-this, so...I went there and...tried to rescue what I could".

"Why?"

"Exc-cuse me?"

"Why did you do that? I know you don't like him, you sly viper.”

Tariq was at his side now. He grabbed Filip by his collar, taking a stand.

"P-Please, have mercy!"

"What do you want?"

Filip looked over at the door, sweating.

“I... I... d-don't want anything... I just... don't like... c-cowardice. I mean... he was injured... s-so... h-how c-could him defend himself?”

The prince released him. Then, he crouched down next to Joseph's bag, removing its contents.

"His medicine textbooks are intact, and his notebooks are a little wet, but they can be fixed.” Tariq noticed his keys, medical tools and wallet, which contained documents and some thalers, were also in good condition.

"I apologise. Thank you for saving his belongings."

Filip nodded, pointing at the broken sticks right beside him.

"I couldn't recover his crutches, though. They had already been broken it when I reached the lake."

"It's fine. This is easier to replace."

Tariq went over to the windows. As with the rest of the building, there were two of them in a sort of ogival georgian frame, the squares of glass topped by stained glass of little angels.

In the middle of them, framing the borders of the walls, there were three panels with half columns of marble. The prince started to punch them. One, two, three times.

Afterwards, he took a deep breath, lowering his head. Filip was standing there silently, his hands clasped in front of him, staring at the ground.

"These assholes have angels everywhere, yet this school is a corral for demons."

"Honza...isn't bad... He's just... how do I say... He has an issue with...control over others."

"Oh! Should I cry for him?"

SLAM! SLAM! SLAM!

"Hey, Svoboda! Open this fucking door! We have to talk!"

Speak of the Demon himself...