Free Playing to Win by Avery Cockburn Page B

of bubonic plague—swollen lymph nodes, fever, chills, continuous vomiting of blood—Colin felt his fingers begin to tingle. When William described how victims’ skin would decompose while they were still alive, the tingling spread up Colin’s arms and shoulders, then swept over his scalp.
    “Is it hot in here?” he whispered to Andrew.
    “Shh. He’s explaining the doctor.”
    “This gentleman,” William said, gesturing to the figure in black, “was the local physician. You’re probably wondering why he’s wearing such a macabre mask. After all, you’d think in a home like this, they could do with a bit of cheer.”
    Get on with it, ya knob. As Colin stared at the doctor with the crow-shaped head, the room began to waver. Hoping it was the fake candlelight blurring his vision, he blinked hard and rubbed his eyes. When he opened them again, he saw the long, gray lump in the corner for what it was—a blanket-covered corpse.
    His temples flared with heat. Please let’s move on now. Please. Now.
    “The crow was thought by some to be a sacred animal which warded off evil spirits,” William said. “This strange outfit did protect the doctors, but for entirely natural reasons. The shroud kept off the plague-ridden fleas, spread by these wee beasties.” The guide tapped the top bunk, where two rubber rats with gleaming red eyes peered down at the visitors. “See, the bacteria blocks the flea’s digestive system, so when it tries to feed, it regurgitates the infected blood into the bite wound.”
    The room seemed to drain of oxygen. Colin swayed, his gut twisting harder.
    Gonnae no throw up on this medieval floor, he commanded himself. Your stomach acid’ll ruin the wood. And what if your boaking makes everyone else sick? You’ll start a new plague. The Boak Plague.
    The thought of the tour group becoming a giant vomit-fest made Colin’s choice clear.
    “I need to go.” He took a step toward the exit.
    Andrew grabbed his arm. “Wait, what are you—”
    Colin spun to free himself, then felt his legs give out. The room pitched and swooped like a carnival ride. Reaching out in desperation, his hands found coarse cloth and clung tight.
    “Watch it, mate!” William cried out. “Gonnae no—”
    Colin slumped to the floor, pulling the plague doctor down. The dead, dull eyes of the mask stared through him, then began to fade.

C HAPTER E IGHT

    “S ORRY I RUINED your city.”
    Andrew could barely hear Colin’s muffled voice, what with the lad’s head being wedged between his own knees. “You ruined nothing,” he replied as they sat side-by-side on a bench in the Close’s dim corridor. “William said you’re far from the first person to faint in there.” He eyed the door of the plague room, where the rest of their tourist group were still gathered. “Some claim it’s haunted by the ghosts of plague victims.”
    “I didnae feel haunted.” Colin slowly straightened up, face damp with sweat. “I just felt sick. All the talk of blood-boaking and decomposing skin and—” He shuddered and gulped.
    “Here.” Andrew gave Colin a gentle push. “Lean your face against the wall. It’s nice and cold.”
    Colin did as suggested, letting out a deep breath. “It’s not that I’m squeamish or claustrophobic,” he said, eyes squeezed shut. “It’s because I’ve not eaten today.”
    “But I asked if you’d had breakfast.”
    “Mind, I never actually answered.”
    “Why on earth didn’t you eat this morning?” Andrew bit his lip in instant regret. Perhaps Colin’s cupboards were empty.
    “I tried. I made toast, but I was…nervous.”
    “About what?”
    “Embarrassing myself in front of you.”
    Andrew smiled, feeling suddenly warm inside. “Well, now you’ve done that and somehow survived. And I’m still here.”
    Colin opened his eyes. “You don’t want to take me straight back to Glasgow?”
    “Silly boy, I want to take you to my favorite café and put food in your stomach.” He