Infinite 01 - Infinite Sacrifice

cannot do this,” I beg.
    “We are almost finished.” He says to the man, “Please excuse my wife; women are undoubtedly the weaker sex.”
    I feel I am failing him, so I go back over to her bedside. “Forgive me, husband. What else do you ask of me?”
    “What color is her spittle?”
    I lean in yet again and can smell her vile, rotting breath. “I see no color.”
    “Does she have any other markings?”
    I search her body with breath held. “There are black splotches on her chest.”
    “That is all. Close the curtains, Elizabeth. I would like to speak to the lord.”
    The tired, forlorn lord stands up to meet him over in the corner of the room.
    I overhear him say, “Lord, I do not think she has the extremely deadly pneumonic plague. Victims cough up blood and die within three days.”
    I hear a sigh of relief from the lord.
    “However, that is only good news to us, since it spreads more rapidly than the other form of plague. The lady will surely die.”
    I hear crying.
    “She has what we call ‘God’s tokens,’ those blue or black splotches. Those who present with these are sentenced to die within hours.”
    “There is no remedy?” he sniffs out.
    “Well, there is something that might work, but it is exceptionally expensive.”
    I can’t believe he is trying to profit from this; clearly the woman is at death’s door.
    “I will pay anything. You must give it to her!”
    “Elizabeth, come to my side.”
    I obey him. The lord looks foolishly hopeful as Hadrian holds out a small vial of golden liquid.
    “This is made from theriac, mithridate, bol armeniac, and terra sigillata from the finest apothecary in Paris. Her four humors are out of balance, evidence of the pus that is pooling under her skin in bubo form. This serum is her only hope at correcting it.”
    Before he gives it to me, he holds his hand out to the lord.
    “Three gold coins, my lord.”
    The lord digs into a satchel tied at his side, brings out five, and places them in Hadrian’s outstretched hand. “I want two vials.”
    Hadrian agrees, gives me one vial, pulls another one out of his bag, and gives it to the lord.
    He speaks to me. “Drop the whole contents of the vial into her mouth and make sure she swallows. Hold her mouth closed and stroke her throat if she does not do so willingly.”
    I reopen the curtains to find her breathing even shallower. I feel terrible pouring the liquid into her panting mouth but do so. She lays there with the fluid pooling under her tongue. I put down my apple, take a deep breath as I close her mouth, and I’m relieved to see her swallow. She then convulses, and I jump back. She goes into a coughing spasm, no doubt the result of forcing the liquid. I break out in tears and run from the room. I don’t stop until I’m outside the estate. Hadrian comes out after a few minutes without a glance in my direction.
    He hoists himself on the cart, looks down at me, and says, “Get on.”
    I don’t eat dinner that night but choose to sit out in my garden. I see from the walls of my courtyard that the sun is setting red on the horizon. I decide I’m going to try to talk Hadrian into leaving tomorrow. I don’t want to become that woman. I don’t want to see my mother like that. We must get far away from this rotting city.
    ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
    I’m flying away from the burning city when a powerful gust of wind blows me back to the center of Cheapside. I hit the ground hard and, dazed, get up to see Hadrian digging. I walk over to see hundreds of dead bodies all lined up, heads to the west and feet to the east, side by side. They all stare vacantly at me. Two small children are thrown down, one with purple eyes and another with curly brown hair. Then Hadrian shoves me from behind, and I can’t stop falling.
    I awake in a sweat to Hadrian calling for a servant to come and empty his chamber pot. No one comes. He leaves the room and returns minutes later and shouts, “No servant has showed!”
    I stand to throw on my clothes.
    “Elizabeth, empty my chamber pot.” He goes back downstairs.
    I walk over to the steaming pot with nose pinched, open the window, and yell, “Look out below!” three times, as required, and pour the contents on the street below.
    Upon entering the kitchen, I see an agitated Hadrian pacing. “The fire has gone out, and not a one has come.”
    “Can we find more servants?”
    “Not a one!” he screams as he throws his hands up into the air.
    My