WnW 5.c – Memory 5

Death was in the air that hung heavy over the cobbled streets. It was a presence, weighing on people’s shoulders, preying on their minds. Coughing sounded from behind curtained windows. People with bandaged limbs struggled to carry an invalid up a set of stairs. I saw a man clawing at the locked door of a home, crying out to his family, pleading with them to let him back in.

The city itself seemed to take on the suffering of its residents. The water was filthier and noisy marketplaces became tinged with paranoia. Even the stains on the walls seemed to draw themselves into malevolent shapes.

The rats are too smart, people would whisper. Only ever appearing as movement in the corners of your eye or as a horrific writhing burst of activity when one of their hiding places was uncovered.

My eyes slid upwards almost irresistibly to view the gray planet that hung in the sky, like a stone waiting to fall on us. I was careful not to look too closely. There was something unsettling about it, like if I examined its ridges and crevices I would find something I didn’t want to. Regular people couldn’t see it, although many afflicted by the Black Death would catch glimpses of it, the people around them interpreting their outbursts as crazed babbling.

I was wearing cheap cloth so as to not attract attention and give anyone the chance to recognize me. It felt good to finally have an excuse to not wear the restrictive dresses of the upper class. When I was young, I had thought that the opulent dresses looked so voluminous and flowing, but to achieve that effect required cages and bindings.

Giving a furtive glance around my surroundings, I slipped into a back alley and knocked in a specific rhythm on a door hidden behind some stacked crates. The viewing window slid open just enough for me to see a single eye before it slammed shut again. The door swung open and a burly man with short blond curls let me inside.

I nodded to him. This was Hammond. He didn’t talk much, but he was a reliable companion and the owner of this property. He had a gift, just as I did. But his was not a product of the Marquess. At least, he didn’t think so.

Two others were seated at the table inside. My brother, James, and a young man that was just beginning to grow a proper beard. This was Vincent and he too had a strange power.

Hammond pulled two more chairs to the table and we sat.

There was a moment of silence where we all watched each other, everyone expecting someone else to speak first. Eventually all eyes settled on me.

I raised an eyebrow at them. “It is unusual for a woman to have the first word in a meeting,” I remarked. “Even in secret meetings.”

Vincent snickered. “Well, this is a room full of people who are fairly unconventional.” He splayed his bandaged fingers to prove the point. They were not bandaged because of the plague. Vincent had a deadly poison beneath his fingernails. James had met him a few months back, a survivor of a village ravaged by the Marquess’ plague. They had become fast friends. The two of them could discuss music until the sun set and Vincent did have a lovely tenor voice.

James slouched in his chair. “I still can’t say I like this. The Marquess controls even the vermin. They could be listening to us right now.”

I raised a hand, speaking calmly, “He doesn’t know. I can feel his thoughts on my mind. He is distracted. I suspect with every rat he controls, his awareness grows thinner.”

“And it works both ways, right?” James retorted. “How sure are you that you can hide our betrayal from him?”

“I’ve never hidden my distaste for the man. He knows I despise him. The feeling won’t have changed now that we have a plan.”

Vincent leaned forward. “So it is true that Marquess Wright is spreading the Black Death?”

I nodded. “All in the name of meeting his God.”

Vincent shook his head. “How was a madman given such power?”

“I don’t know. But I am certain that if it was given to him by God, he has long stepped off the path of the righteous. We are here to set things straight,” I said with conviction. “I hate to ask this of you all. It will no doubt put your lives at risk.” I clenched my hands together on the table. “But I know I can’t stand up to him alone.”

James laid his hand over mine. I met his intense gaze. “I’m with you,” he declared. “Even if I think this is reckless, I’ll do it. You’re the only family I have left. There will never come a day where I won’t be on your side.”

I looked to the others.

Hammond lay his hand over his heart and grunted. 

Vincent pressed his mouth into a thin line, then said, “If the Marquess is responsible for the death of my loved ones, then I have no greater cause to pursue. I will dedicate my everything to his downfall.”

I leaned over the table. “So then the plan goes as such. Hammond’s power is a great boon to us. With it, we will spread rumours that the Marquess is actually a devil-woshipping witch.” 

Hammond’s power was not physical, but instead in his mind. He had the ability to read crowds of people like a book. He could see their emotion, their aggregate thoughts and use that, pushing and prodding to turn a crowd to his purposes.

“We will tie his travel to the spread of the plague,” Hammond spoke for the first time, a deep baritone. “People will eventually start to see the pattern. Instead of seeking him out as a final cry for help, they will see him as the enemy.”

I watched the faces of those around the dimly lit table. I saw fear, but the glint of courage was also there. We would do this, for the good of the people.

“When the time is right, I will attack the Marquess with everything I have,” I said, raising a finger and coiling my hair around it. The hair grew stiff and I spun it like golden threads, creating a sharp point.

“He will likely stop me, but it is only a distraction. Hammond will mob him with a mob of angry people. Marquess may stop them as well. But Vincent will be there. He will prick the Marquess and that will be all it will take. By the time the Marquess realizes that he has been poisoned, it will be too late. I’ve watched him for years. There are times when he falls ill or eats something bad. He suffers the effects like any human. He can’t change his own body to save himself. He will die.”

There was a silence as the group absorbed the plan.

Hammond cut away the chaff and lay bare the central thought that was on everyone’s mind. “And if the Marquess does not die?”

My hair tied itself into a knot. It squeezed so tight that it hurt my head. “Then all is lost,” I said with a heavy tongue. “He truly is chosen by a God most cruel and humans can do nothing but bow to his mad whims.”