Roughly a hundred meters north of Angeli the coachman’s residence, on a derelict wheat field, a cluster of men in police uniforms and peaked caps encircled a blazing bonfire.
Periodically, they would shovel rat corpses, one by one, from a nearly depleted wooden wheelbarrow directly onto the roaring flames.
Nearby, two other bonfires had already burned themselves out, leaving only charred remnants.
The air hung heavy with dense black smoke and a pervasive, nauseating stench of charring.
“Boss, are we truly not meant to douse these creatures in the church’s holy water before consigning them to the flames?”
“I could swear several of them, even decapitated, are still thrashing wildly in this accursed bonfire.” As his final shovel-load landed, a police officer, his face contorted in a grimace as he pinched his nose, addressed Sergeant Godfrey, who sat on the field ridge behind him, twin wads of paper serving as makeshift nose plugs.
“Do you truly imagine I haven’t considered what you’ve just pondered?”
“That ‘holy water’ is nothing more than a psychological balm, essentially common saltwater with negligible practical effect.”
“You’ve been with this department for a considerable time, haven’t you? And you still cling to such superstitions?” Godfrey pushed himself up, hands braced against his knees, then moved closer to the bonfire, observing its macabre contents.
“But I thought saltwater was supposed to… So what *are* these creatures, exactly?”
“Hmph, are you absolutely certain you wish to know?” Godfrey, a flicker of impatience crossing his features, waved his subordinate closer, then leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Have you ever heard tell of the ‘Rat Plague’ that struck eleven years past?”
“You flatter me, sir.”
“Haven’t the whispers below deck already claimed that all those privy to the truth have been…” He punctuated his sentence with a swift, telling gesture across his own throat, aimed at the sergeant.
“Ah, so you *are* aware…”
“Heh heh, merely hearsay, Boss, though some of the tales…”
“You know, and yet you *still* ask!” A pair of thick, fleshy hands descended upon the back of his head, a blow so forceful it threatened to induce a concussion.
The surrounding officers, who had been craning their necks in morbid curiosity, instantly retracted into themselves, startled.
“Hmph! Consider your wives and children, all of you.”
“It seems you’ve grown too accustomed to lives of ease.”
“Perhaps I should dispatch you to other cities for a taste of true hardship.”
“Remember, curiosity sometimes claims more than just a cat’s nine lives.”
“Some questions are best left unasked, even under threat of death!” The officers, chastened, all nodded their heads meekly.
Godfrey surveyed them with a satisfied air, then produced a pocket watch from his uniform.
“Another half hour of burning, then consign all these tools that have come into contact with the rats to the flames as well.”
“I have no desire to hear any of you claim you ‘accidentally’ picked up a rat by its tail with your bare hands.”
“You understand I am not jesting; reserve your crude humor for when you’re nestled in bed with your wives.”
“And don’t forget to bolt your doors securely.”
“Better yet, pray your impish sons aren’t lurking in some dark corner, peeking.” As the tension eased, a bolder officer, a lewd grin spreading across his face, ventured a question.
“Boss, when might we finally be permitted to return home…?”
“You spineless wretch,” Godfrey scoffed, casting a dismissive glance.
“Once everything is incinerated and we disband, the remainder will be handled by the agents dispatched from above.”
“Our involvement ends there.”
“Remember, every single one of you, to keep your mouths firmly shut upon your return!” Upon receiving this definitive news, the officers promptly settled onto the ground, their gazes fixed on the bonfire.
Their faces, etched with both exhaustion and relief, revealed their true sentiments.
Soon, a lively hum of conversation, a mix of friendly banter and playful jabs, rose and fell among them.
“I truly believed I’d perish from sheer exhaustion in this godforsaken place.”
“A pity the captain isn’t present; otherwise, I daresay my drive would be even greater.”
“Oh, please.”
“Would the captain ever grant you a favorable glance?”
“After toiling the entire night, all I crave is to return home and sleep…”
“Sleep what, at home?” A slightly immature, incongruous voice suddenly interjected.
“You imbecile, what else could it possibly be?”
“Only sleep!”
“I’m not like certain scoundrels who, despite having wives, still go gallivanting every single night!”
“Perhaps then you ought to secure yourself a wife?”
“As a matter of fact, I’ve recently taken quite a fancy to a certain carpenter’s daughter…”
“…” Every man present, including the officer who had just spoken, lapsed into a stunned silence for three to five seconds before slowly turning their heads towards the source of the voice.
A white-haired girl, her skirt gathered in her hands, was squatting behind them, having seamlessly blended into their midst.
She asked no further questions, yet on her face, they clearly read the unspoken message: ‘Do carry on; pay me no mind.’
“Oh, my goddess!”
“I truly should have sewn shut the mouths of these vulgar scoundrels long ago.” Godfrey, suppressing an explosive urge, forced a strained smile onto his face, then bent low, positioning himself between Ghervil and the officers.
Behind his back, one hand discreetly gestured for the men to silence themselves.
“Sister Ghervil, who permitted you… How did you come to be here?”
Ghervil now understood perfectly why Mistfall City’s police force often displayed such amateurish conduct.
With a superior as unconventional as Godfrey, it would be nothing short of a miracle for his subordinates to behave normally.
“Boss!”
“I truly did my utmost…” A voice drew the sergeant’s attention.
Five meters away, Franz stood rigidly at attention, hat clutched in hand, already bracing himself for a reprimand.
Tasked with tending to his dazed companion while simultaneously guiding the young woman, and ultimately reaping no reward, he deeply regretted allowing his latent sense of justice to sway him into accompanying the girl.
“I can attest that, in his earnest endeavor to prevent my arrival here, Mr. Franz quite mercilessly laid hands upon Mr. Luke.”
Such an explanation might well have been better left unspoken…
Franz shot a resentful glance at the young woman.
Luke, too, had followed, now standing in a daze.
A distinct bruise was indeed visible at the corner of his mouth.
“Sigh…” Godfrey, realizing the futility of arguing with the young woman, subtly gestured with his eyes for the other officers to attend to her.
He then stepped forward, wrapping an arm around each of the two newly arrived officers.
“Now, explain precisely what transpired.”
“I know for a fact that you two have never committed such a blunder before…” The trio continued their conversation as they walked towards the ditch bordering the opposite field ridge.
“Does anyone here possess a handkerchief?” Ghervil, overwhelmed by the acrid stench, covered her mouth and nose with her hand.
This smoky, charred odor was, regrettably, not her first encounter.
The officers exchanged uneasy glances.
From the sergeant’s hushed words, they had gleaned that the young woman was none other than the sole surviving member of the abbey.
If even their boss was unwilling to offend her, adopting an air of utmost deference, what reason could they possibly have to treat her poorly?
And yet, they were all burly men… who among them would casually carry such an item?
“I have one right here!”
“Though I’m uncertain if it meets your needs.” An officer extended a neatly folded handkerchief, deliberately encased in a clean tissue to prevent it from becoming soiled.
“Pink?”
“I never realized before that you possessed such… unique tastes,” an officer immediately jeered, prompting chuckles.
“Naturally, you wouldn’t know.”
“If your dimwitted son were to beg you to carry a pink handkerchief for his sweetheart, I daresay you’d simply laugh and give him a swift kick to the backside!”
“Hahahaha…”
“Ah, I recall now.”
“This fellow does indeed have a rather pampered daughter…”
“…”
“Thank you.” Accepting the handkerchief, Ghervil replaced her hand with the cloth over her mouth and nose, instantly feeling a measure of relief.
Having no interest in the men’s crude jokes, she sought out a long stick and, maintaining a respectful distance, began to prod through the contents of the bonfire.
Waves of putrid, searing heat assailed her, and within moments, her brow was slick with sweat.
Approximately five minutes later, she managed to dislodge a large, charred black rat, pushing it out of the flames alongside a half-burnt piece of firewood.
Still smoking, its burnt skin clung grotesquely to its bones.
Its tail, a full one and a half times the length of its body, stretched out behind it.
At its chest, ribs and spinal column were severed, creating a nearly circular aperture—a wound, she surmised, likely inflicted by a bullet to the chest.
Unbidden, dark memories surfaced in her mind, sending a wave of chilling dread and nausea through her.
Certain sights, once witnessed, embed themselves deeply within the mind.
Over time, as the brain processes these indelible images, their most peculiar features become accentuated, and the recollection itself subtly shifts to emphasize these defining characteristics.
Compared to the one she had encountered at the abbey, this creature was considerably less terrifying, even though it was undeniably still alive, its scarlet eyes slowly swiveling to track the movement of her stick.
She could only conclude: ‘Perhaps I should have understood, upon first encountering that ‘illusion’ at the abbey, that this world harbors bizarre creatures capable of being influenced by the mist.’