Gas lamps hissed t

o life, struck the slab with a raw and commanding stroke of light. There, a shrouded figure lay, made stark by the beam. Cigarette smoke and fluffy

iltered through the gaslight, drifted from tall, staggered pews. Dozens of sets of eyes peered into the operating stage, leaned eagerly on narrow railings.



A presentable woman in white stepped into the beam. "Good evening" she said, rolling up the sleeves of her surgeon's coat.





"Good evening, Doctor Krolë " chorused the railings. A girl in a diener's smock followed, carried a tray of implements. Knives, saws, a bowl of something grey and liquid.



The girl set down her tray, flicked her wrist. Cloth fluttered, bright under the lamps. Titterings of interest spilled from above. The figure, revealed, was nude. A young man, grey in the face. His sternum was split, splayed to reveal thoracic innards. Where one foot should be, there was only a splintered wreck of bone. On high, shadowed faces turned, gestured with glowing cigarettes. Someone whispered "soldier."



"Before you become excited" said Doctor Krolë , frowning. "This subject was injured by an industrial shear." The audience stilled, settled.



"He did not bleed out, though. How would you say he died?"



A pale hand rose from the stands. "Yes, Tove?" said Krolë.



"Blood poisoning, sir" said a milquetoast blonde.



"Good. And how can you tell?"



"Blackening and swelling of the extremities."



"Quite. What else can we glean from this cause of death?"



The stands thought for only a moment. A palm went up. "Gregore?"



A fellow towards the back spoke up, uneasy. "Sir. He was likely unmedicated."



"Again, true" said the woman in white. She gestured for her diener to take up a scalpel. "Now, while Catrine works, someone tell me why you all look so rightfully concerned."



There was a soft, wet tearing. The diener had begun to cut. People watched the scalpel flicker in her hands, shifted uneasily. A hand raised.



"Tove?"



"If he was unmedicated, that means pathogenesis may be in effect."



"You're right, again. How could we tell if that was the case?"



Tove watched the diener peel back fatted flesh. She swallowed. "We'd find evidence in the lungs."



The doctor nodded. "Very good." She turned to the diener. "Catrine, remove the superior lobe, please."



Catrine pulled a blade over purple tissue. She lifted a dark lump, handed it over.



Krolë plucked up a scalpel, drew a split through the lobe. "We may detect latent plague by the presence of buboes in the lung" she said, peeling the organ open. Black, wet nodules shone on the flesh. "These are fruiting bodies. A massive disposition, such as this, indicates long-term infection. This subject had not been exposed to grisodate in some time."





She set the lobe down. "Plague will have fully matured within the bones" she said, took up the bowl of grey liquid. "There is life within this cadaver. Disinfection is necessary to prevent imminent reanimation."





At this, she upended the bowl over the corpse. It seized, jaw clacking. A plume of rotten smoke erupted from the slab, turned the beam of gaslight into an opaque pillar of blue-grey.





From within the smoke, Krolë spoke.





"Class is dismissed."











"Don't like this very much, Scotloff" muttered Karl. He sniffed the bitter air, wiped his nose. "Not many possibilities for what could've happened. I don't like any of them."



"Aye" agreed Scotloff. She squinted, lifted a hand against the white glare of snow. A cabin stood in the distance. Squat, made of stone, built against a hillside. Thached roof sagging with snow. It's windows were dark. No smoke crawled from the chimney.



They walked to the cabin. Karl held a woodcutter's axe at his side. He shuffled his boots in the crunchy snow. "Poor old thing. Living on her own" he remarked. "Shameful no grandkids took her in."



"No good fretting" said Scotloff. "What will be will be." She stopped by the hill. Frowning, she pointed to the ground. "Take a look."



Karl scrunched his moustache. "Bloody chickens're frozen to the ground."



They advanced to the cabin's oaken door, skirted around a rooster and white hens frozen upright. Karl thumped the wood with a woolen mitt. Accreted snow shook free of the planks. "Oi, Ol' Nan. It's Karl and Scottie out here. Just checkin' in."



"Karl, don't kid yourself" Scotloff grumbled. She grabbed the door's latch and jiggled it. It didn't budge.



"Frozen." She looked at Karl expectantly. "You want to use that axe, or shall I?" she said. Karl looked miserable. "Oi, nah, I'll do it" Karl mumbled, eventually. He hoisted the axe.



Scotloff stepped back, tread on a chicken. She kicked some snow over it.



Karl let into the door with the axe's weighty steel wedge. There was a crack of ice. Boards splintered. After a few more whacks, the door swung open crookedly in its frame. Karl stepped back, axe held uncertainly. Scotloff stepped up, patted him on the back. "I'll take it from here."



She stepped through the doorframe. It was dark, save for the sunlight which fell through behind her. A cobble-brick fireplace opposed the door. It's mouth was dark and cold. Facing it was a wicker rocking chair. A still figure slumped there.



Scotloff crept to the figure, boots tracking snow over the creaking floor. She crept around the chair, looked down. A white-haired figure slumped there, chin tucked to bony chest. It stirred slightly.



"Mam?"



The figure stirred again, jerking its chin. Scotloff startled, scrabbled backwards to the door.



There was a tattoo of thin heels striking the floor, a thin crash as the wicker chair tumbled. The figure seized in the dark. Scotloff heard a wet tearing of flesh. Sticky, partially-coagulated liquid spattered against the floor.



Scotloff stumbled out the door and into the snow. Karl looked to her with concern. "What's the mat-"



"Plague!" Scotloff screamed. Pointing to the cabin.



Through the doorway scuttled the twisted body of Ol' Nan, propelled by all four limbs. Frozen sheets of flesh drooped from the twisted frame. Grave water gushed over its snapping mandible.



Karl raised his axe as the thing bore down upon him.



