They looked up and saw Emma and Taryn standing there watching them and immediately averted their eyes before heading to the far side of the street.
“I think I preferred it when they mobbed you.” Taryn was regretting the choice of clothes she had picked that morning. The rain had come on suddenly without warning and now the jacket she had picked was soaked and useless. She looked over at Emma who was standing under the eaves edge, oblivious to the rain. She was looking up and down the road.
“Have you noticed how people avoid us now?”
Taryn looked in the direction of Emma’s gaze but saw nothing untoward. “Not really.”
“It started a couple of days ago. I was walking along Cannon Street. The men that passed me would put their hands on their hats and look down. Bus drivers would force their horses into the middle of the road when they realised who I was. There was nearly a crash when two of them did the same thing at once and yesterday I saw women who had mobbed me in the past run into a side street as I went by. Another woman crossed herself. This isn’t a coincidence. I see people watching us from rooftops that don’t come near but always keep their distance. Two of them I’m sure are guides from the sanctuary and the others act like guides. They certainly aren’t people that live here. They act differently.”
Emma stepped back into the shelter of the eave and waited for the rain to pass. Taryn shivered as she pondered Emma’s words. “Father Eamon or Sister Ignacia would tell us if something was wrong though, wouldn’t they?”
Emma wanted to agree with her but she had seen Father Eamon change in the last few days. It wasn’t towards her but he seemed distracted when she saw him.
To anybody else it would not have been obvious but she could see his eyes move in and out of focus every now and again as if he was thinking about something that took him from what ever else he was doing at the time. Other times, she would see him glance fleetingly over his shoulder only to return to whatever it was he was doing when he realised that whoever had come through the door wasn’t who he was expecting.
Emma would see a look cross his face that hung somewhere between disappointment and relief. She had thought about asking him what was on his mind but had been so busy herself that the opportunity never arose. Now, watching the people in the realm acting so strangely, it brought back Father Eamon’s own actions. She brushed the water droplets off her arms, watching as they formed their own mini-shower as they fell to the muddy ground below.
“I don’t know, I’d hope so.”
“We should get out of the rain.” Taryn’s shoulders were hunched tight to her neck in a vain effort to keep out the blustering wind.
Emma looked up at their cover and realised that it was no longer helping. She was soaked through as was Taryn and needed somewhere to dry off. Looking around, all the doors on the surrounding buildings were closed and Emma suspected they were going to be staying that way. She looked over at St Magnus the Martyr, the church that stood on the junction with New Fish Street. “Over there. We’ll try the church.”
They turned out of Seething Lane and Emma was immediately struck by the emptiness of the road ahead of them. They stood there, looking up and down Thames Street, wondering if they had missed something.
“Where is everybody?” Emma looked from building to building in a vain effort to see some activity but there was nothing except the still air and the low chime of a bell somewhere nearby. It provided the only competition to the constant thump of the rain.
At first she couldn’t make it out, a distinctive peal that slowly got louder as they headed west along Thames Street. Its steady chime came from an alleyway ahead of them but no matter how much they strained to listen, neither Emma nor Taryn could work out where it was coming from.
Nothing was making any sense, there should have been a few people around at least. Even in the worst storms she had seen in the plane, there were always people rushing for cover.
“What’s with the crosses?”
Emma turned to see Taryn looking at a nearby house. On its door was a hastily painted red cross. Looking at the neighbouring house, she saw the same red cross on its front door and on the house after that until she realised every building in sight had a red cross on it. Suddenly the tolling bell made sense.
“Stay away from the houses.” Emma dragged Taryn into the centre of the street “They’re plague crosses.”
“What?”
“Father Eamon said that this plane is imprinted with every major disaster that befell the city, right? Each one falling into a different realm.”
“Yes. So?” Taryn was looking confused
“Well what happened in 1665?”
“Plague?”
“Not just plague, the Great Plague. It wiped out thousands. Those crosses tell you that there is a plague victim in the house.”
Taryn grimaced, “Where did you learn about that?”
“School.”
“Oh.”
The tolling got progressively louder until an old man dressed in filthy black rags appeared from a side street. He was dragging a cart behind him, its wheels making heavy work of the rutted and sodden ground. At the centre of the road, he put the cart down and fumbled with a piece of rope tied around his waist. After a couple of seconds he produced a bell which he rung three times before placing it back in his coat.
“Bring out yer dead!”
His cries went unanswered so he picked up the cart and started to move on, oblivious to the two initiates standing nearby.
Emma and Taryn stood there dumbfounded. The smell from rotting waste and piles of faeces that lay under the jetties of every house combined with that of the corpses hanging limply off the back of the cart made them gag.
“Can we go?” Taryn had a look somewhere between disgust and distress on her face and Emma knew how she felt. It was only now that she started to get a good view of the contents of the cart, their arms and limbs flailing at unnatural angles.
“Yeah, sure.”
Taryn’s breath was coming in short gasps as she fought the cold and Emma knew that, but for an extra layer of clothing, she wasn’t far behind. She looked for somewhere they could take cover. Her eyes settled back on St Magnus the Martyr.
“Over there, we’ll try the church. We’ll have to run. Are you ready?”
Taryn groaned but didn’t argue.
“Ok, lets go.”
They shot down the road at full pelt, both of them oblivious to the hundreds of eyes that watched their progress from behind closed windows and twitching curtains, and arrived at the church door just as a particularly heavy squall hit them. Emma pushed against the heavy oak door but it sat in a six foot frame and was stuck fast. She knew it was pointless to try and force it.
By now the storm was blowing itself out and they were both starting to shiver as the wind that took its place cut through them. Taryn was suffering the most but Emma could feel her stomach starting to convulse and knew they needed to find shelter sooner rather than later. She turned as she heard a grating noise to her left. Three houses down a door was being opened and, as she watched, a woman’s face appeared. The woman looked both ways before beckoning at Emma and Taryn to come over. Emma looked at her for a second before looking at Taryn who had by now noticed her as well. Taryn was shivering violently now and was rubbing her arms in a vain effort to generate warmth.
The woman stepped out from the doorway and Emma recognised her as Elizabeth, the woman who had come up to her when she had gone out in the twilight plane for the first time with Father Eamon.
Emma shuddered as a sharp blast of wind hit her in the face. She made a quick decision and grabbed Taryn before heading over to the open door.
Elizabeth lived in a two-story house that was situated between a bakers and an apothecary. It was in the same neglected state as all the others with the exception that the step leading up to the front door was clean of the dirt and mud that covered the ones on surrounding houses.
Emma’s heart sunk as she approache
d the house. A freshly painted cross marked it out as infected and the red paint that dripped down between the wooden splinters betrayed the hastiness in which it had been applied. The smell from the apothecary was that of rotting herbs. The combination of that and the foul smell from the detritus on the ground caused Emma to cover her nose.
Elizabeth raised a hand and shook her head, “Not one step closer.” Her breathing was laboured and she grimaced as her arm dropped to her side.
Emma looked on in horror as she saw Elizabeth’s pockmarked face. Flecks of blood marked her cheeks and there were black rings around her eyes.
“God, Elizabeth what…”
“You must not come closer!” The exertion caused Elizabeth’s legs to buckle and she let out a rasping cough, spraying blood along the wall of the house as she did so, “‘Tis the plague. We are cursed with this pox.”
“How? I mean, why?”
Elizabeth let out a bitter laugh, “Why? Why do you think? ‘Tis the realm. This is how we live.”
“How you live? I don’t understand.” Emma was keeping her distance and was secretly glad that Elizabeth had warned them off. The smell coming from where she stood was almost more than Emma could bare but she did her best to ignore it. Taryn on the other hand had backed off to the church where she was now standing in an alleyway to get some protection from the wind.
“We are cursed with the pox in the realm. You have been lucky; you have caught it at a time when we are clear of it. We are allowed a small time clean from disease as a reminder of what once was, but then we are struck down again.”
Emma felt a rising anger in her as she watched Elizabeth struggle to keep on her feet. What kind of power would allow this sort of suffering?
Elizabeth gave Emma a knowing look, “I know what you’re thinking. What kind of God would allow us to suffer like this? Well God has nothing to do with it, this all comes down to the betrayal at Cordoba.” She fell forward; extending an arm to catch herself and for the first time Emma could see the black buboes, shiny with Elizabeth’s fevered sweat, nestling under her armpits. A wave of revulsion seeped into her pores as they tore open with a sound like wet tissue paper and a mixture of pus and thick black blood oozed down Elizabeth’s side.
Emma looked away but instantly regretted it as she saw Elizabeth’s eyes cast downwards as she tried to hide her embarrassment.
“Elizabeth, I’m sorry…”
“Please don’t. ‘Tis bad enough that you see me in this state. Please don’t make it any worse by trying to coddle me with fine words. I have been dead for so long now, I cannot remember what was. ‘Tis the same for all here. All we can hope is that there will be a time when salvation will be ours but few believe it will be so.”
Emma found Elizabeth’s unwavering gaze too much to bear and blushed before looking away.
“You have little enough time in this realm, Emma. You should not waste it by talking to me.”
“Elizabeth, I…” Emma did not know what to say and found herself clawing the air for words that weren’t there.
“I must go, and so must you before people see us.”
Emma looked at Elizabeth, trying to convey in a glance what she could not say in words, but Elizabeth had already turned back into the house. As she went to step inside, she stopped and, turning to see if she was being watched, looked in Emma’s direction.
“Emma, I would beg that you take these words to heart. When the streets are empty and the wind drops, look to the sky.”
When the streets are empty and the wind drops, look to the sky? What did that mean? But it was too late, Elizabeth was back inside her house and the door was shutting awkwardly in its warped frame.
Emma paused for a second, unsure what to do next. When it became clear that Elizabeth would not be coming out again, she turned towards St Magnus the Martyr and headed to where Taryn was standing, watching her.
Over the course of the conversation, the weather had died down and although Emma was still wet, she no longer felt the bitter smack of the westerly wind. Taryn came out from the protection of the side street and looked quizzically over Emma’s shoulder
“What just happened?”
“I think we just got our first taste of what life is really like in this realm.”
“Well let’s not hang around to get a second dose, eh?” Taryn was already turning the corner into New Fish Street and Emma knew she had a point. She followed Taryn into the road and headed onto the Bridge.
Emma tried to decipher Elizabeth’s words all the way to the station but they made no sense. She turned them over and over in her mind as they reached the platform and entered a near empty train.
Taryn sat in the corner and looked out of the window without saying a word, whilst Emma mulled over the warning from Elizabeth and everything that she had said. Seeing her in that state shook her to the core and it was a sharp reminder that she only had three months left herself.
The train pulled out and Emma ran through all these questions and more until Taryn interrupted her.
“This is my stop; I’ll see you back at the sanctuary.”
“Sure, I’ll see you tonight.”
Emma watched as the train pulled away and moved onto her stop. She couldn’t shake off the feeling that Elizabeth had wanted to tell her more but was either too scared or just unwilling to confide too much in her. She walked the familiar route to her old home without thinking and found herself standing at the front door before she could put the events of the last few hours behind her.
Emma was met with the usual silence of an empty house but as she headed towards the stairs, she heard a shuffling noise from the kitchen and stopped. Her father came into view as he headed toward the work surface in his pyjamas and dressing gown. He flicked the switch at the back of the kettle and waited for it to boil. As it bubbled away, he pulled a tea bag from a silver container that sat against the wall. He dropped it in a mug and the water hissed and seethed as it flowed from the kettle. Emma looked on and wondered what had caused him to change from using the teapot that had always sat in the cupboard below the work surface.
Steam rose from the now-full mug as Emma’s father disappeared and she heard the sucking noise of the fridge door as it opened and closed. He reappeared with a half-empty plastic container of milk. His steps were slow and unsteady and Emma ached as she watched his painful progress across the kitchen floor. With each step he let out a small groan until he finally made it over to the work surface and poured a small amount of milk into the mug.
He picked up the mug and walked back out of Emma’s view. In spite of herself she headed into the kitchen and watched as he sat down at the table and placed the mug on a mat by an open copy of the Daily Telegraph. Emma smiled as she remembered all the times she had come downstairs to see it open on the table and then complain that there was nowhere to eat. He riffled listlessly through the pages before settling on an article and starting to read. After a while he grunted and turned the page. Emma stepped a little closer and for the first time saw the greyness in his skin. His eyes were sunken and he hadn’t shaved in days. Emma wanted to hug her ailing father but knew it was impossible. Instead she had to settle for looking at the paper and try to find comfort in the familiarity it brought.
Her father let out a rasping cough. He pulled a tissue from the inside cuff of his nightgown but all it did was muffle the pain he felt as he clutched his chest.
“Oh, dad.” Emma wanted to weep as she saw her fathers pain and stepped closer but something happened that made her stop in her tracks. Her father looked up and stared in her direction.
“Death, is that you? Not yet. You can take me to my girls soon enough, but not yet.”
Emma wailed and ran from the house. She didn’t stop until she was two roads away and she thought her heart would explode. Her legs gave way and she crashed to the ground in floods of tears. Emma shuddered as the sobs wracked her chest and gave in to the pain.
It seemed like hours before she could get up, her l
egs weak from the tears. In that time, people walked passed her, oblivious to the scene being acted out in their midst. Occasionally, Emma flinched and drew her legs in to stop people walking through her until in the end she had to move as the rush hour started and it became impossible to avoid everybody who came her way.
She slowly made her way to the station, weaving her way through oncoming commuters until she found herself on the platform waiting for the up train. When it came, she got on and fell into a seat. Emma was oblivious to the few people around her and jumped when someone sat in front of her. It was Taryn and she was looking concerned at the state of her friend.
“Em, what’s happened?”
Emma just pulled her legs up onto the seat and pushed herself into the corner, not saying anything. Taryn sat next to her and leant over, running her hand through the loose locks of her hair that hung across her brow.
“C’mon, babe, you can talk to me.”
Emma felt the tears returning and shook her head. Taryn retreated to the other end of the seat and settled for looking on as Emma drew her knees in as close as she could.
As Emma sat, alone in her thoughts, she thought she caught the slightest glimpse of a man and woman looking on from the other side of the carriage. She spun around only to see nothing but empty seats.
The train arrived at London Bridge station and Emma found herself being guided off the train and through the concourse. Taryn managed to pull her through the station and onto the bridge.
“Em, we’ve got to head back.”
Emma mumbled a response and tried to get herself together but the thought of her father seeing her had shaken her to her core and she had no energy in her to recover. She could hear Taryn’s words but they weren’t registering and even if they had, Emma wasn’t in any condition to listen.
“Emma! We’ve got to get back or we’ll be out after dark again!”
Emma looked over and hardly registered her old friend as Taryn groaned in exasperation. Her limbs felt drained and her breath was coming in rough gasps. Taryn looked over to the end of the bridge, her eyes betraying her desperation. Around them the shadows lengthened as the sun set low in the west. There was half an hour of light, maybe an hour if they were lucky but it wasn’t enough to get back to the sanctuary before the darkness came. Not at this speed.
Isabella's Heiress Page 20