The Hearing (2)
“Gotberg, sir.”
Palkenhain rose from his seat and approached me with a stern gait. As soon as he stood close enough that the other chief physicians couldn't see, his expression softened, and he whispered slyly in my ear.
“Does a medicine to restore hair truly exist?”
Greed for hair outstripped even lust for wealth or power. He'd gone all-in on the hair loss treatment I'd casually mentioned, fully siding with me now. Pulling Palkenhain into my testimony from here on was essential.
“It depends on the case, but for your situation, Lord Palkenhain, it's possible.”
“Oh!”
My diagnosis of Palkenhain had been alopecia areata. Not a talent debuff—just age-related. “There are two types of hair loss. The M-shaped recession at the front and the circular baldness at the crown.”
“Indeed. Mine is the circular type.”
“From the look of it, it hasn't progressed far. No more than six months, right?”
“Spot on. Five months now.”
M-shaped baldness was genetic, untreatable without transplants. But alopecia areata stemmed from stress or environment, so it could be slowed—or reversed with luck. Palkenhain developing it late in life suggested good baseline health and low genetic predisposition.
I slipped a prepared vial into his hand.
“This blocks the hair-loss enzymes in your body. Simply put, regrowth outpaces loss, restoring you in a few months.”
A finasteride mimic, tweaked with enhanced enzyme inhibition.
“Merciful gods, such a treatment exists? In my life, I've never seen lost hair regrow. I'd pact with the devil himself for my locks back.”
“Not the devil—a doctor. One month's supply. Side effects mean half a pill daily, split. More won't help, so take care.”
“Understood. You, sir, are the true saint material.”
He tucked the vial precious into his breast pocket and returned to his seat.
“Lord Palkenhain, what was that?”
“Verifying a few suspicions about Chief Physician Gotberg. Proceed with the hearing.”
Palkenhain fielded the other chief physician's question with cool nonchalance. A signal: he was primed to defend me.
Alberich pressed on. “Chief Physician Gotberg. Even if your medicines seem to heal patients instantly, they're mere extensions of folk remedies.”
Alberich eyed me like a direwolf ready to snap my neck.
Religious zealot type.
Empire healers like Palkenhain served the goddess but balanced faith with pragmatism. Theocracy bishops like Alberich rejected anything outside healing arts outright.
I'd expected pushback, but not this aggressive.
“The healer you employed was dismissed from the Imperial Medical Office for using banned folk methods. Were you aware?”
“Yes.”
“Then you exploited that healer's techniques to produce these 'medicines'?”
“No.”
“No? The chain of causation is clear. Any rebuttal requires solid explanation.”
Time to set it straight.
“What I used was my own knowledge. Medicine, the discipline. That healer merely had aptitude—I taught them.”
“Admitted!”
Alberich shot up, jabbing a finger. Rude old bastard for a first meeting.
“You disrupted the Imperial Medical Office with heretical arts, not healing spells! Mocking the goddess's mercy, corrupting the empire's faithful. Unfit even as a healer, let alone chief physician!”
Overreach, but his rhetoric made sense: start high, negotiate down.
Chipping at my credibility. Checking the Moonlight Palace faction's rise.
Anger here would play into their hands. Time for my prepared script.
“A misunderstanding, Bishop Alberich.”
“What misunderstanding?”
“The goddess herself commanded me to use medicine.”
“...What?”
Pure bullshit, of course. The chief physicians stirred—success. Skilled as they were, most held deep goddess devotion.
No one here underestimated a revelation's weight.
“The goddess ordered you to use that technique?”
“Yes.”
“Claiming faith so profound you receive revelations?”
“Profound indeed.”
Alberich, spotting an opening, pressed triumphantly.
“Blasphemy against the goddess warrants expulsion. You know that.”
Sorry to disappoint, but I had insurance.
“I'd never lack such basic sense. Conveniently, we have someone here to prove my faith.”
“Precisely.”
Palkenhain jumped in seamlessly, launching into oratory.
“As you know, I possess a talent: eyes to see faith. They discern true healers. Through them, I trained unwavering devotion to reach this post.”
His voice rang firm, unyielding.
“Chief Physician Gotberg is a talent I personally recruited from my training hall. I testify here unequivocally.”
He extended an open palm toward me, voice brimming certainty.
“In all my years, no healer has shown faith deeper than his. Even now, that pure heart burns more fervently than any—plain to my eyes.”
Alberich countered sourly. “Lord Palkenhain, this weighs blasphemy's truth. Do you take responsibility?”
“Responsibility? Questioning me, chief physician to Earth Palace, Bishop Alberich?”
Palkenhain raised his voice. As Second Prince faction head, he wouldn't tolerate junior disrespect.
“Doubting the goddess's gift to me?”
“I doubt not the goddess—your twisted loyalty to your lord over her.”
“Accusing me of falsely shielding Gotberg on princely orders? Hah, you lag on palace intrigues.”
“Then prove it! That green boy has the strongest faith here?”
“To me, you're the one whose blood—and hair—hasn't fully dried.”
“Whelp? This dodderer’s finally lost it. Dried blood? Yours is so gone even the follicles fled.”
“I'll cross Jordan before your hair does.”
“Short leash or not, mine outlasts your deathbed vigil. Retire with dementia—change grandkids' diapers.”
The old men spat like squabbling kids. Pathetic, but entertaining—no urge to intervene.
“Empty words. No proof Gotberg’s faith is profound.”
“Very well—behold proof.”
Palkenhain drew his holy book, cradling it reverently, raising his other hand, eyes closed in oath.
“In awe of the revered goddess, I swear truth alone: by sacred sight, Physician Gotberg holds faith far deeper than Saint Bishop Alberich.”
Whoosh!
Brilliant light erupted behind Palkenhain, a halo of potent divine power rising from him. A mark of elite healers and priests.
“Pure divine power.”
“Halo unflinching.”
“No lie cracks such faith.”
“Is Chief Physician Gotberg truly that exceptional?”
The other chief physicians buzzed.
“Swearing over this...”
Alberich, unprepared for Palkenhain's commitment, faltered. Should've poked milder.
I stepped forward. “Proof suffices. As I said, my medicine isn't heresy.”
“Nor orthodoxy! Healers pray—not poison patients!”
Alberich still strained, veins bulging.
Then—bang! The chamber doors flew open to heavy boot steps.
A commanding woman strode in, cloak billowing. First Princess Heike.
All chief physicians bowed deeply. I followed suit.
Heike scanned the room, then issued a soldier's order.
“Everyone out except Alberich and Gotberg.”
They filed out instantly. Whew—Rauga's chatter had nearly made me forget imperial weight. This was true royal command.
“Alberich, why this hearing to dismiss Chief Physician Gotberg?”
“Your Highness, this verifies suspicions and qualifications, not—”
“Same thing. Don't waste time. I've already visited Gotberg's office.”
Heike had come to me? No good vibes. Rauga's visits dumped a month's talk in an hour—head-spinning. This promised hassle.
“Again: why this hearing?”
Alberich sweated coldly, mumbling excuses.
“...Your Highness seemed wary of Moonlight Palace's healing budget growth—Third Princess faction expansion.”
“Broadly correct.”
“Th-then no issue here.”
Thud! Heike stomped, glaring fiercely. Alberich flinched. Even I'd dodge that gaze.
Asella's malice screamed murder; Heike's was a cold kill-switch machine.
“Bishop, your profession?”
“...Chief physician.”
“Do I seem inept enough to delegate politics to physicians?”
“N-no, never.”
“My advisor?”
“No.”
“I ordered Wood Palace budget cuts—not Moonlight checks. I judge that. Wrong?”
“Utterly right, a hundredfold.”
Alberich just agreed, lips pursed, dark circles sagging to cheeks. Rough day.
“Then, Chief Physician Gotberg.”
“An honor, Your Highness.”
Finally me. Penicillin talk, from context.
“I wish to recruit you to my faction.”
Mind-blowing offer. Alberich gaped, frozen.
“May I ask your intent?”
“A love call, plain. I want you. Become my vice-chief, introduce new healing mechanisms.”
Poaching was imperial norm—knights switched factions often. My Asella role? No issue for her. Vassals were tools. Like snatching a sibling's toy.
Ten-plus years her junior, too.
“Does that mean employ medicine?”
“Yes. I'll provide for medicine's full use: develop, mass-produce, monopolize drugs.”
Hm, Heike's subordinate. Terms weren't bad. Top palace faction; if Asella failed empress, Heike likely succeeded. Profit calculator—loyalty rewarded.
But.
“My regrets, Your Highness. I've pledged fealty to Princess Asella.”
Deep palace ties? Loss for me, never gain. Mired to the waist, no escape.
Goal: erase bad endings. Her faction meant more work, harder rural retreat later.
“Why? Mere contractual chief physician.”
“Haha, chief physician—and betrothed.”
“Political house match?”
Heike pierced, probing.
“Craving nominal royal betrothal?”
“Pardon? No—”
“Conveniently, I lack a betrothed.”
“What do you mean?”
“Pre-marital house feuds cause broken and remade betrothals daily. Chief Physician Gotberg.”
Heike stared directly, tone grave.
“Do you desire it?”