Dirtnap - The Black Death Pt. 06

The girl watched from where she sat, huddled at the crux of the many branches of a stout oak. She plucked sprigs of wild mint from her hair and crammed them into her mouth.

Having followed Dick the Ratcatcher out while the gates were still open, she had stalked him as he paced West along the wall. She waited on her belly amongst the weeds growing around the base of a scarecrow while Dick turned and paced back. While he disappeared back through the gate again, the girl scurried over to the wall. She crept slowly along, looking for anything the strange, foul man might have left. She found his traps, and the bait within. Bits of bone. Source unknown.

Unfortunately, the likes of bone marrow were not to be sniffed at by the likes of Dick. So there was little edible there, but she took the bits and gnawed at them for a time. Pilfering from the last trap she checked, she triggered the mechanism, earning a painful snap from it's door. Briefly overcome by unreasoning anger, she smashed the contraption against the wall until it splintered and broke apart.

She stood, rubbing her hand and staring reproachfully at the ruined remains. Very shortly, the pain had faded enough that her hunger again became the more pressing sensation. So she worried a couple of chunks of bone while gripping the rest in one grubby hand.

Climbing the oak tree that first time, with one hand, had taken a few tries. After sleeping a few hours in the relative safety it afforded, she had awakened to darkness. Sleep had left her feeling heavy and thick-headed, but ever so slightly more coherent. After slow consideration she had descended and begun checking under leaf litter and fallen branches for anything she thought wouldn't bite back.

Having little luck, she had crawled along, foraging further and further afield. Under another tree she had discovered a patch of wild mint and, having no better way of carrying it, had woven plucked sprigs into her matted raven hair. Further along she had come to the edge of some freshly disturbed earth. Creeping along so close to the ground, her nostrils caught the scent of soil through the ever present stink of the pyres. Spurred on by vague memories of digging for worms while her mother gathered rushes, she took to picking out the more moist clods and breaking them in her hands. It didn't occur to her at the time that this earth was the blanket over a grave.

She managed to unearth three healthy nightcrawlers before she heard voices. Somebody at the gate. With an anticipatory grimace, she forced the creepy crawlies into her gob and immediately began chewing industriously. Trying not to think about what was happening in her mouth, she made a bee-line back to her oak to scramble up out of sight.

So it was that she watched two figures come out from the gate, which, oddly, seemed still to be closed. So it was that she watched, chewing mint and quietly spitting to get rid of the grit from the dirty earthworms, as the figures proceeded past her tree to stop at an as yet uncovered mass burial pit.

At the graveside, Johnny peered down, unable to make out much in the dark with his poor sight.

"Er... What's here, Doc?"

"The less said the better, just now, I think." Felix replied, "Let your nose guide you, Mr. Fisher."

Johnny Fisher frowned doubtfully. All he could smell was smoke. Had someone cooked something out her besides bodies? He couldn't imagine.

He eased himself down, stiff joints protesting, to see what he could smell. Things were so far outside any frame of reference at this point that he had given up worrying about it. He reached his hands out and settled on his knees. Well, there was dirt. As he bent low and his hands quested, he could smell that.

Then his hands found something that wasn't dirt. It didn't feel like any vegetable he had ever handled. Not that he was ever overly keen on vegetables, but... And then something clicked. Responding to traces of scent too faint to register consciously, a deep, primitive part of his mind took control. It was a part that predated conscience, remorse, or pity. It was a part which pursued it's functions with brutal efficiency. And it was a part which was hungry.

Felix watched with interest as Johnny's behavior became, for lack of a better term, animalistic. The former fisherman pawed at the body, head dipping to snuffle, like a pig after truffles. It quickly became apparent that his interest had settled on the poor departed soul's head. Shifting the cranium in question this way and that, he seemed stymied. Until Felix sighed, drew a small hammer from his pack, and applied it judiciously.

Standing back again, Felix winced as Johnny bit down audibly on a fragment of skull. Unphased, the ravening zombie spat, then went back to eating. Felix glanced around surreptitiously before slipping the hammer back into his pack and lowering himself into a squat.

Brains. Very specifically brains. Felix tried to recall any account he had ever heard or read about people eating brains. Animal brains, certainly. But human grey matter...

There were stories about remote tribal peoples. Ritualistic cannibalism. Symbolic dominance behavior relating to internecine wars. Nothing that suggested compulsion.

How long could a person, to use the term loosely, who was afflicted with such a compulsion possibly avoid discovery? But Johnny had come back bang in the middle of the greatest plague in recorded history -- or at least since biblical times. He could hope to benefit from an unprecedented abundance of unneeded brains. Then he happened to cross paths with what was almost certainly the only man in London prepared to help him in any way that didn't involve putting him back in the ground.

Johnny Fisher had amazing luck, really. Well, after you got past the initial facts of dying of plague and coming back as a brain-eating undead.

All this speculation and discovery had distracted him, but when he idly wondered how much brain matter it might take to sate Mr. Fisher, he was reminded of an earlier consideration. Reaching into his pack he again withdrew his hammer. Tucking it under an arm, he shifted the contents of the pack until he could withdraw a folded sheet of oilcloth. Stepping gingerly around Johnny and ignoring the gruesome noise of his gorging, Felix looked for another head amongst the jumbled cord of bodies. Wanting to be able to hide the evidence of their pillaging, just to be sure nobody would by chance notice and ask questions, he shifted a pair of corpses to the side and chose a third from beneath them.

"Hmm." he murmured thoughtfully.

It was the body of a lean, elderly fellow. He wore bedclothes. Judging by his emaciated state and the lack of telltale swellings, Felix deduced that he had either fallen to the pneumatic strain, or died of other causes and been cast in with these others as a matter of convenience. Under the circumstances, one could hardly blame anyone for callous pragmatism.

"Your self has gone elsewhere. Between you and me, I hope it's someplace more pleasant than this. Regardless, I have it on good authority that your self won't mind us making use of the body it left with us. And another may yet benefit." Felix spoke quietly.

After a long pause, cradling the dead man's face in a hand and regarding it soberly, Felix unfolded his oilskin to one side. He then drew a chisel from his pack and set to the grim business of harvesting a brain for later. He had no way of guessing how often Johnny might require feeding. Hopefully it wasn't more than about once a day. Plague stacked on top of all the other problems facing the smallfolk notwithstanding, there was only so much grave robbing a person could hope to get away with.

When he had finished the hard part, he placed the brain on the oilskin and tied the corners up. Packing the parcel away along with his tools, he turned to see how his patient was getting on.

It seemed Johnny had finished eating. Still crouched over the source of his meal, he had become very still. It reminded Felix of his earlier catatonic episode. Then, gradually, Johnny began to twitch. The twitching quickly escalated into what Felix recognized as a minor seizure. And then, after only a few seconds, the fit passed.

"Mr. Fisher."

There was no reaction.

"Johnny." Felix snapped his fingers sharply.

"Hmp?" Johnny blinked, "Who's that?"

"It's Doctor Lupino. Do you remember me?"

"I would, wouldn't I? We just met tonight."

Johnny smacked his lips.

"Did I eat something?"

"Well... Yes." Felix said slowly.

"Bit mealy. Not bad. Could do with a drop of vinegar." Johnny remembered nothing of the period while his hindbrain was in control.

"Ah... Yes. Well. We can look into that later. Do you feel you've eaten enough?"

"Feel a lot better, actually. Did you give me something?"

"You could say I'm prescribing a dietary supplement." Felix allowed, "Is the cold bothering you at all?"

"What... Is it cold?"

"No more than usual. Nevermind. Do you think you'll need assistance walking? We should be getting-"

Felix broke off at the sound of a vaguely familiar voice, coming from some hundred feet away. He muttered a popular Italian curse under his breath.

"Lay down," he instructed Johnny, "Play dead. Actual dead. When I give the word, we'll return to my cottage. Until then, be still."

In her perch, the girl shifted about to see what new entertainment approached. She was surprised to also recognize the voice. And eventually to make out that the shadowy figure coming back along the city wall carried several rodents by their tails. She had only assumed he had gone back in through the gate. He must have carried on around the wall, maybe all the way to the river and back again.

He was contentedly croaking out a sort of song as he strode along.

"King made of courtiers,

all in a clot,

scratching, squeaking,

tails in a knot.

One rat, two rats,

three rats, four!

Rat King, Rat King,

more, more, more!

Rat King, Rat King,

even all alone,

Rat King, Rat King,

fighting for a bone.

Rat K- Oof."

He stumbled on a tussok, went to one knee, then rose again. After brushing himself off, he resumed his ambling progress, and his recitation.

"Rat King, Rat King,

hunger in a ring.

Rat King, Rat King,

mad as anything.

Rat King, Rat King,

catch thee if I can.

Rat King, Rat King,

come rule my frying pan."

The girl's big dark eyes followed one of the figures as it departed the grave and moved quickly and quietly to intercept the rat catcher. She mindlessly plucked another sprig of mint and fed it into her mouth, like a child raptly watching a puppet show and munching on bits of biscuit.

Dick was watching the ground in front of him as he walked. This made it possible for Felix to get rather close without being noticed. As he got a better look at Dick, he suffered a momentary flashback to his encounter with Little Bobby, and had to stop himself back peddling.

"Master rat catcher." he spoke up, realizing at the last moment that he was in danger of having a collision.

Dick gave a surprisingly high pitched shriek, jumped in mid stride, and dropped his murine burden.

"J-j-j-" he stammered, overwrought.

"Please, be calm. I'm a doctor." Felix raised his hands, palm out.

Hyperventilating, Dick ran a shaky hand back through his hair, propagating a flurry of dandruff.

"That's a spot of luck, and no mistake, m'lord," Dick huffed, "I've just been scared half to death."

Felix cleared his throat.

"Forgive me. I was worried you might stumble into the open grave just there." he lied.

"Uh? Oh, no m'lord, not likely. That's where I was going. To drop off-" he paused and bent to retrieve the vermin he had dropped. "To drop these off. Nobody paying for them any more. As it is, might 'ave to bring the next catch home if I aim to eat."

Felix tipped his head to one side, having a thought.

"What were you paid when you were paid?" he asked.

"Well," Dick tapped a different rat's tail for each of his rates, "tuppence for every rat or bat, farthing per mouse, thruppence for skunk -- but the furriers'll give me that again if I bring it to them fresh-like."

He paused for a moment.

"Oh, and a whole groat for a brownie." he added brightly.

"Ah. I see. Do you... catch many brownies?"

"Er, well, not as such," Dick gave a sheepish smile, inasmuch as Felix could interpret his face, "Tricksy little buggers. Like tiny Scots, me mum used to say."

Felix arched an eyebrow.

"Indeed."

"Beg pardon, m'lord. I'm Dick, the rat catcher. You must be the new doctor, eh? Been busy, I expect." Dick held out his hand to shake, before remembering that he still had the tails of four rats threaded through the fingers of that hand. The unfortunate specimens swayed and bumped against one another. He withdrew the hand and opted to mime tugging a forelock.

"Ah. Well met. I am Felix Lupino. Doctor, surgeon, sometime apothecary. Tell me, Dick, can you catch rats alive?"

"Got a few traps like that, yeah. Could make more."

"I'll give you tuppence per rat -- if they're live. And here's," he paused and fished a few coins from a pouch, "Thruppence for the trouble of making up non-lethal traps."

He reached out and dropped the coin into Dick's open left hand. The man stared for a long moment before closing his hand. Looking a bit shifty, he bent and slipped the coin into one of his boots, shaking that leg a bit to settle the precious shilling under his foot.

"Can't be too careful," he explained, straightening up, "That's what me-"

"Your mam always said." Felix finished for him.

"Aye. 'S right."

Felix could not imagine a human thief intentionally getting close enough to lift anything from Dick's person, but he supposed the principle was sound.

"I'll part with these -- mind yer 'ead, Doc -- and it's off to bed."

Dick stepped to one side and wound back, then tossed the lot of carcasses underhand. They spread a bit as they arced up through the air to come down with some force amidst the bodies in the grave. Felix held his breath, but only silence followed. The rat catcher started to turn toward the gates, then stopped.

"Not my place to pry, Doctor, but..."

"Speak freely, please."

"What, uh... What brings a learned feller like yourself out 'ere at such an hour?"

"Ah. I thought I would say a few prayers over the newly departed."

"Oh. Aye, that's a good reason." Dick nodded, abashed, "God keep 'em. 'S funny, you don't see the priests doing that s'much anymore."

"I'm sure they're very busy with... Figuring out when we're allowed to eat meat and illuminating books and such." Felix replied evenly.

"Yeh, I 'spect you're right. G'night Doctor."

"Goodnight, Dick."

Seized by curiosity, guessing Dick might have been outside the walls since before the gate was closed -- in which case he must have some other means of ingress in mind -- Felix waited and watched.

As he watched, Dick audibly counted the vertical timbers outward from the gate. Reaching nineteen, which rather impressed Felix, Dick squatted down and tugged at the bottom edge of the timber where it met the ground. And it became clear that it did only meet the ground -- unlike the others, which were sunk into the ground to help prevent undermining. It also became apparent that the timer was cut through just a few feet up from the ground. Dick angled it out, then wormed his skinny frame through the gap. By means unclear, he drew the stump portion of the timber back into place.

It occurred to Felix that Dick might be a useful fellow to have around. At arm's length, preferably, but around. Probably knew the city like the back of his hand. Which was probably an apt comparison, given the state of each. After a look around to ensure there were no other unexpected smallfolk about, he turned and moved back to where Johnny still lay.

"Mr. Fisher," he squatted at the graveside, "Get up, lad. Time we were going. I've a specimen needs pickling, and a wink of sleep before morning would be agreeable."

Johnny lurched up, batting frantically at a rat which had landed, and subsequently rested, on his chest. Felix almost chuckled as the newly minted zombie shuddered in disgust.

"Come along."

"What's that about pickles?"

"I'll show you when we get back to the cottage. Give me a hand with this, will you?"

To satisfy his curiosity and in case it might be useful at a later date, Felix had them test Dick's secret 'door.' There were a couple of long iron nails driven into the stump section on the city side, allowing them to pull it back into place.

"Huh. Never knew that was there." Johnny observed as they moved away form the wall to continue South.

"Hold a moment." Felix held up a hand when they reached the cottage, then spoke for Johnny's benefit.

He opened the door enough to stick his head in and look around. Finding nobody about, living or otherwise, he stepped in and held the door for Johnny. Setting his bag on the table, he began pawing through his medical things.

"I'd like to give you an injection before we retire for the night. Something to help reduce the stiffness in your joints and muscles."

"Give me an in- what?"

"An injection. It means I'll poke a tiny hole in you and push medicine directly into you. Although..." he paused in his search, "If your blood's not moving... Well, we'll just try several small injections. See what sort of results we get."

"Here, when you say poke tiny holes..." Johnny began, sounding faintly apprehensive.

"Ah. With this." Felix held up another of his syringes and a little corked bottle of some tincture.

* * *

Still crouched up in the shadows of her tree, the girl slowly lowered her hand to her lap, finally realizing that she had run out of mint.

Her mind was still fuzzy. Ideas disjointed. The happenings below struck her as strange, but she would not have been able to say why. She had a vague sense that only dead people were supposed to lay in the holes. As drowsiness overtook the discomfort of her perch, she wondered why the one man had lain in the hole for a time and then gotten back out. Some time after slipping into a fitful sleep, she dreamed of watching from her tree as all the dead rose from the mass graves, formed up in ranks, and marched on the city.

* * *

An hour after dawn the city was still a dreary grey. Precious little sunlight made it through thick, dark cloud cover. There was a quality to the chill morning air that promised rain.

A pair of figures moved through the fish market, ignoring the vendors, who hadn't warmed up their most enthusiastic hawking voices yet anyhow. The two spoke with great familiarity, in the manner of old friends*

*Which is to say that half of their chatter was actual communication, while the other half was a combination of challenge, insult, and what passed for innuendo amongst people who wouldn't recognize the word.

"Nah, y'dun wanna go tuh one'a them sawbones, right?" Burk Gummer declared authoritatively.

Burk was known locally as Gummer the Greasy, due to his work at the tannery. He was currently taking his old friend to visit the mistress of Eel Pie Island about a swollen finger.

"Aye, no, well..." His old mate, Joseph Trefold, was a moderately proud member of the as-yet unofficial guild of gong fermors. Joseph was ill at ease with the idea of visiting the wise woman.

"Always waitin' tuh put something up you or cut somethin' off. You know old Poundsworth from over Baker way? He went to a doctor."

"Aye?" Trefold tried to remember if Poundsworth was missing any bits a doctor might've removed. "What for?"

Not one to miss an opportunity for theatrical storytelling, Gummer stopped and turned to Trefold.

"Poundsworth's uncle is a fisherman, right? And 'is family sent 'im to help, on account of him being a dafty when it comes to measures. So there's him out on the boat pullin' up nets, and here comes one'a them great ugly eels. An' there's Poundsworth tryin' tuh winkle the thing out of the net." Gummer pantomimed a valiantly struggling figure.