Ring of Roses

by Sara Clancy

  She was working on her hands and knees, scrubbing the floors around the beds with an antique brush, when the door burst open again and a woman raced in. Jezebel had reached a point where she could ignore most of what the others were doing. Really, she only paid attention because the woman’s frantic movements sprayed mud all over the floor.

  “Are you insane?” Annabel snapped before Jezebel could voice her own protest. “They have open wounds.”

  Anger flared across the woman’s face. Her arms waved all the more as she thrust a sheet of paper towards Annabel.

  “You have no idea what’s going on out there!”

  “I understand infection. Take it to the other side of the room.” Even in her anger, Annabel’s voice couldn’t shake off its monotone. It left her with the appearance of calm indifference.

  Cackling hysterically, the woman fixed her with crazed eyes. “Maybe I should just come over there and give them a big old hug.”

  “Over your dead body.”

  “That’s not the saying, you idiot!”

  “I know,” Annabel said simply. “I’m threatening you.”

  The woman surged towards Annabel. It was Henry and Egil that intervened before anyone was able to throw a punch. All Henry had to do was step between the two of them to completely hide each one from the other’s sight. He towered over both of them. For Annabel, that was enough. She asked Jezebel to add some of the relatively clean rags to the wash pile and returned to what she was doing. For the other woman, however, it took Egil dragging her a few feet back for her to stop hurling verbal insults.

  Now, Jezebel made sure to pay close attention to what was being said as she scrubbed the floor. Henry had the same reluctance to return to the tasks. He crouched beside her, eyes fixed on Egil and the woman, as he took the bundle of mud-stained cloth from her. Bursting in like that had destroyed what little sense of safety the group had mustered. It left Rocca and Egil having to calm everyone down all over again.

  “Thanks,” Jezebel whispered, sure that her voice wouldn’t be heard by anyone else but Henry in the ruckus.

  He nodded. A heartbeat later, he added in an even softer voice, “So you know, if it does come to blows, I’m going to be worthless to you.” He sheepishly met her gaze. “I’m just tall and have a decent scowl. That’s it.”

  “Have you ever been in a fight?” It was a strange relief to know that at least one other person saw danger on the horizon.

  “Well,” he stammered before offering a shrug. “I tried sword fighting for a bit. That went horribly. They stopped letting me sign up for it. It wasn’t a loss. I’m a lot better at archery.”

  “Sword fighting?”

  “I go to Renaissance Fairs.”

  Jezebel blinked slowly. “Henry, what do you do for a living?”

  “I’m an accountant.”

  “Right.” She never intended to say the rest. It just slipped out. “We’re screwed.”

  Their conversation was cut short when Egil took the rain drenched parchment paper from the woman’s hands. An uneasy silence covered the room as he tipped the sheet towards the fire and read. Only Annabel’s movement and the dry, ragged coughs of a few people broke the stillness.

  “Bill of mortality,” he read aloud.

  Henry lurched to his feet in shock. From anyone else, it might have gone ignored. But from the quiet man who always tried to keep out of everyone’s way, it made everyone jump. Even Annabel stopped what she was doing to raise a questioning eyebrow.

  “Bill of mortality?” Henry said.

  Egil nodded. Surprise held Egil solid as Henry stalked towards him. He didn’t even resist when the taller man ripped the paper from his fingers.

  “Jim Lester is the only name on the list,” Henry mumbled.

  Even the yellowed firelight couldn’t add any color to his quickly draining face.

  “That’s the man that’s missing,” someone in the crowd declared.

  “He only stepped outside for a second,” another added.

  “I just blinked and he was gone!”

  Again, Egil raised his hand and Rocca set about calming the group down. It was Henry’s broken gasp for air that made them silent.

  “This can’t be real,” he mumbled.

  “What do you know?” Egil snarled with growing impatience.

  Henry blinked up at him. “Bills of mortality were public announcements in the 14th century.”

  “To announce what?” Rocca asked anxiously.

  Unsettled murmurs ran through the group as Henry struggled to voice the words.

  “The Bubonic Plague,” he said at last. “They kept count of the victims of the Black Death.”

  Chapter 7

  “The Bubonic plague?” Rocca said slowly. “The Black Death?”

  Henry was too distracted by the weathered parchment in his hands to realize that the mutterings were rhetorical. So he helpfully noted that they were the same thing. Words flew between the crowd, but Annabel could barely hear them. A loud static buzzing had filled her head the moment she had seen the figure. The creature whiter than moonlight and dressed in crimson. It had been solid and real. She knew it. It had disappeared like smoke. Her mind reeled from the memory, seeking shelter in the repetition of familiar tasks. If the bell hadn’t tolled, what would it have done to me?

  A shiver crawled down her spine and wrapped around her lungs. Jezebel didn’t see it. She pushed it aside and checked over her three critical patients. The bonfires were still out. That hadn’t stopped the airborne soot from settling on every available surface. It covered the bandages, the constant dampness allowing it to bleed through in search for the open flesh.

  “Who was the last to see Jim?” Egil asked, his sharp tone slicing along the fringes of Annabel’s awareness.

  She glanced up to see that everyone who had the power to do so had moved to stand before the fireplace, huddling within the ring of golden light it emitted. It left few people scattered along the walls. Some glanced around like frightened deer. Others, pushed to exhaustion, were in a deep sleep that even fear couldn’t disturb. Annabel quickly decided that it would be better to check on their injuries first, rather than tending to anyone who was awake.

  “I did!” Annabel heard the voice clearly but couldn’t pinpoint the speaker. “He was standing over there, right where Henry is now.”

  Henry barely reacted to the mention of his name. He was too busy reading and rereading the sheet.

  “Where did he go?” Egil asked.

  The original speaker didn’t reply. In the uneasy silence that followed, Annabel shuffled across the room, ready to tend to those sleeping against the wall.

  “Well?” Egil snarled the words. It was a tone he hadn’t used with the crowd before and it made them cringe. “Where did he say he was going?”

  “He didn’t go anywhere,” one of the few children in their group said.

  Egil gestured to Henry, who was currently very near the center of the room and surrounded by rows of makeshift beds.

  “How can he be lost if he didn’t go anywhere? Come on, now. It’s impossible to open that door without making a commotion. Someone must have heard him leave.”

  The group chattered amongst themselves, as if trying to decide on their response. By the time they came to their conclusions, Annabel had finished readjusting the sling for a fractured collarbone and had moved on to the next.

  “He just disappeared,” the group’s spokesperson said carefully. Annabel recognized the voice as the person who had confessed to seeing Jim last. Only now it was breathless and at the point of tears. “The lantern light. It was sweeping back and forth across the room. It only took a few seconds to get from one side to the other and back. I saw him standing right there. Right where Henry is. Then the light went off of him, and when it came back, he was gone.”

  Egil didn’t have a ready reply for that. He stared at her, mouth open and brow furrowed tight. Annabel tried to ignore it all as she crouched down next to a woman around her own
age. Draped forward as she was, the woman’s red hair completely covered her face. A ratty blanket covered the rest. Which was annoying, since Annabel couldn’t remember what was wrong with her that she had to check. Hip maybe? No, left ankle and right knee. It was coming back to her now. The way the red-headed woman had screamed and sobbed in pain.

  Careful not to wake her, Annabel lifted the bottom of the sheet. With the state of the place, she lived in fear of infection and complications. There was no way to have an x-ray. No painkillers that would make a proper inspection possible. One sharp jolt and a broken end of bone could disrupt the blood flow. Then we’d be dealing with gangrene. She shuddered. No one here was ready to choose between risking a deadly buildup of toxins or amputate.

  Now seeking a reprieve from her own thoughts, she tuned back into the conversation happening around her. She hadn’t missed much. Egil and all those who hadn’t witnessed the disappearance insisted that he must have gone outside. Those who had seen it refused to accept that.

  “His name is on the Bill of Mortality?” Henry cut in.

  “Yes, thank you, Henry,” Egil snapped. “Jim Lester.”

  Egil clenched his jaw and didn’t bother to look at him. “We all understand that. I don’t think it matters right now. The missing person does.”

  “Someone wrote this.” It was the first time Henry had put any real anger into his voice. Instead of getting louder, it just dropped into his commanding, booming tone. “Someone had the time, resources, and will to write this and nail it to a wall while those things were out there. That doesn’t concern you?”

  The fire crackled and the rain attacked the roof with a steady rhythm. Not a single human sound broke the uneasy stillness. Annabel froze under that same pressure. She hadn’t been prepared for anyone to mention the monsters. To state them as an agreed upon fact. A whiff of putrid flesh jarred her out of her shock and she snapped her gaze back down to her hands; to the small glimpse of foot that peeked out from under the blanket she was holding up. That’s not gangrene.

  Hurriedly replacing the blanket, she glanced around to ensure that no one else had seen the exposed limb. Everyone was focused on Egil, watching as he carefully concealed his fear and agitation. It was the perfect distraction and she shifted closer to the woman, lifting the long tresses of her hair to glimpse her neck.

  “There’s nothing out there.” Egil’s words were clearly an order, not a suggestion.

  The conversation hovered on the edges of Annabel’s notice. Her attention was fixed on the redhead before her, on the tiny glimpses of skin she spied through the knotted clumps of hair. Hooking her fingers around the ends, careful not to touch the skin, Annabel lifted the woman’s hair. It peeled off the flesh with a wet slurp. Shock made her flinch back before her brain had processed what she had seen. The red hair swept back into place, sticking to the woman’s rotting cheek and covering her milky, lifeless eyes. The array of bulbous domes turned black with gathering blood. How? The question rose over the chaotic screams of her mind. The detached logic she had always relied upon began a civil war between what she knew as fact and what she saw before her.

  She died of the bubonic plague.

  “Don’t act like I’m crazy,” Henry spoke like ice and stone. “I was right next to you when the plague doctors came. You crushed my hand and whimpered like a child.”

  “Plague doctor?” Annabel said.

  Her empty stomach churned, trying to force bile up her throat.

  Henry’s voice softened a little as he answered her. “During the worst of the plague, doctors took to wearing bird masks. For numerous reasons.”

  “Like what?” Jezebel asked.

  “By stuffing the beaks with flowers and herbs, they were spared the smell and thought they cleaned the air before they breathed it in. And ...”

  “And?” Egil pressed.

  “There was a theory that the plague was caused by demons,” Henry said. “They thought the evil spirits would leave them alone if they looked like one of them.”

  All of it was background noise to the rushing of Annabel’s heart. Thoughts came too hard and fast. She wasn’t able to keep up with them all. They’ll panic. The single thought screamed over the rest. Get her out of here before they see.

  “Henry, can you help me?” Annabel asked.

  He blinked a few times in surprise before nodding. Egil didn’t let him get more than a step towards Annabel.

  “Help you with what?”

  Annabel licked her lips. There was so much noise in her head, she couldn’t think straight. This can’t be happening. I have to be wrong. It can’t be real.

  “Jim is missing, Anna,” Egil said before turning his attention to the group. “We need to focus on that first.”

  “Okay. Henry and I will check next door. Jez, come with us?”

  Annabel knew the mistake she had made the moment the words were out. Both Egil and Rocca now knew something was going on and that Annabel was keeping them from it.

  “Next door?” Rocca said. Her eyes skirted to the redheaded woman. “Is she–”

  Rocca didn’t finish the question. She didn’t have to.

  “But, she only had a few broken bones,” someone snapped.

  Annabel didn’t have time to pinpoint the speaker. Within an instant, the whole group was swept up into chaos. The walls shook with the force of their demands and cries. Someone burst forward from the rest. Tears streaming down their face, they hurled themselves onto the red head and tore at the blanket.

  “No!” Annabel clasped the edge of the sheet. Don’t let them see. Don’t let them see!

  The person didn’t hear her over the rising tide of hysteric protests. Many called the red head by name, Gwen. Declared that there was no way she could have died. Argued that she only had a few broken bones, none of it life threatening. Rocca hissed at Annabel to let the distraught person mourn. Others snarled and bellowed. Egil’s hand wrapped tight around Annabel’s arm and tried to yank her back. In the middle of the hysterical tornado, Annabel fought to keep the blanket positioned over the corpse. With a bone-jarring yank, Egil flung Annabel back, tossing her onto the floorboards. She landed hard, didn’t see the moment that the corpse was exposed. Screams, disgusted and wild, broke over the rest of the noise. Annabel flinched and flung herself onto her back.

  That was when the accusations began.

  “What did you do to her?”

  On instinct, Annabel tried to find the speaker. It wasn’t until another person spat out the same question that she realized they were talking to her. Anger swept over the group. Boiled within them until Annabel choked on their fury. With the blanket no longer stifling it, the deep stench of the body wafted up to fill the air. No one seemed to notice it as anguished cries ripped from crowd. Bellowing screams of grief, fear, and rage. Annabel couldn’t understand most of the words. The hatred, however, was unmistakable. And it was all directed at her.

  She scrambled away, yelping as her back collided with a pair of legs. Her heart leaped into her throat as she snapped her head up. Jezebel reached down and grabbed Annabel by her upper arms, drawing her to her feet as Henry positioned himself between the sisters and the crowd. Losing direct sight helped to settle some people, mostly because they remembered the corpse at their feet. Gwen.

  The struggle over the blanket had dumped her onto her side, her matted red hair flopping out over the floor. Dressed in a tank top and summer shorts, there wasn’t much left to hide her skin. The black blisters covered the left right side of her body, head to foot. Massive swollen mounds pushed up from the sides of her throat and under her arms. Those who could move scurried away, covering their noses and mouths, either to keep out the stench or keep their stomachs’ contents in.

  “What is this?” Egil said.

  It was clear he was trying to sound calm.

  “Oh, God,” Henry whispered. He tilted only so far as necessary to catch Annabel’s gaze. “That can’t be what I think it is.”

  “What?” Jez
ebel impatiently snapped.

  “I’ve seen it in books,” he mumbled to himself, eyes locked on the sight before him.

  “It can’t be,” Annabel stammered around her pounded heart. “It looks like it, but it can’t be.”

  Rocca had positioned herself like the body was a bear and she was trying to protect the group. Her arms were stretched out wide to hold them back.

  In this position, she asked, “What does it look like?”

  Annabel looked around, desperately searching for one person who would tell her she didn’t have to speak. One that would let her follow her first plan. Get Egil and Jezebel alone, tell them her suspicions, and let them decide how to break the news. They’re better with people, she reasoned. They’d know what to say to keep everyone from panicking. But there wasn’t a single person willing to wait.

  “It looks like the bubonic plague,” she confessed. Noise broke out again and she had to scream to be heard over it. “But it can’t be! It set in too fast. She must have been infected with something before she even set foot on the boat.”

  Once more, she was swept into a whirlwind of words and paranoia. Some were quick to believe her, and their fears turned to contamination. Others held strong to the idea that this was Annabel’s fault. For them, it was easier to blame an actual, physical person than some unseen and unknown disease. It was the fury of those people that made Annabel shrink tighter into Jezebel’s protective embrace. There was so much rage contained within the room that it felt like a tinderbox, just waiting for that one stray spark to make the whole thing explode. And it’s me they’ll blame. Annabel reached for her sister’s hand and squeezed tight.

  “Enough of this!” Egil’s bellow rattled the windows and made the fledgling mob shrink like chastised children. “Arguing amongst ourselves isn’t going to solve anything. Gwen’s passing hurts me. Don’t think that it doesn’t. But there’s a chance Jim is still alive. We need to focus on that.”

  “But what about the plague?” someone asked.

  Egil forced a smile, serene and encouraging. “This isn’t the 18th century. The bubonic plague doesn’t exist anymore. We eradicated it.” He gestured to Annabel without looking at her. “Right?”