Lissandro turned his head and saw Josselin wave at them. They dismounted and went to hug their friend. Kilda stood at his side. She wore a yellow gown with white lace and carried her baby in her arms in a shawl. Lissandro wondered how such a little thing could survive in here without suffocating. With his single arm, Josselin turned the wheel of the spit. Sweat flowed down his forehead and over the scar on his eye. His blond pigtail shone as if bathed in oil. The furnace’s heat felt like Inferno’s mouth, but the smell was ravishing. The flames crackled and spluttered for each drop of grease dripping from the dark brown and crispy skin into the fire. As the meat turned, men spread a honeyed sauce over it with a brush.
“Can we have a taste?” Lissandro asked, half drooling.
“I think it’s ready,” Josselin said. He handed him a knife. “I leave you the honor. Open it.”
“How do I open it?” Lissandro asked, puzzled.
“You cut through the belly with your knife, put your hand in, and pull out the insides,” Louis said. “Like a Caesarean section.”
“On a dead side of beef?” Lissandro understood nothing but complied and cut the flesh on the belly. Hot air came out in a waft. “You want me to burn myself,” he mumbled. He first let the meat cool down a few instants in contact with the outside air. Then, hesitantly, he stretched his hand through the hole. His burnt fingers groped around until they closed on something round.
“A leg?”
He pulled his hand out. A whole chicken came out. Applause resounded all around him. Josselin joined him and cut a wider opening in the beef. It was stuffed with chickens. Lissandro took his share of the poultry and gave the rest to the crowd.
“It seems it turned into an orgy, after all. A meat orgy,” Lissandro said to Selen. The chicken tasted of beef and spices.
“You know I have no taste for both,” Selen said, cradling the baby while Kilda chewed on a chicken leg.
Fiddles and bagpipes broke the hubbub. The crowd jolted back. “What’s happening?” he asked.
“Folk dances,” Louis answered. Lissandro tossed the chicken bone into the fire and grabbed Louis’s hand. “Eh? What are you doing?”
Lissandro waved through the crowd, dragging Louis behind. Dozens of people were already swirling in elaborate couple dances. Lissandro’s enthusiasm faded.
“I can’t dance the saltarello,” he said.
“It’s easy, like a bourrée.”
Lissandro observed the dancers. “Yes…or a square dance.”
He fastened his grip on Louis’s hand and, grasping his slim waist, carried him among the dancers. From circles, to swings, to promenades, Lissandro followed the rhythm. Selen and Kilda soon appeared at their side, catching their breath and laughing. As one song segued into the next, and Lissandro twisted and hopped, enjoying the touch of Louis’s hands flowing over his arms. The brown locks brushed his face each time Louis leaned over him. As golden as his sole earring, Louis’s guileless chuckle tinkled at his ears, and his ravishing, carefree beam stole his heart. Lissandro grinned with all his soul at the surrealism of the situation. Something wrong is going to happen, he thought. Whether the clock will strike midnight and I’m going to wake up with mice in a field of pumpkins, or something terrible…
“By the gods!”
Lissandro froze still. Women screamed in panic. The music faded out. Everyone stopped dancing and looked for the origin of the shouts.
“People lie on the ground,” Louis said. He let go of Lissandro and walked to the center of attention. Lissandro followed him.
Two men lay on the pavement. Their faces were dark red, and blood ran from their noses and mouths. With their protruding blue veins, they didn’t look as if they had been beaten, but as if a poison slowly consumed their bodies. One was still breathing and vomited green bile. He crawled towards Louis.
“Help…Your Majesty. Help us,” he groaned.
Louis knelt down. When he grabbed the man’s shoulder, the unfortunate gurgled unintelligible words and expelled his last breath.
“He is dead,” Louis said.
The man’s head tilted backwards, revealing white buboes, large like the head of an onion. Lissandro took a step back and glanced at Louis. His friend’s throat moved with a spasm. Louis put his arm on his mouth and rose bolt upright.
“Their clothes are dirty and worn-out. They probably come from the slums,” Lissandro said.
“Who knows these men?” Louis asked the crowd. He gazed around. “Don’t make me repeat it a second time.”
A woman wearing a wimple and a grey cloak raised her hand. “I know them, Your Majesty. I know where they live.”
“Lead us to their homes.”
Despite all the ameliorations Louis had brought to the city, the slums were still a putrid place where feces and trash littered the pavement and wooden houses threatened to collapse anytime. With the cold temperatures, the harlots held to their brothels, and the majority of the traffic took place in cellars. Lissandro and his party followed the woman through the narrow alleyways. Louis had summoned a dozen guards to accompany them. Whatever the situation, no one would wander unarmed in the slums.
“It’s here,” the woman said.
She pointed at a two-story house whose planks were half-rotten, half-eaten by parasites. By entering the place, the thing Lissandro was sure to get besides information was fleas. A faint light shone through the shutters.
“Louis, I know you have gloves, but are you sure you want to enter that hovel?” Lissandro not only regretted he had no mask, he wished he had a full hazmat suit.
“If there is an epidemic going on, I want to know,” Louis said. He took a torch from one of the guards and approached the door. Lissandro and Selen followed him.
Selen coughed. “Be careful. It stinks already from the outside.”
Louis opened the door and stretched the torch inside the room. The carrion smell hit Lissandro’s eyes as well as his stomach, and he bent down to retch.
“How many bodies?” Lissandro asked.
“I count six persons. Four are already decomposing. I’m not sure for the two others,” Louis said.
Lissandro peeped above Louis’s shoulder. Three bodies lay on a couch on the floor, their faces distorted and covered with mucus. Another corpse sat in a corner under a heap of blankets.
“He’s moving,” Lissandro said.
Louis approached cautiously and stretched the torch towards the body’s face. The cheeks had been eaten away. As one of the blankets fell, a black rat jumped out and disappeared behind a dusty chest. When he saw what was left of the corpse, Louis threw up and staggered. Selen went in, took hold of Louis, and pulled him out.
“There is nothing left alive in there. Burn the place,” Selen ordered to the guards.
“No!” Lissandro shouted. “The entire slums are made of wood. The city would burn.”
“But, what else can we do?” Selen asked, upset. “Whatever it is, it will spread.” At his side, Louis straightened, a hand on Selen’s shoulder, and looked at them.
“It is already too late,” Louis said.
5
The ministers sat around the table in the council room. Louis had invited Brother Benedict, master of the hospital and physician of the court alongside Selen, and Lissandro to share their knowledge on the subject. After what he had seen, there was no doubt for him that they faced an epidemic. Yet, Louis wondered if it could really be the plague. Was this world confronted by the same maladies as his? Had Lissandro been too alarmist? He did not want to jump to any conclusion without the opinion of his council. Lissandro must have the science on the disease, but the locals had the experience he and his friends lacked. Louis looked at the men around the table. Though anxiety could be read on everyone’s face, Louis was not sure they were all conscious of the gravity of the situation. While they talked, people might die by the hour. They needed to reach a consensus on how to handle the problem.
“I assume you are all aware of yesterday’s events,” Louis s
aid, his hands steepled over the board. “We did not examine the bodies thoroughly, but you will agree with me, Brother Benedict, that we are facing a kind of plague?”
“With a high probability, yes, Your Majesty,” the monk answered from the opposite side of the long oaken table.
“Have the city or yourself faced this disease before?” Louis asked.
“If it’s the one we fear it is, I haven’t been confronted with it myself,” Brother Benedict answered. “I read about it in books. It happened in the past, but it was a long time ago. Since then, there have been sporadic cases, but never in a highly populated city.”
“Should we worry if we are not sure that it is the plague? Not even ten people died last night. It could be poisoning,” Kaeden Suthmeer said, barely opening his sunken lips.
The Chamberlain had been chosen by the guilds’ members among their peers. Though he could manage his functions and had deep insight in trade, the middle-aged man, previously master in the chandlers’ guild, had no competences whatsoever in politics and lacked general education. His nomination had reminded Louis that democracy also meant to work with people you disapproved of.
“Do you want to verify by yourself?” Mauger asked. The remark of the Keeper of the Seals silenced Kaeden, who shrank back his furrowed face under his red chaperon turban.
“Lissandro, I would like your opinion about it,” Louis said.
Lissandro glanced at Brother Benedict at his side then at Louis, who encouraged him with a scant nod to talk freely. “There is no doubt for me that we are facing the plague. We could lose our time analyzing body fluids and feces to come up with certitudes, but I think we should prepare ourselves for the worst. Assuming this is the plague, what we would need is antibiotics or a vaccine. Those are the only cure. We don’t have them. All we can do with the sick is to ease their pains or finish them off. In any case, you must isolate them.”
Lissandro’s vision was so disastrous that a cold shiver ran through Louis’s spine. “We could turn one of the city buildings into a provisory hospital or use the hospital for that sole purpose. No one finishes anyone off until we know exactly what it is,” Louis said. “Even then, there is always a slight possibility for someone to survive it, right?” He looked at Lissandro, hoping for a positive comment. Sitting at his side, Selen grazed Louis’s arm. As timid as it was, the touch soothed Louis’s worried mind for an instant.
“A slight one,” Lissandro forced himself to say.
“Your Majesty,” Pembroke croaked. “You don’t mean to gather the sick in the hospital, do you?” he ventured to ask. By the quizzical looks of his ministers and the heavy gulps, this procedure was inconceivable to the men of this world.
To face complication where there should have none already fatigued Louis. “Of course, I do,” he sighed. “This is where they will be best taken care of, and it will isolate them from the population.”
“But they should be isolated in their own homes,” Kaeden said, leaning his wrapped head over the table to put weight to his suggestion.
In all the delicate questions, incompetence rivalled stupidity. “And left to die alone while our doctors would roam the city to and fro carrying the disease? No,” Louis insisted. “The hospital it will be.” Eyes down, the ministers swallowed the decision.
“You talked of antibiotics? Is it something we can get or buy somewhere?” Josselin asked Lissandro.
“Unfortunately, no. The knowledge has…disappeared with time,” Lissandro said.
“What do we know about the disease?” Selen asked, turning towards Brother Benedict.
“It is highly contagious and is spread by the air and by the rats,” Brother Benedict said, pulling on his ample sleeves with his mittened hands.
Lissandro raised a finger. “Actually, and with all my respect,” he said with a quick look at the monk, “it is spread by contact and droplets. Besides, it’s not the rats but the fleas. So not only rats are a threat but all kind of rodents or any animal in contact with rodents: cats, dogs…”
“Or anyone living in the slums. This kind of information can spread panic,” Louis said. “We should keep it between us.”
“But if it’s the truth, it will spread like fire on dry grass,” Kaeden said, wiggling in his seat.
“I know. This is why we have to apply quarantine to the city,” Louis said, staring at his ministers.
“Your Majesty, this will spread chaos. Everyone will want to leave,” Mauger’s gruff timbre exclaimed.
“Once the people know about the disease, if they don’t already, they will want to leave, and the plague will spread to the rest of the country,” Louis said. “Urian, can you ask your men to block the gates?”
“I can, Your Majesty. Should they try to disobey, I will put them to death myself,” the commander of the city watch said in his low voice. Dressed in the city’s white and blue tabard adorned with a silver unicorn pattern over his spotless armour and mail, Urian was a model of self-discipline and obedience.
“Your Majesty. Though I approve the quarantine, we must take into consideration that it will be disastrous for the trade,” Louis heard Pembroke say at his left.
“The quarantine is on the people, not on the goods. We can’t survive without food,” Selen reassured the treasurer before he turned to him. His friend looked as worried as his ministers. Louis gave him a faint smile and put his hand on his.
“Instead of a quarantine, we could impose sanitary measures: controlling the bodies, disinfecting the goods of people going in and out the gates, and restrict the exits to necessities only,” Lissandro suggested. Everyone nodded in approval.
“Then it’s settled? We impose controls and send the sick to the hospital?” Pembroke said.
“It is the best solution for now. Spread the news,” Louis said. “Brother Benedict, go to the hospital and begin the preparations. We will join you right away.”
The ministers and Brother Benedict rose and left the council room in a hubbub. Once the three of them were left alone, Lissandro approached Louis.
“You know we are condemned?” Lissandro said and sank down in a seat next to him, resigned.
“It is an eventuality. Do you want to leave? I can understand. You should not be here. You are healthy, you can go,” Louis said. He rested his head on his joined hands.
“I already abandoned you once. I won’t do it again,” Lissandro said. “Besides, you may need my help.”
“Are you sure there is no cure?” Selen asked Lissandro.
“Not in this world. But we can still try to prevent it from spreading,” Lissandro said. “We should go to the hospital and see how this world faces the disease. I fear the worst.”
Louis, Lissandro, and Selen rose and made for the door together. Lissandro tugged at Louis’s sleeve. “Your commander of the watch. He is… Well, he has…”
“He has what?” Louis asked, curious.
“Well, you know, dark skin.”
“I don’t see your point. How would that be a problem? We made a selection in the slums among the men who had military experience, rigor, and knowledge of the city. Urian was an experienced fishmonger and rope maker eager to serve the Crown. Besides, Selen judged him an excellent warrior.” Louis paused and realized Lissandro came from America. “I hope you are not for slavery?”
“No, no, no.” Lissandro shook his head. “But are the people all right with that?”
“Some complained I took my representatives in the slums. You know, every citizen here is a free man and…”
“I got it, Louis,” Lissandro said, laying his hand on his arm. He smiled. “I do hope this disease won’t wipe out such a brilliant city.”
The hospital was situated in the east of the city. During the first year of Louis’s reign, they had used the building to treat the wounded soldiers of the Rebellion and the victims of the war. With time, the place had increased its capacity and was now fully equipped with beds and medical supplies. The nurses and doctors were essentially priests and s
isters. When he had ordered the priests to exercise a useful profession beside their vocation, most had opted for education. In front of Louis’s refusal, their second choice had been for medicine and nursing. Despite its staff’s religious vocation, the hospital wasn’t one of those hospices for the care of one’s soul, but instead, a state medical institution where apothecaries like Brother Benedict thrived.
Louis, Selen, and Lissandro walked through the bleached-out halls in search of Brother Benedict. They found the monk in an office where a glazed window sifted pale rays of light. When they entered the room, Brother Benedict was controlling small flasks in a cabinet. By his side, his assistant counted pairs of gloves.
“I fear we won’t have enough cloves and ginger,” the monk said.
“You’re not preparing a soup. You’re treating patients with fatal disease. Do you have enough alcohol? Masks? Gloves?” Louis asked.
“Yes, we have all that,” the monk said with an evasive gesture of the hand.
“Do you have lime?” Lissandro asked.
“Lime?” the monk stopped his inventory and stared at him dumbfounded.
“You will have to cover the corpses with lime to kill the bacteria,” Lissandro explained.
“No. No lime,” Louis objected. “You burn them. At the same time, it would be good if you dissected a few to be certain of the disease. Maybe it will also help to find a cure.”
Brother Benedict let go of the flask he had in his hand. The glass exploded in shards on the floor. The two monks looked at Louis with huge eyes and their mouths wide open.
“O…opening the corpses and burn them,” the monk stuttered. “It is a terrible sin, Your Majesty. I could be defrocked for that.”
Louis sighed. Though he was more open-minded than the average, the monk could still hold to religious gibberish once in a while. “I could try to talk you over to it, but I’ve already had a long day.” He joined his hands and approached the monk. “So, whether you open the corpses, or I open you myself as a healthy test subject to our first dead.” Brother Benedict turned pale. “Consider it’s for science.”
Light from Aphelion 2 - Tears of Winter Page 4
