His head was heavy as marble. It was past midday, and for several hours he had delayed his break. Bent over a skinny woman whose chest was streaked with pustules, Selen tried to block his ear with his left hand. The metal ring slipped under his mask, and touching his other ear hurt his lobe as he pressed his head closer on the device. Lissandro had come up with the object, explaining it would help them detect the heart better than with their gloved fingers. Despite the noise around him, Selen judged the beats irregular.
“Give her angelica tincture drops,” he said to Lissandro sitting at his side. “Start with five.”
Selen rose. A few minutes ago, he had spotted a woman with suspicious black marks under her blue wimple. He scanned the room, but she was nowhere to be found. An acid taste filled his mouth, and he put a hand to his temple. He needed to return to the office.
“You forgot your stethoscope,” Lissandro called him back.
“Later,” Selen mumbled.
The voices were loud. Those who didn’t cough complained about the slowness of the priests. They pointed at a scar or at a whining child with hopes to hasten the doctors’ consultations to their own case. A tall, bearded man with a greasy apron sticking out from under his coat blocked his way. The priest’s nervous gaze facing the man searched for a way out.
“It’s ages I’ve been waiting with my old man in your damn hall. I didn’t come here for your soup. You’ll have a look at him even if I need to drag you behind.”
Selen stepped to the side to avoid them.
“Here is a doctor,” the priest said.
Hurrying his pace, Selen pretended he didn’t hear and left the priest to his troubles. He slipped behind a chubby elderly person in rags. The woman complained that her nail had cracked open when in contact with her dead husband’s wounds.
“He died crushed by a stone on the docks, but he had been coughing a lot lately,” she explained to her concerned neighbor who slurped her bowl of soup.
Someone tugged at his sleeve. Selen turned around. A young, blond woman sat on a bed with her crying little boy on her lap. She had sweat pearling on her brow and her eyes were red. At least someone sick, Selen thought.
“Please. I’m thirsty,” she moaned. “I don’t want to leave my son alone.” She turned the child in every position, but the cries only intensified. “Shush, shush, sweetheart.”
“You have soup in the hall,” Selen said. My head hurts. “I can fetch you some.”
She nodded and loosened her grip on him. Selen made his way to the door and through the hall. The line for the soup stretched beyond the hospital doors. Sick tried to push the hungry to get in. A trembling, hooded man who held to the stile in search for air coughed on the shoulder of a boor with a bowl and spoon on the left line. The man rubbed his fat nose and punched the culprit. A woman behind screamed. They needed to sort that mess before it got worse. Taking advantage of the quarrel, a shaggy man in a brown tunic snaked his way to the soup kettle. The man behind gave the line-jumper a nasty look before turning to him.
“Hey, you. Do something,” he grunted.
The claim attracted the others’ interest.
“Yeah, we’re sick!”
The crowd closed on Selen. He glanced behind but saw no sign of Lissandro. At his side, the priest with the ladle had scarpered.
“Get back on the line,” Selen said.
“The fuck I’m doing it. Give me my food,” the boor exclaimed.
Selen glanced back again. Where are you, Lissandro? Two priests stared at him from a doorway. No one here would tell him what to do. The hooded man with the broken nose hailed him.
“I want a bed.” He coughed and spat.
The boor stepped closer. “Give me that fucking food, raven.”
You’re not sick. You’re invading that place. “Move away.” Selen’s eyes fell on a broom against the kettle, and all was clear again. And I’m guarding it.
The man sneered. “What’d you say?”
Selen grabbed the broom and shoved the handle into the man’s stomach. The boor collapsed, unconscious. Selen looked at the crowd. “Two lines.”
While everyone returned to his place, Selen let go of the broom and filled a bowl with soup. The priest reappeared at his side, as well as Lissandro.
“I need your help,” Lissandro asked, taking hold of his arm.
Selen stopped a sister passing by and handed her the bowl. “Give this to the puppy child’s mother.” He followed Lissandro down the hall and to the left. In an office, a male corpse lay on a table. Brother Benedict stood on the side. Several bowls, scalpels, and linen were already prepared. Selen closed the door behind him.
“You swore you wouldn’t tell,” Brother Benedict said.
“And I won’t,” Selen said.
“We need this autopsy,” Lissandro insisted.
The monk sighed. He took one of the scalpels and approached the corpse. The skin was purple blue. Blood leaked, and, despite the beak, it stank. Selen wanted to retch, but he had no more eaten than he had rested. Brother Benedict put the blade on the hairy chest. Blood pearled with the first incision. Slowly, the blade trailed down the chest. To Selen’s surprise, the blood turned green.
“Did you cut an organ?” Selen asked, though he saw well that the blade barely pierced the skin.
“No,” the monk answered, unsure.
“Carry on,” Lissandro said.
The blade cut the skin to the pelvis. A green fluid leaked with profusion from the cut onto both flanks of the corpse. Lissandro took pliers and spread the skin to the side. The insides were a pool of green.
“I think we have a problem,” Lissandro muttered.
7
Louis stood by one of the glazed windows in the main gallery. The corners of the glass were sprinkled with ice crystals. He tugged on his blue woolen overcoat before folding his arms over his chest. Outside, in the inner garden, the frost covered the bushes and the dry, withered dahlias and sages. Under Selen’s touch, the wild garden had turned into an herber. Short, woven wooden fences enclosed neatly tended beds of savory, lilies, fenugreek, and grapes over trellises which, in the warm seasons, rejoiced most hearts with their shades and perfumes. Some flowers, surprised by the first cold wave, still retained patches of their color, frozen in their beauty until a mild spell turned them to rot. Louis thought of the schools. He had hoped that, secluded in the buildings, the children would be spared from the disease. Unfortunately, each day brought a new case, and the boys had dropped one by one at the hospital doors. Louis had never felt so powerless. There was no enemy to strike this time. No one to complain about. The disease was blind and unstoppable. No one in the hospital had recovered or shown a slight amelioration. At least, they hadn’t faced a panic yet. Nysa Serin was big, and mostly the weakest and the poorest had been struck. Still, it was only a question of days until it reached the shopping area and spread on all sides. Louis would be constrained to take the decision to isolate the sick by force. Until now, he had counted on the people’s good will to search for help at the hospital. I won’t burn houses and lock away innocent families, he thought. Law and order will prevail, but not against the population’s own good.
As he stared at velvety, crimson spots at the side of one of the benches, heavy footsteps and metal clanks resounded in the gallery. “Louis. Your Majesty.”
Louis turned around. “Can I help you, Folc?”
Folc stopped a few steps from him in a rigid salute, his luxuriant auburn hair tossed backwards. By Folc’s contrite face, Louis knew the message would be unpleasant. “A group of nobles and merchants request an audience with you. I asked them to wait in the council room. Will you see them?”
No, Louis thought. “Yes, of course. Did they say what they wanted?” Louis followed Folc along the gallery and up the staircase.
“They didn’t tell me. I should inform you that this morning a group of rich citizens tried to force the gates to flee the city. They were heavily packed and drew the attention of the guards.
Urian sent them back home under an escort.”
“And he did well.”
“Louis, tell me if I cross the line of my status, but you gave the possibility for the commoners to cross the gates under strict controls. The nobles and masters should not have fewer rights than them. They are part of this city.”
“I eased the quarantine to allow food to enter the city and for family members to stay together in these hard times. I didn’t want healthy peasants to be trapped inside the walls or travelers returning home to face closed doors. All those were exceptions. It was never my intention to let inhabitants flee, whoever they may be. The sick need help. We need a functioning city with shops, cooks, and street cleaners if we don’t want to fall into anarchy. I will not encourage selfishness and cowardice.”
Louis opened the door of the council room. The smell in the room was as strong as in a perfumer’s shop. Louis repressed the need to cover his face. He counted eleven nobles and merchants as well as two women. They wore colorful winter coats and fur hats of different shapes. Some already sat at the council table. As he passed in front of them, they had the decency to rise. Louis sat down on his chair and joined his hands.
“What can I do for you, my lords?” The nobles stood, uneasy. “Sit down,” Louis muttered.
An old, little man with an aquiline nose, the nostrils of which were afflicted with small yellowish crusts, leaned forward. His head nearly disappeared in his furs. “Your Majesty, my name is Turold Carver, and I am one of the masters of the goldsmiths’ guild. There has been an unfortunate incident this morning. I am sure this is all a misunderstanding.”
“I have heard of it, and I see no misunderstanding. The access and exit are restricted for the inhabitants of the city,” Louis said. Cinnamon, it smells of cinnamon and musk, he thought.
“We understand there is a need for sanitary measures to prevent this slums disease to spread, but we here are all fine and healthy,” Turold said.
“I don’t see why you would feel the need to leave us if this is nothing more than a slums disease,” Louis said.
“Your Majesty, my name is William Breness. I am grandmaster of the mercers…”
“I know who you are, Master Breness,” Louis said, barely hiding the threat behind his words. The mercer was one of the most influent masters among the guilds and had long refused to adjust his prices according to the decrees. The man had finally complied. Yet, since then, his name had been branded in Pembroke’s registers.
“Your Majesty,” Breness carried on. “We all know what this disease is. We only try to protect our families before it is too late.” The black, beady eyes behind the small glasses were empty of emotion. Louis wondered if the man had put a price on his family as well.
“The gates are closed,” Louis repeated. His head turned. “Damn, what is this smell?” he exclaimed.
One of the men further down the table rose. His nose dominated his face, and a silly smile had been etched under it. “It comes from our pomanders, Your Majesty. My name is Master Reese from the perfumers’ guild. I would gladly provide one to Your Majesty.”
“Your pomanders?” Louis said with disbelief. He was uncertain if he was nauseous of the mix of perfumes or of their frivolousness.
The merchant mistook his words for a question and explained the object. “It’s a small metallic ball you wear around your neck or waist. You fill it with aromatic herbs like ambergris, musk, and cinnamon. It protects from the miasmas and other strong odors.”
“We have more urgent matters to discuss, Reese,” Breness said, frowning at his peer. He turned towards Louis again. “Your Majesty, as it seems no one will be allowed to leave the city, we have another proposition. The palace is an eyrie. You could invite the guild masters and grandmasters to take refuge in the south wing apartments. In return, we could generously contribute to the Crown’s finances, and once the disease over, we could make interesting arrangements in favor of your new projects.”
Under shock, Louis rose from his seat and paced slowly around the table. “What you propose is that I allow you and your families to install yourself here with me and close the access to the palace until the disease is over. In return, you would offer the Crown financial support.” The guild masters nodded with approval. As he passed behind Breness, Louis grabbed the man by the shoulders with all his strength and pinned him on the table. “My queen is working at the hospital, and you hide behind your fortune and your perfumes. You have no virtue, no morality,” Louis hissed in the master’s face while his fists clenched tighter on the man’s collar. “I should send you to bury the dead!” He slung Breness to the side. The man hit the chairs and fell on the floor. “Out of my sight! All of you!”
The merchants and masters left the room with outraged faces. Louis sank down in his chair and covered his face with his hands. And one more enemy.
Someone knocked at the door. “I wanted to speak to you, but I can come back later.”
Louis looked up. Josselin stood in the doorway. His friend rocked back and forth, and his single hand fidgeted on the door’s stile, marking his impatience.
“Please, come in. Take a seat.” Louis motioned him to a chair at his side.
Josselin unfastened his red woolen cloak, folded it on the back of the chair, saw it slide, grasped it up, tossed it on the chair, and pressed it flat before sitting down. He put his trembling hand to his brow to shade his red-streaked eye, but the dark rings under it and his pinkish complexion couldn’t lie. Louis looked at him with kindness and waited for him to speak.
“Our baby is sick, Louis,” Josselin muttered.
The news upset Louis. He felt sadness for his friend and thought that Selen would be shattered once he learned about it. “I’m sorry. It must be horrible for you and Kilda. Are you sure it is the disease?”
“He has no marks yet, but he has fever and spews far too often. We took all the precautions…” Josselin broke down in tears.
Louis patted his shoulder. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Yes. I know it is against the rules, but I would like to have the authorization to stay at home with my wife and the baby. We don’t want to go to the hospital. If our baby is condemned, I want him to stay home and be with us.”
“Of course, I understand. You can stay home. I will just ask you to take all the precautions so that neither you nor Kilda gets sick. Do not breastfeed the baby and use gloves.” Louis felt as if his own words were ice. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to sound cold. I…”
“I know. Your counsels are wise, and we already do all that. Thank you for letting us stay together.” He sniffled. More tears ran down his cheeks. “They say…they say that when children die…they were too pure, too innocent to live and thus are called by the gods. Is that true?” Josselin’s watery eye hoped for an answer.
Louis sighed. Only if it makes you feel better. What kind of malevolent gods would that be? “Yes. But he is not dead yet. Come with me to the solar. I can at least offer you a drink.” Louis got up. Josselin accompanied him.
They left the room. Plunged in half-light, the hall and the gallery were deserted but for the guard in front of the garden’s door. As they went out, the evening cold froze him to the bones. If only this cold could kill the disease, he thought. The scarlet spots caught his attention again. He was staring at the frozen flowers when he realized that Josselin was holding the solar’s door open. Louis joined him inside.
Though the servants kept a fire going during their absence to keep the room warm, the flames in the hearth were dying out. Louis threw a new log into the fire and watched the flames lick at the bark. Josselin sat down in a fauteuil and lost himself in thoughts. The growing heat woke Louis up. He went to one of the gueridons and poured two goblets of wine out of a turquoise glazed ewer with a peacock head. The smell was peculiar. He smiled.
“It’s hypocras,” he said. He carried his goblet to Josselin. “Selen has a taste for spices.” Josselin gave a faint smile as he took the goblet. Louis sat o
n the love seat and stared at the fire again as the smell of oak and fir filled the solar. Because he didn’t know which words to choose to soften his friend’s grief, he judged a silent presence was the best he could offer.
After a while, the door opened. Lissandro and Selen entered the solar, their faces low and sullen. Though they had agreed that they wouldn’t talk about what happened at the hospital, Louis could see that each day brought its lot of horrors and misery. Selen had wanted to be brave and had shown amazing compassion. But his empathy consumed him. Thus, for his own good, it had to stop. By the end of the week, he would stay at the palace. Louis was resolute on that.
Selen had removed his green cloak. He came and sat next to him, hunched up, his gaze lost. It felt to Louis as if his friend’s energy had been sucked out of his body. He handed Selen his goblet.
“Drink. I barely touched it,” he whispered.
“Thank you.” Selen took the wine and drained the goblet. “We found something today.”
“Did you find a cure?” Josselin exclaimed. He sat on the edge of his seat.
Despondent, Selen shook his head. “Lilo, could you…?”
Lissandro had poured himself a goblet and had slumped into the second fauteuil. His beige tunic was creased. He probably needed a bath as well. “We did an autopsy today,” Lissandro mumbled. “I did.” He took a sip of his wine. “The stomach was gone. And I don’t mean a deterioration of the tissues. I mean, gone. Dissolved in green slime. I opened another body. Then another one. It was the same, every time.” Lissandro raised his head and looked at him. “Louis, it’s not the plague. Not the one we know. This is something else.”
Louis was stunned. “But, if it’s not the plague…”
“There may be a cure,” Lissandro said.
“Oh, thank the lords. Thank you!” Josselin said. He covered his face with his hand.
“Josselin, why are you here?” Selen asked, worried.
Josselin removed his hand. He hesitated to speak and turned his eye away. “My baby is sick,” he muttered.
Light from Aphelion 2 - Tears of Winter Page 6
