27 The Grey-Robed Friar 14

The appearance of Brother Salvatore silenced everyone present for a moment, followed by a series of excited cheers.

"Yes, yes! We still have Brother Salvatore!"
"We’re saved... Gunther, Quise! Did you hear that? Brother Salvatore is coming to save you!"

Among the crowd, the leader, Mr. Fortune, was undoubtedly the most agitated. By the time Phyllis caught up, he was already on his knees, tears streaming down his face, clutching the old monk's hands with his sausage-like fingers.

"Please save them, save Galil—he is my most important cousin... If I didn’t have to look after the whole group, I wouldn’t want to abandon him!"

Listening to his wails, Phyllis felt a surge of fury rise from her chest to her head. Before her brain could even register a judgment, her body had already lunged between them.

"If he is so important to you, why didn't you—mph!"

A hand covered her mouth from behind. Phyllis tried to struggle, but then she heard a sigh behind her head.

"Don't be like this, dear child... This is what I must do."

His other hand rested on the girl’s shoulder. Despite appearing to exert no force, it stopped her struggling instantly.

"You need not do this. Caring for the sick is my duty as a monk of the Order of Natura; I would do it even without your request... It is just that I have already given my word to others; I must deliver this child safely to the Patientis Monastery in Cordon."

The old monk took a letter from his pocket, scanned the crowd, and finally helped Mr. Fortune to his feet.

"I need you to swear to our Lord that, regardless of whether I walk out of that door, you will deliver this child and this letter to Dean Lunge in Cordon."

"I—I promise!"

Mr. Fortune took the letter with both hands and vowed solemnly, "I swear to the Father, the Holy Mother, and the spirits of the ancestors that as long as one person in my caravan remains alive, I will see to it that she reaches Cordon."

***

Not until the door closed before her eyes did Phyllis feel her stiffened limbs and tongue finally regain their mobility. Yet, she remained standing there, staring intently at the door, showing no intention of leaving.

"...Come with me, child."

Mr. Fortune walked to her side, leaning over slightly to pat her shoulder. "I promised Brother Salvatore that I would look after you, and I shall keep that promise..."

Feeling the pressure on her shoulder, a familiar sense of anxiety welled up within her. Phyllis felt as if she were back at the starting line, back to that afternoon when she bid farewell to Casimo, when Master Giovanni had said similar things. Ever since arriving in this wretched era, she seemed to have become exceptionally timid.

Sometimes she felt as though she were standing on a single-plank bridge, with bottomless abysses on either side, the path ahead obscured by thick, dark fog, and violent winds pushing from behind. All she could do was drag her trembling legs forward, inch by inch, following the direction of the wind.

But this would not do.

The wind behind her was growing stronger. If she did not reach the other side of the bridge as quickly as possible, the eventual result would be nothing more than being pushed into the abyss by the gale—and then, all her daily trepidation and caution would have been meaningless.

Phyllis took a deep breath and finally shifted her gaze to the man beside her.

"Mr. Fortune, are you certain that only these three people have shown symptoms of the plague?" she asked, looking up and lowering her voice as much as possible. "Could it be that others have symptoms but, fearing they might be abandoned, have kept silent?"

"Of course not! We share rooms with several others; if anyone had those things or a fever, the others would notice!"

The young man following Mr. Fortune, hearing this, quickly defended himself in a loud voice, then looked anxiously at his leader, who was already showing signs of suspicion. "It’s true, sir! If you don’t believe us, we can take off our clothes right now for you to see. Why would we hide something as life-threatening as this?"

"If no one else has it, then why is it that only this room has people infected with the plague?" Phyllis continued. "Everyone has been staying here for the past few days without going out. The inn hasn't received any other outsiders besides us, and we all eat the same food... So how did they contract the plague?"

Guided by her line of questioning, Mr. Fortune and the others calmed down from their initial panic, their faces filling with confusion. However, one of them seemed to suddenly recall something. His expression turned grim, and he quickly walked over to Mr. Fortune to whisper something in his ear.

"...That idiot who can't keep his pants on!"

After hearing the subordinate's report, Mr. Fortune, who had previously seemed so easygoing, suddenly erupted in rage. He pointed at the wooden door and cursed, "Quise D'Artut! You had better pray that you die in there, for if you don't, I will castrate you myself, you bastard!"

Once those words were out, everyone inside and outside the room knew exactly what had happened. Outside, it was relatively calm—everyone could only curse the man who brought the plague inside through the door. Inside, however, the other person involved, a hulking man named "Gunther," was not so easygoing. Before long, sounds of a beating and pleas for mercy erupted from within.

"Stop hitting him! This plague might be transmitted through blood!"

Phyllis, not expecting things to spiral out of control, quickly shouted toward the door, "If you beat him until he bleeds, you might cause a disaster when there wasn't one to begin with—"

Nothing is more deterrent than a death threat. Soon, the sounds of beating inside ceased, leaving only faint moaning.

"...Is what you said true? This disease can be transmitted through blood?"

Mr. Fortune grabbed Phyllis by the shoulders and turned her around, his face revealing unconcealed surprise. "Was this discovered by Brother Salvatore?"

"Yes..." Phyllis's brain raced as she nodded with feigned hesitation. "Back in Velis, Brother Salvatore was discussing it with another monk who had cared for many patients. Those swellings aren't very large at first; they look a bit like mosquito bites, just a bit bigger... Besides those blood-sucking parasites, I can't think of any other insect that would actively bite people."

Mr. Fortune nodded thoughtfully. "So, how did Brother Salvatore treat that monk at the time?"

With that question, everything became manageable. Throughout the journey, despite not speaking much to the leader himself, Phyllis had heard plenty of information about him from others. Mr. Fortune was indeed a selfish, sycophantic merchant, but he had one advantage—he valued his reputation.

According to the gossip Francesco had provided before leaving, Mr. Fortune had been donating money to churches in the city of Lued and publicly distributing food to beggars in the streets in recent years, all in hopes of becoming a representative at the Lued Third Estate.

Whether helping a gray-robed monk save lives or helping one fulfill a wish, it would make for excellent "speech material."

Thus, brandishing the banner of "Brother Salvatore" and the "miracles" he invoked, Phyllis not only had everyone in the caravan perform a hygienic cleaning to minimize parasites on their bodies but also insisted they stay in their rooms as much as possible. She then produced the willow bark she had kept, had it boiled for the feverish patient to drink, and demanded that food and hot water be provided regularly to the four people locked in the "isolation room."

While the latter could be solved with money, eradicating the parasites on their bodies was a difficult task. People could temporarily clear some parasites by bathing, washing their hair, and changing clothes, but the environment was simply too filthy; even if they killed the fleas on their bodies, they would just jump back on from elsewhere.

"Actually, it's been a while since I've had to crush lice in my hair," Phyllis heard someone say to another. "I haven't washed in over a month this time, and I've only just crushed two that hadn't even had a chance to suck blood in the last few days."

"Me too! I feel like my scalp started itching again after leaving the Ituno Peninsula..."

"Probably from the ship; those beddings were filthy..."

Phyllis smoothed down her slightly longer hair and walked aside in silence.

"...The rumors about the Order of Saint Natura preaching to animals might actually be true."

She pinched the end of her hair and looked at the ghost floating in mid-air. "I’ve been suspecting it for a while... Perhaps Brother Salvatore wasn't lying. Saint Natura truly could communicate with animals because he possessed the same ability."

Hearing this, Professor Pyleuso looked shocked. "T-that's impossible! I've never heard of anyone like that besides Saint Natura! Even for him, that whole 'preaching to animals' thing is just a legend..."

"Just because you haven't heard of it doesn't mean it doesn't exist." Phyllis pointed at herself, then at the ghost opposite her. "Before meeting me, had you ever seen someone who could speak to ghosts?"

Professor Pyleuso was choked for a second, then launched a second round of questioning: "Then what evidence do you have? Just because the lice on these people have decreased, you think it's the result of him communicating with the 'bug brothers'? You’ve been using a fine-tooth comb to brush your hair every day, and I haven't seen you comb out a single louse!"

Phyllis fell silent again.

She had a hypothesis about this, but it was difficult to verify. To get the most accurate result, she would have to be direct and ask him in person.

There was still time.

There was currently only one person in the "isolation room" showing symptoms of the plague. Although one of the men had been beaten and his condition was unclear, Phyllis remembered "Gunther," the man who had beaten him; he was the same bearded man on the ship who had been the first to vie for the chance to teach her Rolandian.

Gunther wasn't showing symptoms yet. Perhaps he couldn't be let out due to the incubation period, but he looked healthy enough to assist Brother Salvatore.

As for whether any fleas carrying bacteria might escape from the room and bite the guards stationed outside... after a fierce internal struggle, Phyllis decided to sacrifice the "normal person" image she had maintained the entire way. With the resolve of a martyr, she walked toward the two guards.

"I learned a prayer from Brother Salvatore that can keep insects away. Would you be willing to let me try it?"

The two guards were "teachers" who had also taught her Rolandian. Having heard earlier that this child was destined for a monastery, they thought she might even be a novice nun. Therefore, even though they thought a prayer to "keep insects away" sounded ridiculous, they readily agreed.

Then, they watched as the child, who didn't even reach their chests, took a deep breath, suddenly made all sorts of strange, angry gestures, and shouted a string of incomprehensible words at them.

The guards: "............"

Even without understanding what was said, their life experience told them that this sounded more like swearing than prayer—and it seemed particularly vulgar...

"Alright, that should do it. I hope it's effective..."

Before the two could react, the child switched back to her familiar, smiling face as if by magic and waved at them. "Please let me know if you need to change shifts. Regardless of whether it works, it's always safer to try."

"...Was that really a prayer you just said?"

After Phyllis went downstairs and returned to her room, Professor Pyleuso could no longer suppress his curiosity and asked the same question the guards had asked. "What language was that? Why didn't I understand a single word?"

Of course he didn't understand. No one here could understand modern Malian from seven hundred years in the future, accented with a New World dialect. As for the content... it was nothing more than the concerned greetings she usually gave the cute little insects while brushing her hair. It was better not to say it out loud and pollute the elderly ghost’s ears and soul.

"It doesn't count as a prayer, but isn't it enough that it's useful?"

She let out a long breath and looked up at the ceiling.

Phyllis did not believe in God. She had seen too many examples in the past. God did not punish the recognized evil, nor did He grant any benefits to the kind and innocent. Like that neighbor who once opened the door for her in the dead of night and gave her help. They were a pious, elderly couple who did volunteer work and were eager to help everyone around them, so even though they had "Our Lord" on their lips every day, no one would refute or dislike them... Yet, two such pure, good people had lost their lives to a home invasion, and the culprit had never been caught...

If there truly were a God in this world, how could He watch such things happen? If He were truly so cruel, what would be the point of serving such a God with all one's heart?

Phyllis stared at the ceiling and let out a short, sharp laugh.

"I have never believed there is a God in this world, Professor Pyleuso... God has never helped me, nor has He treated those who helped me with kindness."

She looked at the astonished ghost, her lips curling into a self-deprecating, bitter smile.

"But if... if Brother Salvatore can truly walk out of that door safely, then I suppose... I wouldn't mind believing, just a little, in the God he trusts."