Chapter 1 ~ Nathaniel Dean

After finally making it into the castle, Nathaniel Dean finds Clarence Michigan, commonly known as Mr. Michigan, in a state of distress.

~Chapter 1 - Nathaniel Dean~

Upon entering the Grapevine Castle of Stockholm, I notice everything is mostly quiet. The others must be off somewhere, meaning I'll run into them a little later on. In the meantime, I'll keep my eyes peeled for them...or Amherst, if he's here.

It's a long while that I've been looking around; more or less an hour. I decide it'd be best to take a rest soon, since my back is a bit achy, and the only light source I have available is my lantern, so I'm doing quite a lot of squinting. Once I find a nice parlor to sit down in, I find a comfy couch, and simply lie low for a minute...or ten.

The thing that wakes me up, however, is the unmanly scream, followed by a door slamming, and an Australian accent crying out desperately: "Help me! HELP!! Please, someone, I need help!!"

I roll off the couch immediately, grabbing my satchel and bolting down the hallway. Finding the room that the screaming most likely came from, I jiggle the doorknob frantically to be sure it isn't locked before allowing myself in.

Much to my shock, I find Clarence Michigan sprawled out on the floor, both hands clutching a certain spot on his left shin.

Clarence Michigan is a proper young man, at the age of twenty-one. Since he's from a royal family in particular, we all pay our respect and never call him Clarence, but instead, Mr. Michigan. I most certainly do think he appreciates that a bit more.

Though Mr. Michigan is of royal descent, the only way one can tell is by the ritzy clothes he always wears; you wouldn't be able to tell from his physical appearance and interests. He has porcelain pale skin, as he never gets that much sun, and short, shaggy, chestnut brown hair. His eyes hold shy emotions, and are a cocoa brown color that fades out to gold near his pupils, and since his vision is terrible, he wears a pair of thick, black, square frames. Mr. Michigan spends most of his time in the libraries of the castle, as he enjoys fine literature the most, which explains the book that lays open on the floor beside him, blood staining the vanilla pages.

I immediately kneel beside Mr. Michigan, looking at his face to make sure his eyes are opened and that he's breathing.

"Mr. Michigan, is everything okay?," I ask. "Are you conscious?"

The Australian prince moans, tipping his head towards me so that he'll be able to see me. "I'm conscious," he pants nervously. "But not okay."

I place a hand on his shoulder gently. "What happened?," I asked. "What's the matter with your leg?"

Mr. Michigan moans in pain. "I was shot by one of Amherst's friends," he says. "I think it was the one by the name of Sergio Prezlocki; you know, the one with the rifle. He just came in and shot me. He's gone now, though. It just really hurts, and these pants are ruined now."

I wince. "Well, here, I'll try to get the bullet out for you," he says. "Can I see the wound for a moment?"

Mr. Michigan hesitantly removes his hands from the bulletwound, both palms covered thickly in his own blood. His dark brown slacks are ripped right through to his flesh, right where the bullet punctured him, fresh blood festering around the area.

"Okay, okay...it isn't too deep," I reassure him. "But I'm going to have to cut part of these pants so that we can take out the bullet."

Mr. Michigan winces at the thought of tearing apart such expensive pants, but nods finally. "Whatever it takes," he agrees.

I take my knife from my bag, the one with my initials engraved into it, and very carefully, cut away part of the pant leg so that the injury is clearly exposed.

"Yeah...this is probably going to hurt a lot, but you'll have to bear with me here," I tell him softly, pinching the bullet gently.

Mr. Michigan squeezes his eyes shut and looks away over his shoulder. "Y-yes, just get it over with!," he cries out frantically.

With that I prepare myself, and counting down from three in my head, I simply pull the bullet out of Mr. Michigan's leg. In response, he cries out in pain, and falls back down. His eyes are still opened, but his face is paler than it normally is, and he isn't responding.

I pat Mr. Michigan's shoulder softly again, giving him a gentle shake.

"Are you still with me, Mr. Michigan?," I ask nervously, worried that he passed out.

But he nods shallowly, and squeaks out a "Yeah."

I breathe out with relief. "That's good to know," I say quietly. While Mr. Michigan is in shock, I wrap his wound with the gauze in my bag, and place him back on the bed, giving him his book as well.

"There's probably some painkillers in one of the medicine cabinets," I say. "I'll find some and you can take it. It'll probably help the pain go down more so you won't be in pain all night."

Mr. Michigan nods, relaxing most of his body except for his injured leg. "Alright," he says. "Hurry back...and if you pass one of my wardrobes, would you be a gentleman and fetch me some new pants, please?"

I sigh, smiling. "Yeah, yeah, if I see one," I laugh before heading out of the room.

Thankfully one of the rooms is right nearby, and it has some herbs, and a bottle of pain medication. I harvest some of the plants that can be used to make medicine later, and the bottle before starting to head back to the bedroom that's been housing Mr. Michigan.

When I twist the doorknob to go back in, the door is locked. I've only been gone for fifteen minutes or so, and Mr. Michigan can't get out of bed and walk. Who could've done this then?

I give the doorknob a few more frantic shakes, deciding it's not going to unlock itself. Hurriedly, I look around the room for somewhere that a key might be hidden in. Spotting a potted plant, I spread apart the leaves, and find the little, golden key.

I use the key to unlock the door, and allow myself in. It's dark in here; the candle by the bed has been blown out. Perhaps Mr. Michigan is trying to sleep.

Quietly, I use the tinderbox to relight the candle, and look to the bed. However, instead of Mr. Michigan himself, I only find his glasses and his green beret neatly placed on the pillow.

Looks to me like Mr. Michigan's been abducted.