Preparations for the voyage took about a month.
And Eleanor and Margaret sorted through the other volunteers, teaching them as quickly as possible the basics of first aid, simple medical knowledge, and how to handle and maintain syringes.
The rest of the people, united in purpose, carried all manner of cargo onto the ships in accordance with the angel’s will. Every sort of medicine, clothing, and equipment, even the food they would eat during the voyage.
Thanks to the participation of thousands in the preparations, the time required had been reduced to a single month. At this level, they could have set up a hospital the moment they arrived.
And so they set sail.
Then about a month and a half passed.
“…”
“…”
“…First, there are places you must go.”
Sir Raleigh said, pointing out Southwark, Houndsditch, Aldgate, and the like.
“They are the places where the most rats will swarm and where the most sick people will wander.”
In other words, they were all slums.
“We must establish treatment centers in places like these. I will provide the money, so secure buildings in the vicinity and put up tents. Understood?”
“I understand. Then as soon as we disembark in Southwark, we put up the tents?”
“Hm? Naturally, we must all go to Her Majesty first. Who else will close public spaces by royal decree? Who else will make it mandatory to wear masks covering the nose and mouth, and ban all manner of gatherings?”
“…You, Sir?”
“Her Majesty the Queen.”
“Ah.”
“Judging by the timing, the Black Death should already be starting to spread. Lord Nemo said that by the time we arrived, the court would likely have grasped the existence of the plague as well.”
“…”
“…”
“Then we need only go before Her Majesty, tell her that we have discovered a cure, and set up the treatment centers in the slums first. Understood?”
At Sir Raleigh’s words, Eleanor and Margaret looked at each other for a moment.
London’s slums were infamous. For every sort of crime, vice, and filth. They were extremely dangerous places.
“Yes.”
“We have to go.”
And neither of them hesitated in the slightest.
As though timed perfectly, the ship came to a halt with a rocking sensation the moment Walter Raleigh finished speaking. When the three emerged from the cabin, a nauseating stench struck them. Cargo and people mingled together as they disembarked at Southwark.
Then Sir Raleigh turned to the other two and said,
“Whew… Then now, we cross the bridge and report to Her Majesty—”
“Um, over there.”
“What is it?”
“…”
Margaret caught hold of Sir Raleigh’s lapel and turned her head toward their surroundings. And then…
“…Good God.”
A man whose skin was turning black from the extremities inward had collapsed in the street. People were shrinking away from him in horror. If the man soon died, his body would probably be burned.
Because he was a plague victim.
“Um… how long will it take if we go to Her Majesty and come back?”
“…Three days, at the very fastest.”
Unless it was injected within at least forty-eight hours of onset, streptomycin sulfate could not save a person.
And the man before their eyes, no matter how one looked at him, did not seem to have only just fallen ill. And beyond the alley where the man lay…
They could see countless people coughing.
All of them would die.
“…”
“…”
“…Must we go to Her Majesty first?”
Margaret asked.
Sir Raleigh hesitated for a moment… then opened his mouth.
“No. Only one of us need go.”
“Then you go, Sir Raleigh. We can set up the treatment center here first.”
“Eleanor, will that truly be all right? This is a dangerous place.”
“All of London is dangerous.”
“…”
“We will establish ourselves here, so please hurry there and back.”
At those words, Sir Raleigh, who had been dithering, soon nodded, hailed a passing carriage, and departed for Whitehall Palace, where the Queen resided.
“Um… Mrs. Dare? Miss Lawrence? About half the cargo loaded on the ship has been unloaded. What should we do now…”
Now there remained over a hundred volunteers, medicine enough to save thousands, and disinfectant.
Eleanor Dare and Margaret Lawrence looked at each other, then rolled up their sleeves.
“First, let’s put up the tents here.”
And so the first treatment center was established in London.
Then five days passed.
Rumors began to spread throughout London.
***
The closure of the theaters that had begun with the previous riot was extended, and the taverns were shut. Public places where people might gather were closed down one by one, and London became a little quieter than before.
However.
“…Have you heard the rumor?”
The world of society and backstairs gossip was as lively as ever.
“What rumor?”
“You know, the ‘free treatment center.’”
“Ah… that place in the slums where they gather patients and treat them? Is it not being run by some nearby church?”
“No. I hear Sir Raleigh prepared it with his own private funds…”
“What? That fellow? Astonishing.”
“How strange. When did that man suddenly become a philanthropist?”
Everyone was unable to conceal their astonishment at Sir Raleigh’s “good deed.” What in the world was that power-hungry man planning to do this time by winning the hearts of the poor? Surely he wasn’t trying to gather a faction in the slums of all places.
And on top of that, was the Black Death not spreading right now? In a situation where one misstep might put either his subordinates or himself in danger of death, he was opening a large-scale treatment center instead of fleeing outside London?
It might be an act of idiocy. Or perhaps he had suddenly awakened as a saint.
“It is pouring water into a bottomless barrel.”
Someone declared.
“Think about it. They cannot cure the Black Death, so what difference does it make to ease the sick on their way a little? The ones nursing them will simply die as well.”
“Sad as it is, that may be true…”
“From the perspective of minimizing harm, it is not an unreasonable thing to say.”
While such talk went back and forth, the person who had first raised the topic merely grinned, saying nothing more as he waited for them.
At last, when the others seemed to run out of things to say and fell silent, he opened his mouth again.
“They say they saw someone… come out alive from Sir Raleigh’s free treatment center.”
“What? Impressive. But why is that significant?”
“He must have found good physicians. They could save a person or two.”
“They did not simply save an ordinary patient.
They say they saved him from the Black Death.”
“…”
“…”
“…”
At those words, the gathering answered with silence.
For an instant, a gleam of “Could it be?” passed through everyone’s eyes.
The Black Death was a dreadful disease. It was no different from a disease with no path to survival. Everyone thought so.
But on the other hand, they thought of Sir Raleigh’s American colony.
That place where all manner of mysterious things existed. That place that produced strange metals and mystical fruits.
“Could it be… a panacea?”
“Perhaps. Would it not be best to go and obtain some?”
“It is free anyway, was it not? I should send my personal physicians to acquire it.”
“Of course, we ought to put some money in their hands. If they simply take it for free, who knows how much of a fuss Sir Raleigh will make?”
They thought there might be some answer in that place.
Soon they scattered to their respective homes, throwing all manner of jokes among themselves.
And they did not forget that rumor.
Perhaps…
The very next day.
Physicians draped in cloaks that covered their entire bodies began gathering in Southwark from all parts of London.
***
Eleanor barely managed to open her eyes in the cabin. Clad only in her nightclothes, she rubbed her bleary eyes and opened her mouth.
“Vir-Virginia? I’ll give you breakfast, so…”
Ah, she’s not here.
She was now across the Atlantic.
Chuckling at her own foolishness, Eleanor rubbed her eyes lightly, then immediately put on the ridiculous white clown outfit.
The funny-looking one-piece garment that He had called a protective suit.
And when she left the cabin, people armed like her in protective suits and masks were running about in haste. Following them off the ship and toward the dock, she saw rows upon rows of tents.
Margaret, recognizing her, ran toward Eleanor.
“How many patients today?”
“Fifty more! Good heavens, how are there so many sick people here?”
“You turned away those feigning illness or suffering from other diseases, yes?”
“Yes! I frightened them by saying that if the medicine is given to someone without the Black Death, they’ll turn into a monster.”
“Well done.”
Saying so, the two of them hurriedly lifted the flap of one of the tents and stepped inside.
“G-Guaaagh! S-save me! Save me!”
“It hurts so much… It’s so hot… Just throw me into the sea…”
“Mother? M-Mother? Mother! Mother! Mother!”
It was like a chorus of madmen.
Every sort of scream, delirious rambling, and final words mingled together to create a horrible polyphony. Eleanor bit her lip hard and asked the nurse in charge of this place,
“How much medicine do we need here?”
“Uh, um, fifty bottles! Five new patients came in, and each one has to be injected every day for ten days, so…”
“That’s enough. I’ll bring it. Margaret?”
“Understood. I’ll take charge of the nurses here, so…”
Thus, checking each tent one by one, Eleanor inspected the amount of medicine they lacked and the number they had used. And then…
Flap!
She reached the tent being used as a warehouse.
Numerous workers were sweating profusely as they carried in new medicine and syringes. In one corner, syringes were being sterilized with boiling water and fire, while in another, torn or damaged protective suits were being repaired.
“Fifty bottles of medicine to Tent Ten.”
“Yes! Fifty bottles, understood!”
“Mrs. Dare? The number of sanitary gloves doesn’t add up…”
“That is because about half the gloves have not yet been moved from the ship. Once they are brought over from the ship, the count will be right, so do not worry.”
“Mrs. Dare! Thirteen more patients have come in!”
“Where do they say they came from?”
“From the Aldgate area, they say.”
“Then move them to the Aldgate-side tents! I’ll organize it!”
There, Eleanor naturally took charge at the front.
Today, too, was as busy as a war. Before she knew it, the inside of her protective suit was completely soaked with sweat, making her feel as if she were swimming through water.
Eleanor was just then sweating heavily as she personally carried a crate of medicine.
Flap.
Someone threw open the entrance to the tent.
Wondering who it was, she looked over… and saw an unfamiliar face. The voice, too, was one she had never heard in Chesapeake Bay.
And not only that… his attire was strange as well.
A man whose entire body was thoroughly concealed with a trailing cloak, gloves, and the like, holding a sachet of fragrance in one hand.
“Is this the place?”
“This is it. First, we must determine who is in charge here…”
No… men.
A dozen or so men seemed to be looking for the “person in charge” of this place. Eleanor caught her breath, set down the medicine crate, and walked over to them.
“Are you looking for the person in charge?”
“We are, madam. And who might you be…”
“Eleanor Dare. I am in charge here.”
“…”
“…”
“…”
They seemed unable to believe it when a fairly young woman presented herself as the one in charge… but after looking at the gazes of those around her, they soon appeared to accept it and turned their attention back to her.
“Do you have patients? You seem to be physicians…”
“Ah, we are not here because of patients, but because of a transaction. Sir Raleigh seems to be the owner of this place, but he is busy and difficult to contact at present.”
“A… transaction?”
“That is correct.”
Each of them took out a rolled-up letter from within his breast and held it out to her. A variety of coats of arms could be seen on the seals.
“We have come by order of the Earl of Pembroke. His Lordship has shown interest in the medicine being distributed here.”
“We were sent by Lord John Lovell. For the same reason.”
“I am Sir Hawkins’s personal physician. I trust you have heard the name of Sir Hawkins.”
“We as well…”
“…Pardon?”
Suddenly finding her arms filled with a countless number of letters, Eleanor, flustered, lifted them with a small grunt, set them down to one side, dusted off her hands, and asked,
“You want to… trade for the medicine?”
“That is correct. If you would first hear the price we are offering…”
“If you have a patient, they must come here in person. There are separate tools required for administration as well, so our personnel will be needed.”
“Then you can send it with the personnel!”
“No… that is not what I meant…”
Feeling bewildered, Eleanor continued to “kindly” explain to them.
This is a clinic that treats the Black Death free of charge, established with Lord Raleigh's private funds.
Furthermore, the personnel and equipment here cannot be taken outside; if you wish to receive treatment, you must come here—
"...'Here'? His Lordship the Count?"
"...Pardon?"
Though their expressions were hidden behind cloaks pulled down low, she could guess from their voices that the men's faces were twisted in displeasure.
They looked around them. Past the tent flap.
A slum where beggars and prostitutes loitered.
"His Lordship cannot come to a place like this. We will pay a fair price to purchase the medicine, and we only require the assistance of the staff here."
"...It seems you didn't hear the explanation properly."
"Hahaha, Lady Dare. It is you who did not hear the explanation properly. His Lordship wants the medicine."
"And then?"
"There is no 'and then.' His Lordship will have the medicine in hand."
"..."
"To think you would even need personnel—we would have to invite you as well, my lady. Perhaps you could come..."
"No."
"..."
"I'm sorry, but we are in a situation where even a single pair of hands is desperately needed. No one can leave this place, and not a single bottle of medicine can be moved—"
"I said we would pay the price."
"Even so, it cannot be done."
"..."
"..."
The doctors fell silent. Though she was slightly frightened as the men surrounded her, Eleanor clenched her fist tightly.
"My lady. It seems you have failed to grasp the situation properly..."
"I could tear down this unlicensed clinic of yours."
"Look here. I've never even heard of House Dare. In that case, after we pay our respects first..."
At their threatening words, Eleanor squeezed her eyes shut.
And shouted.
"It cannot be done!"
Then, after pushing them aside, she forcibly shut the tent flap. When she tied it shut with a cord, those doctors began to protest.
"I say! Do you think this clinic will remain safe after this!"
"Eleanor Dare. I've remembered your name."
"I doubt a pitiful woman like you has any way to survive safely in London now."
"Turned away at the door like this! Do you think the Count of Pembroke will sit idly by!"
Every single one of them was a tediously clichéd remark.
And...
Thud.
Every single one of them was a genuine threat.
"..."
She knew the Count of Pembroke, John Robell, and Lord Hawkins all too well.
They were men who could actually butcher a figure named Eleanor Dare in some back alley one day and dump her into the Thames.
Eleanor trembled slightly... then soon moved to another tent.
"Now, how is the situa—"
"..."
"..."
From Margaret to everyone else, they were all looking only at her.
They had all eavesdropped on the conversation just now.
"..."
"..."
"..."
"L-Lady Dare? What... what should we do now? Will Lord Raleigh be able to help in time? No, even if he does, Lady Dare, you..."
"..."
Eleanor Dare pondered for a moment... then, for now, tried to smile.
"Isn't it time to give that patient an injection? Give me the syringe first! Hurry!"
***
"Everyone. Why is the life of Jesus great?"
Thomas Hewet opened his sermon with that preamble.
"Why is Jesus a great man, indeed the most perfect and complete human being?"
***
"Give me the syringe. Hurry... hurry!"
"But Lady Dare, th-those high-ranking people over there told us to...!"
"They are just a handful of people!"
Eleanor grabbed Margaret's arm, which was trembling uncontrollably, and spoke.
"Why don't they come here? Why do they only ask for medicine?"
"...Because it's dirty here?"
"That's right. Exactly. But we cannot leave here. Because there are people dying here right now."
"..."
"What did He say? He told us to save lives, didn't He?"
"..."
"Then we must save as many as possible. Isn't that right?"
"...You're right."
"Give me the syringe. Hurry."
Eleanor's eyes wavered. Then Margaret hesitated... and handed over the syringe again.
***
"He was not the God of the noble. His enemies called Him a God of prostitutes and beggars. It was clearly meant as mockery, but they were unaware.
They had bestowed the greatest royal title upon the King of All Things.
That is correct. He is... He is the Savior of prostitutes and beggars. The King of slaves and madmen, the representative of traitors, thieves, and all manner of refuse."
***
"Margaret... don't be afraid."
"I-I'm not afraid..."
"Don't lie. You can't lie."
"..."
Eleanor looked at the wretched people flooding in without end. Their bodies smelled of urine, alcohol, and garbage.
She could understand why they were scorned in this city. They gave off a stench. If you drew near, the smell would transfer. Disease would spread, misfortune would spread, sin would spread.
A one-armed prostitute came. A beggar who had lost his leg came. People who had likely never washed once in their lives surged in.
"What could they possibly say about us treating beggars before noble people?"
"...What?"
"Could they do more than kill us?"
"...What?"
Indeed.
The most they could do was kill them.
That was all.
All they could do was inflict pain upon their flesh, kill their flesh, and prevent their flesh from receiving a proper burial.
That was all.
Only that.
Compared to the heavenly authority shining behind their backs, everything was trivial and squalid. The threats of those men were, at best, at that level.
"Ah, augh... ugh..."
Margaret cried as she wiped a beggar's buttocks. She cooled the syringe that had been hastily sterilized by fire and plunged it into the beggar's buttock.
And so, streptomycin sulfate was first injected into a beggar before any noble, before any member of the gentry.
***
"The Lord is among the most vulnerable of us.
For the rich do not desperately need the Lord's help.
The Lord is mixed among those who suffer and are scorned. He suffers with them, rolling in filthy mire.
For the powerful do not desperately need the Lord's word.
The Lord is by their side."
Hewet finished his sermon and came outside the church, looking at Chesapeake Bay and, far beyond to the east, the Atlantic Ocean.
Beyond it were countless people. They were ones who had willingly entered London, a deathtrap consumed by the Black Death.
Without realizing it, Hewet made the sign of the cross and muttered.
"Lord, may You always descend to the lowest places..."
And so, shelter Your apostles.
***
"...They won't sell the medicine?"
"That is correct. My apologies, my lord."
"Tch... I suppose not. It seems Lord Raleigh laid some groundwork in advance. I don't know what's gotten into that man. To think he won't accept despite being offered so much money."
"..."
"Very well. You've worked hard."
The Count of Pembroke, John Robell, Lord Hawkins, and many other nobles and gentry each received the bitter news of failure in their own homes.
And they committed the names Walter Raleigh and Eleanor Dare to memory.
They could tear down the clinic in three days, and they could turn the woman named Eleanor Dare into an unrecognizable lump of flesh in the slums by tomorrow.
They expressed anger at having failed to obtain a panacea that could treat trivial skin diseases or annoying impotence.
And.
They did not know that they had been infected with the plague bacteria by their own doctors.
For the Lord always descends to the lowest places.
Because the rich and powerful do not desperately need the Lord.