Free A Plague of Sinners by Paul Lawrence

wooden sheds that stood here since the last great plague thirty years ago.
    A tall man strode out of the nearest shed with shirtsleeves flapping and a rich mane of dark hair bouncing above a long straight head. ‘What-ho!’ he called without stopping. ‘What do you want?’
    ‘You are the physician?’ I asked.
    ‘Yes.’
    I hurried after him. ‘A man called James, a servant in the Willis household at Seething Lane. Did he arrive yesterday or today? I would see how he fares.’
    ‘James?’
    ‘Aye, of the Willis household.’
    ‘Ah, yes,’ he grimaced. ‘He had a fever when he came. Ye might find him over there.’ He stopped and pointed at the third shed back. ‘I will attend to him shortly.’ He waved a hand dismissively and walked away. I headed to the shed, though my legs did not will it.
    Smoke drifted gently out the open door, a thin black smoke forming a protective barrier against the dangers of the air without.
    I approached with caution. From outside I heard the sound of men groaning, peppered with occasional sharp shrieks of agony. Through the cloud of smoke I saw cots, ten of them, side by side with a narrow corridor along their feet, each one occupied. The walls and roof were made of planks, light shining through thin cracks in the wall, roof newly pitched. They said few died here, yet it was hard to credit. Fill a room with sick men; what prospect for recovery?
    I walked down the corridor as quiet as I could. Some didn’t move, most writhed in pain. Once more I felt the terror, that one of these men might sit up straight and stare at me, that the pest itself might pounce upon me and alight upon my breast with talons of thorn.
    None resembled James, though I found it difficult to recall what James looked like. ‘James?’ I called softly. Two men stirred and cast a bleary eye in my direction, provoking me to leave quick.
    I moved to the next shed, which was larger. A woman carried a pail of water, tending to all as if they were her own. Another woman lay motionless, black hair fallen in limp strands across her pale face. Her brown eyes were dull and cold, reminding me of a candle at the end of its wick. Upon her neck grew a large yellow growth, the bubo. I had not seen one so close. It lay like a giant leech, buried beneath her skin, blackness about its edges. Once ye had the bubo upon you then your only hope was to have it lanced. Yet mostly they lay too deep. I stepped back quickly, again unable to linger, and moved to the next shed, which is where I found James.
    I recognised him instantly. He lay bent, staring at the ceiling. Last time I saw him his face beamed alive and ruddy, hair spiked in all directions, eyes full of young courage and innocent of pain. Now he shivered, white as ice, eyes cloudy as an old man’s, hair matted in soaking plaits. Blood flecked his chin. Then he jerked and lay taut.
    He was but a boy. Why had I not stopped him when he first went to lay hands upon Hedges’ infected body? I cursed myself and willed him to recover.
    ‘James?’ I whispered, but he did not stir. As I watched, a fly landed upon his nose and walked up his nostril and out of sight. By the time it walked out again, still James had not moved.
    He was dead.

Chapter Six
    TO WHAT PART OF THE WORLD, OR OF THIS KINGDOM, HE MIGHT BEST APPLY HIMSELF TO LIVE IN
    Because the moon applied so strongly to the trine aspect of Jupiter, and that he and Venus were in Taurus, and the sign signifies Ireland; I advised him that Ireland would well agree with his constitution.
    I ambled back into the City, cursing the twitchy nose that led me into such perilous predicaments. Why could I not be a sensible man? This was not a time to be wandering the streets looking for murderers, not while the sickness lay upon the City like a deathly cloud. I had little fear of pestilence when I was able to choose my passage through the streets, to walk only where the plague had not visited. But in only two days I had already ridden