Jack felt his knees go weak. Not for fear of himself but for his sister. He’d known from the first sighting of the red cross on the door that the plague had visited his home. But he’d held on to the slender hope that Jess was still alive, imprisoned inside. He’d heard stories of people being left untouched by the plague even when others in the household were struck down.

‘All?’ he asked tremulously.

The plague doctor responded with a single solitary nod.

‘When did it happen?’ pressed Jack.

‘Some two months back, so the house is not yet cleansed.’

‘Let us out!’ demanded Akiko, her voice tight and panicky. ‘There’s no one here. We’re not infected.’

‘Not yet, maybe, but –’

The plague doctor suddenly broke into a coughing fit. He clasped the door frame to stop himself collapsing, and Jack, Akiko and Yori seized their chance to push past. Escaping the oppressive and poisonous air of the cottage, they dashed into the bright sunshine of the front garden, where life at once seemed to return to them. The plague doctor was now on his knees, still hacking. Akiko stopped and turned back.

‘Are you all right?’ she asked, offering her hand to help him up.

‘No,’ he replied hoarsely, waving her hand away, ‘but there’s little you can do for me, apart from pray.’ He gazed at them from behind his glass-eyed bird mask. ‘I should have you arrested, but what hope do any of us have against this scourge? God preserve us all!’

He rose unsteadily to his feet and sloped off down the road like a sickly crow.

11: Rose

Jack stared morosely into his tankard of small beer, wishing it was something stronger. His head hung heavy. His shoulders were slumped, his face slack. He felt drained of all joy and hope. The gloomy recess he occupied in the little riverside tavern only added to the impression of a soul plunged into the darkest despair. After leaving his derelict and rat-infested home, Jack had led his friends into the Bunch of Grapes Inn, a disreputable establishment frequented by drunks, low-lifes and shady characters. However, even in his distress, Jack had recognized the need to keep off the streets and out of sight of the authorities, at least until matters quietened down.

Akiko and Yori sat at the table with him, their tankards untouched. They observed their grieving friend in anguished silence, ignoring the curious and hostile glares of the tavern’s other patrons.

‘She’s dead,’ Jack murmured, more to his drink than to his friends. ‘Dead and buried.’

He turned the tankard in his hands, as if it was a crystal ball in which he could see an alternative future.