The Key

78

By the time Athanasius reached the stairway leading to the infirmary, the sound he had heard in the upper section of the mountain had turned into a chorus of the damned. It grew louder with every step until it took all his nerve to continue his descent towards it. He could hear ragged words in the noise now, words of lament and pity, with ‘forgive me’ being the most repeated.

He was met at the bottom of the stairs by a guard wearing a white surgical mask that stood out against the raised cowl of his red cassock. Another masked guard stood by the door to the main ward — the place where all the noise was coming from. As Athanasius drew closer the guard held a mask out for him and watched in silence as he put it on. Only then did he step up to the door and knock on it loud enough to be heard above the din. There was the sound of a bolt being released from inside, then the door began to open.

The scene that greeted Athanasius was a depiction of hell. The eight beds he had seen earlier were now in complete disarray, strewn haphazardly across the floor where the thrashing occupants had shunted them with their violent contortions. Each monk had been stripped to the loincloth and bound to his bed as Brother Gardener had been. All displayed the same symptoms: dense rashes of boils over most of their skin, gouge marks where they had flailed at their flesh before being restrained, and the constant and woeful lamenting that accompanied their suffering.

The loudest cries came from a bed near the door whose occupant had managed somehow to shrug off his restraints and was now clawing at his flesh with his freed hand, dragging his nails across a rash of boils that burst and bled, causing him to howl in a mixture of agony and relief. Two Apothecaria were attempting to pin him down, their blue nitrile gloves struggling to grip on to skin made slick by the brownish liquid that oozed from the burst pustules. A third aimed a syringe at the flailing upper arm, swaying in time to the movement until he finally managed to jab it home. The mask of twisted torment melted away as the sedative took effect, revealing the face of the young, frightened monk Athanasius had seen earlier.

He turned and met Brother Simenon’s eyes, staring at him from the gap between his mask and cowl.

‘All the trees, you said.’

Athanasius nodded. ‘All the trees.’

‘And has the blight returned to the garden?’

Athanasius shook his head. ‘Not the last time it was inspected.’

‘So you would agree that the containment worked.’ Athanasius nodded. ‘And you would naturally advocate a similar procedure to help contain the potential spread of the human manifestation of this disease?’

Despite the fevered heat of the room, Athanasius felt a chill as he realized why he had been summoned here. ‘You think I should be quarantined?’

‘Not just you. The only people who have contracted this sickness so far have been those who spent time in the infected parts of the garden and dealt directly with the diseased material. And you were there, as were the other heads of the guilds. You all stood in the garden, inspecting the rotten material, possibly even handling it, while you decided what to do about the blight.’

Athanasius thought back to the two silent guards who had greeted him outside. He had initially thought they had been posted there to keep people out. Now he realized the truth. They were there to keep them in. ‘But if I had been infected, surely I would be displaying symptoms by now?’

‘Not necessarily. Your exposure was limited, so it could be working more slowly within you. These men all had extended and uncontained exposure; and quantity is a key factor in cases of acute mycosis. If there were any other way to do this I would suggest it, but we cannot risk this thing spreading further. All those who may have been contaminated must remain segregated for at least four days and under strict observation. Provided no symptoms present themselves within that time, we can safely assume that the infection has been contained. Otherwise…’ He let the thought hang. ‘If it makes you feel any better, I myself, together with my staff, will remain here too for the duration of the quarantine period.’

Athanasius saw the logic of this, but it presented a problem. The quarantine would mean a four-day delay before he could check through the records on Gabriel’s behalf — always assuming he didn’t end up strapped to a bed or worse. This thought raised another question and, though he feared the answer, he had to ask: ‘How is Brother Gardener?’

‘I’m afraid Brother Gardener died shortly after you last saw him. He suffered massive organ failure caused by his chronic infection. The pustules you see on the skin are also present internally. Violent physical activity bursts them and floods the body with toxins. When the levels get too high, the organs simply shut down.’

Athanasius looked again at the writhing bodies strapped to the beds and imagined the boils running right through their flesh, the same boils that might now be forming in his own body.

‘And where are we to be kept? There is no room here and proximity to those already infected would surely negate the point of a quarantine.’

‘The guards are making arrangements. Myself and the staff will occupy the remaining isolation caves. I’m sure they will come up with something appropriate.’

Athanasius’s mind raced ahead, seeing an opportunity in his imminent isolation. ‘Might I make a suggestion? The library is close by and accessible without the need for passing through the more populated areas of the mountain. We could turn one of the reading rooms into a makeshift ward for the duration without too much disruption. No one is using it at the moment and its sealed nature and climate-control systems will ensure the air we breathe will not contaminate the rest of the mountain.’

Simenon nodded. ‘I will propose it. In the meantime, you should leave this room and wait outside in the corridor. The other heads have been sent for. I wanted to talk to you first as I knew you would see the sense and logic of it and possibly help me convince the others.’

‘Of course.’

As if on cue, the sound of someone pounding on the door cut through the moaning and Simenon opened it to discover a bewildered Brother Axel standing outside. Athanasius slipped from the room and put his hand on Axel’s shoulder, turning him away from the terrible sights inside.

Axel shrugged free and stared into his face with thinly disguised anger. ‘Do you see what you have done?’ he said. ‘You have brought a plague down upon us.’

‘Let us hope not,’ Athanasius replied. ‘For both our sakes, let us pray it proves to be something else.’