“Gods in heaven! This is bloody ridiculous!” Douglas Wootz cursed as he saw the scene before him.

“Tell me about it,” remarked Atlas as he perched upon the elderly blacksmith’s shoulder. Was it not for the sake of maintaining his image, he would’ve cursed alongside the man.

“We are what, eight-nine hundred (900) meters from the river?” asked the little prince.

“Aye. Perhaps, more, milord,” replied Douglas. “And the water’s up to my ankle! It’s also bloody rising by the second!”

“The water’s the least of our problems,” stated Atlas, as he spotted filth floating atop the water. Water by itself wasn’t very unpleasant. However, when the flood dug up the dirt and the filth buried under the earth, it became very, very, very, unpleasant.

“We have to solve this soon. Never mind the damages inflicted on the properties. Continued exposure to this filthy water will cause serious sickness. Before you know it, you’ll have a pandemic on your hands,” Atlas mumbled. “I do not want another pandemic.”

“What’s a ‘pan-de-mic’, milord?” questioned the blacksmith. His lacking education was built upon a shaky base resulting in him having access to a very limited vocabulary.

“It is an evil so great that the entire world was forced to submit to its whims. It imprisoned society and shackled freedom. A terrible, terrible nightmare, Douglas,” Atlas explained with a dramatic flair.

Hearing the prince’s dramatized words, Douglas felt himself unconsciously shiver. ‘For the prince to describe it as such, it must be a demon of the highest form! I must keep an eye out for it, and run away should I ever meet it.’ The elderly blacksmith seemed to share a healthy amount of Atlas’ paranoia.

Turning his head to face his unreliable aid, Atlas asked, “Have the building nearby been evacuated of the important stuff and the people?”

“It’s happening as we speak, your highness,” Butler Rohm replied with perfect courtesy.

“The rations?”

“Already moved to the refugee camp on the far end of the town.” Refugee Camp referred to the area designated for the rehabilitation and aid of the miners.

“Any news of the miners? Did the rescue party send a messenger?“

“Not yet, your highness.”

Atlas drily nodded his head. No news was still acceptable. Atlas would rather have the messenger be late than for someone arriving in panic and telling him that the rescue had failed. ‘Now that would truly be a kick to the b*lls.’ The prince humored.

“Let’s not waste time, Douglas,” Atlas tapped the elderly blacksmith’s head and ordered.

“Must you personally set out, your highness?” Butler Rohm asked with a perfect rendition of faux concern. His expressionless face even showed a trace of worry.

“I certainly must, Butler Rohm. Any problem of the peasantry is a personal problem of mine. I refuse to sit back and wait while my people suffer!” Atlas thumped his chest with righteousness.

When it came to this callousness and acting, these two men truly were two peas in a pod.

“Set forth, Douglas!”

“Aye, aye, milord!” replied the elderly blacksmith, wiping the drop of tears from his eyes. What was true nobility? THIS was true nobility! The young prince’s words had completely moved his heart.

Holding onto the young prince’s legs, Douglas forged ahead, wading through the filth-ridden waters. Following them was Butler Rohm. And so the party of three headed towards the source of the disaster; the river.

–--

Twenty minutes later.

“Milord! It’s almost up to my breasts!” remarked Douglas, astonished.

“Chest. It’s almost up to your chest. Why do you have to make it weird, Douggie?” Why must this man word every innocent conversation in the most vulgar way possible was beyond Atlas.

“Ah, yes, that! It slipped ma mind, milord. Breasts I know better,” Douglas replied with a foolish smile.

Atlas was left wordless at his reply. ‘This motherfu*ker! Is he insinuating that the word naturally came out of his mouth cause he’s overly familiar with the object!? Are you lording over me cause I’m a kid!?’ Atlas fumed. However, he did not engage further for this was neither the place nor was it his station to discuss this topic.

“Hold me up properly. If I feel the slightest wetness touch me, I’m demoting you from your post as ‘Technical Director’,” Atlas coldly uttered.

“Ah! Milord, you cannot!” Douglas immediately straightened up. Losing the title wasn’t a big deal. However, losing the privileges that came with the title, namely the boat-load of resources that he was given to play– ahem, experiment with, would be a true travesty.

Butler Rohm, who was a witness to the exchange, held his silence.

A few minutes later, the elderly blacksmith declared, “We’re here, milord.” His face adopted an expression of seriousness. Unlike before, the water current around this part was particularly intense. The slightest slipup and he, alongside the prince, would fall into the water and be swept away.

Atlas similarly sported a serious expression. Though the murky river water obscured much of the previous landmarks. Atlas could barely make out the terrain using the distribution of the trees and the current of the water.

“The river roughly seems to be flowing that way,” he motioned with his fingers. “Two days of constant rain seems to have overfilled the waterbody leading to spillage. We must act quickly to resolve it. Looking at the sky, the rain seems to have no intention of stopping. At this rate, the problem will only exacerbate, and the whole town will be flooded by midnight.” It was a simple estimation calculated from the information that he had gathered on his way to the source.

“Aye. That be right, milord,” Douglas agreed with the prince’s words. His abundant experience as a craftsperson deepened his impression and understanding of the problem.

“What do you suggest we do?” Butler Rohm asked this question. It seemed that seeing the problem at its source caused him to take an active interest in the problem.

“There’re only two ways to deal with a flood,” Douglas explained. “Ya either move the people or drain the river.”

“First option is impossible,” Atlas immediately declared. Abandon the town? Yeah, no. “How do we drain the river?”

“Us’ally we create dykes around the river to, ya know, channel the water int’a different routes. However,” He dragged his answer. Atlas quickly understood why.

“The terrain around this place makes it impossible to build dykes,” he completed the elderly man’s words. Dykes required the ground to be dug to create water channels. The swamp made digging the most exhausting and inefficient task to do. Not to mention, to dig dykes when the terrain around the original river was flooded, the water reaching chest level, wasn’t exactly ideal or safe.

“Aye,” Douglas agreed and kept quiet. An unusual response when considering the cheery nature of the fellow.

“Do you have any ideas?” Atlas asked the butler.

“I’m not well-versed in this field, your highness,” replied the man.

The party stood there resisting the current while trying to come up with a way to combat the problem. Atlas scoured the surroundings with his eyes while wracking his brain for a solution.

‘Oh, come on! You’re from the twenty-first century for goodness sake! Surely, you have some solution to this.’ Unfortunately, Atlas’s previous career was one that focused on lying, thieving, deceiving, blackmailing, and threatening, not public works. On those topics, with the inclusion of personnel management and territory management, very, very few could equal our protagonist.

While he was wracking his brains for a solution, Atlas’ eyes coincidently landed on the trees that stood tall and resisted the flood. His mind blanked for an instant before being struck by a moment of ‘AHA!’

“Why don’t we build a dam?” asked Atlas.

“A dam? What’s that, milord?” questioned the elderly blacksmith, hearing that unfamiliar word. Atlas then proceeded to explain the concept to the best of his ability.

“Right! Right! This is bloody great!” Douglas exclaimed.

“So, can it be done?” asked the little prince.

“Not exactly as ya’ve put it, milord, but the basic idea can be used,” Douglas replied. “We’ll still need to create those dykes. Otherwise, it’d be impossible to drain this water.”

“Well, let's return to town, organize a construction crew, and immediately get to work!” Atlas spurred on the elderly man. Their goals having met, the party of three promptly turned back and headed towards the town.

Atlas, meanwhile, considered another problem; the lack of workers.