What Kind of Question is That?

A roar of manly cheer erupted as, one after another, plague doctors of all shapes and sizes paraded inside The Raven’s Tavern.

Lorenzo, Cedric and Edgar stood by, astonished, as they watched the group immediately take up chairs and stools, crowd over the posted menu, and begin to shout their orders for ale and supper while diminutive Agnes struggled to keep up writing everything down.

“Two helpings of pottage!”

”Bread with more crust!”

”Bread with no crust!”

”Your hardest cheese!”

“Not for me, I have a toothache!”

”Keep the ale coming!”

“Does that say you have nettles…?!”

Soon enough, the tavern was bustling with customers, while little Agnes appeared to be everywhere, taking orders, bringing entrees, and balancing jugs.

It was quite the sight! The littlest nun waited, served, cleaned, explained the menu, collected payments, cleaned again, served more, took another payment. A blur of black and white, Cedric, Lorenzo and Edgar were in awe of her, which is why they almost didn’t notice two additional plague doctors approach their table until they stood right before them.

”Good evening, colleagues! Thought we’d introduce ourselves. This is Dominic from Averysham, and I am Anthony from Saint Paul Manor.“

As the oldest, Cedric was the first to speak.

”We are Cedric, Lorenzo and Edgar, at your service from right here in Eatonbury.”

“It is an honor to meet others doing the Lord’s work during these trying times,” said the one named Dominic.

“We are pleased you came,” said Cedric.

”The honor is ours. There’s not a tavern for miles,” said Anthony. “Let alone one willing to serve ones of our profession.”

“Another of its growing list of many rewards," Edgar added.

”Hear, hear,” Anthony said, raising his cup.

All five raised their cups.

Agnes watched out of the corner of her eye and smiled secretly to herself.

Hours later, the tavern slowly emptied as plague doctors either walked or staggered out the door.

“Goodbye! Come back tomorrow!” Agnes called out after the last plague doctors before closing for the night.

At last, the tavern was empty.

The little nun walked over to the melted candle on the window and blew it out.

She gazed at the leftover plates, bowls, and empty jugs left on the tables.

A few spills on the floor.

She yawned while grabbing a broom and started to clean up.

✨✨✨

Early the next morning, Agnes and the three doctors were already at the old apothecary discussing yet another fresh delivery of supplies from the cloister as Alaric came downstairs.

“More linens!”

“More opium!”

“More elderflowers…”

”And more ale!”

Little sister Agnes took note of the doctor’s many demands and Alaric opened his window to the street.

Once each doctor had his lot, they all walked in different directions with steady resolve, like defenders armed with their remedies, heading off to battle.

Agnes waved at them and wished them good luck before cheerfully skipping down the path back to the convent.

Now fully installed in the abandoned chapel and separated from the rest of the sisters through a grille for their safety, the tiny nun found her helpers already in the kitchen preparing the next day’s menu while Sister Bernadette wrote the following list.

The Menu

Cloister ale

Barley pottage

Maslin bread

Pickled vegetables

By sundown, the food had been delivered and evening prayers were just beginning. Any early arrival would enjoy a special treat of hearing Vespers through the halls.

Agnes climbed up to the window to light up the welcome candle. That’s when she saw the large black stag grazing nearby. She observed him for a moment, contemplating the animal’s majesty framed by the mysterious woods.

Did she imagine it? Or did they actually lock eyes for only a moment?

Perhaps they had.

Soon, his deep, haunting voice echoed like a soft roll of thunder from the depths of her very own heart.

“Why do you insist on it?”

She briefly clutched the cross that hung from her neck. Then, she lit the candle to signal the tavern was open and climbed back down.

Some minutes later, the bell tinkled.

Her new plague doctor friends entered and were served first.

And, soon enough, the others followed.

“I am Ulric from Sutton,” another plague doctor introduced himself.

”And we are Nicholas, Maximilian, and Devon from East Layton. What’s with you, Ulric?”

”I am the only doctor left in my village.”

”No man here will eat alone. Come sit with us. Give him a little room, Devon.”

All six of them sat and toasted together.

Then were later seen hiccuping and singing tunes.

Agnes continued to take even more payments.

”We come from the other end of the river in Fairburn. The names are Henry, Peter and Roger,” another merry group introduced themselves.

”I am Stephen,” said another.

”The name is Randolph.”

”They call me Gustav…”

“Walter of East Boyd Village.”

Agnes took their coins as tables opened and shifted with new friends sitting together to eat, complain about work and share stories.

Night after night brought back the same ritual as the supper pots emptied, the barrels of ale were drained dry, and bellies filled.

Later that night, Agnes snuffed out the welcome candle once they had all left.

Mornings also began to have their own ritual.

Each Eatonbury plague doctor received his own little costrel of ale with their materia medica supplies. Grateful, they all waved at a smiling Agnes before leaving on their house calls.

Back in the convent, Sister Bernadette scribbled yet another special with her beautiful handwriting.

Today’s Menu:

Cloister ale

Salted herring

Barley

And

Baked apples with honey

The other girls looked at each other and then squealed.

Dessert!

“Baked apples with honey…?”

The plague doctors slowly read the menu, then squealed, tears in their eyes.

“Dessert!”

More toasts, more names, new dark silhouettes shaking hands, singing together, sharing a table in between their more serious discussions.

”They’ve seen ten deaths in a day in Ansel.”

Somewhere someone broke open a fiddle.

”Wallace Manor claims they’ve seen improvement with scammony."

”Ugh. That didn’t work for us at all. That only turned our crisis into a digestive one as well.”

”You don’t say!”

Someone started banging on a drum.

“The entire thing seems to come from Genoa.”

”More ale, little sister!”

“I heard it started in Caffa.”

“Randolph mentioned he spoke with a fellow from the city who said they were now trying aloe.”

“Well, I hear it lives in the lungs.”

Someone accidentally smashed a glass.

“Oops.”

”It does, but it thrives more in the liver.”

Another doctor lets out a loud burp.

“Venice won’t even allow merchant ships to dock.”

Agnes brought another jug.

More laughter.

Lorenzo continued to intently listen and jot down furious notes in his journal.

Another quiet doctor from across the room saw him writing, then lifted up his own journal.

Lorenzo raised his cup.

The other doctor did the same. Then Lorenzo walked over and they both sat together to compare their notes.

The next night, a wealthy merchant entered the door.

The next night, a weary traveler marveled at the inviting scene.

Two nights later, a group of three knights came in, said hello to no one and began to drink heavily. All but one. That one never took off his helmet. The one with the red cross.

Agnes noticed him but did not linger on the mystery. Instead, she continued to come and go, from here to there, making sure no one’s cup ran empty.

On the twelfth night of tavern frenzy, she finally caught a moment to breathe.

“Did Cedric and Edgar leave you all alone?” Agnes asked upon seeing Lorenzo sitting alone at a table, writing in his journal. Again.

”They’re fraternizing,” he responded hoarsely, without looking up

“What are you writing there?” Agnes asked, putting down the stack of empty bowls she had just cleared from a neighboring table.

“Uh… only notes,” he said simply.

“Your notes,” she mused, then, without consent, she moved in front of him, hovering over the small table lit by a single candle, and began to leaf through the pages of drawings.

“Observations,” Lorenzo explained. “An attempt to detect patterns. What has worked, what hasn’t.”

“And declare your distaste for rue?”

He let out the smallest breathy laugh, very much in spite of himself.

“Among other things,” he replied. “I don’t detest rue. I just deemed it ineffective.“

“Aye,” she said.

Then, out of nowhere, she asked.

“Can I read them?”

This took Lorenzo by surprise, so he looked at her with puzzled silence and considered her request for a moment.

“You wish to read my journal?”

Agnes nodded.

“They are not… That is… It might disturb you.”

“I find the human body to be appalling as it is. Nothing will shock me. I will take great care of it and promise to return it.”

Lorenzo was still too taken aback.

“Are you sure you’re nine years old?”

Agnes said nothing.

“What kind of question is that?” she asked then.

Eventually, Lorenzo nodded and handed her the leather bound journal.

She immediately took it.

“I am nine years old,” she declared and left with the journal and the dirty dishes.