“‘Reverend Sister Ghervil,
I am Morsian-Sartre, Bishop of Mistfall Church. Firstly, allow me, on behalf of our entire diocese, to express our deepest condolences for the tragedy at the abbey. I am profoundly sympathetic to your ordeal. Abbot Anthea’s and your faith, dedication, and spirit have always been…’”
““Just read the important parts; you can skip the pleasantries,” Ghervil interjected, a slight frown creasing her brow, cutting off the young messenger.
““While these may merely be pleasantries, I believe they could prove useful to you, perhaps when you learn to compose letters in the future…””
Upon first seeing Ghervil, he had found the nun to be strikingly beautiful, perhaps even excessively so; yet, hearing her request for him to read the letter, given her apparent illiteracy, filled him with a mixture of confusion and… pity.
‘How could she have become a nun if she was illiterate?’ he wondered. ‘She wouldn’t even be able to perform daily tasks like reading prayer books or consulting church documents. Was it her looks, then? Such things weren’t unheard of in earlier times…’
““Just read it when you’re told! What’s with all the chatter? Do you even want this job?” A furious voice boomed from the house across the street.
The outburst not only startled the postman but also unnerved Ghervil.
‘She had deliberately had the postman read the letter here precisely to prevent Callan from learning its contents,’ she realized.
‘That woman’s hearing was astonishingly sharp!’
‘These past few minutes, she had been utterly deluding herself.’
““Please continue reading; pay her no mind.””
Ghervil was well aware of the impertinent thoughts swirling in the postman’s mind, yet she knew it was their prerogative to think as they pleased. She felt no obligation, nor any need, to offer an explanation.
““Understood.””
The nun’s gentle demeanor only intensified the postman’s inward bitterness. ‘Such a fine lady, reduced to this… Goddess, please, you must protect her!’ he thought, his heart aching.
‘He dared not offend anyone residing on this street; even his prayers had to remain unspoken, confined within his heart.’
“‘I am deeply honored to invite you to attend the evening vespers on July eighth. I am confident that your presence will bring unexpected benefits to both parties. Date: July 8, 1956, four o’clock in the afternoon. Location: 12 Centra Road, Red Maple District. A complimentary book will be provided on-site: “Somnolence and Illness.”’”
““Wait a moment, please read the last sentence again!””
““Certainly…” The young woman’s sudden exclamation left the postman bewildered, though he quickly dismissed it.
““The exact location is the Grand Cathedral in Mistfall City center, also known as Mistfall Church, which I trust you are familiar with. It is situated in the Red Maple District…””
““Not that sentence—the one about the book!””
““A book? I apologize, but… the letter contains no mention of a book. The location of the Cathedral marks the end of the letter’s formal content. What follows are merely the pleasantries you expressed a dislike for; should I…””
‘Could she have misheard?’
‘Unlikely. She had distinctly heard the phrase “Somnolence and Illness.”‘
““There’s no need to trouble yourself further. Please hand the letter to me.””
Clutching the letter, Ghervil returned to number 100, her head bowed in thought.
The postman remained alone, shaking his head repeatedly, a profound sense of regret etched upon his face.
****
In the ground-floor living room, Callan had prepared a table laden with food and was waiting.
““I overheard your final question,” Callan stated. “The postman’s answer was correct. It seems the sender of the letter played a trick on you. Allow me to examine the letter; perhaps I can clarify your confusion.””
““Confusion? This is merely a formal, official invitation; there’s nothing to be confused about.””
Before Callan’s eyes, Ghervil tucked the letter securely into the cleavage of her dress, where it would remain firmly lodged without slipping.
‘With no pockets in her attire, this was the safest place to keep the letter from creasing and, more importantly, to prevent someone from getting their hands on it.’
““It takes at least two hours by carriage from here to the Cathedral, and the fare alone will be around 20 Denarii. Are you truly willing to spend so much money at once?” Callan scoffed, her disdain evident at the young woman’s lack of trust.
““Don’t underestimate me,” Ghervil retorted. “As an exceptionally devout worshipper of the Goddess, how could I possibly miss such a vital event merely for the sake of worldly money?””
““It’s truly difficult to imagine those words coming from you.””
““You’re mistaken, Doctor from the Order; people change.””
Ghervil reveled in seeing Callan’s discomfited and helpless expression. After all, Callan always seemed to treat her with such impropriety.
““May we eat now? After I finish, I need to make a quick trip to the market; I’m pressed for time.””
““Have you forgotten something? Such as explaining why you fell into such a deep, unresponsive sleep? Or why you woke up looking as if you’d lost your very soul?””
Callan interlaced her fingers, propping her chin on her hands, her expression turning somewhat grave. She made no move to pick up her knife and fork.
According to the intelligence she had gathered, aside from severe amnesia, there was nothing else peculiar about the young woman.
However, this morning’s strange behavior, coupled with the young woman’s repeated evasions and distrustful attitude, compelled her to consider the possibility of an underlying illness.
‘The incident in the forest, involving danger, was something she could easily investigate, and even choose not to pursue further,’ Callan mused.
But an illness—that was her unwavering boundary as a doctor.
‘Even if this person might possess something vitally important that she needed…’
Seeing the young woman unable to respond, her head bowed in silence, Callan’s demeanor softened slightly.
““Perhaps you don’t understand why I’m so insistent,” Callan began. “Let me put it this way: the work of the Epidemic Prevention Bureau involves implementing all possible remedies and preventative measures before an outbreak occurs, or during its initial stages.
Most people only know that the Hospital Department’s role is to treat plague victims. In truth, when a plague becomes inevitable and incurable, it falls to doctors to manage the aftermath. This is a cruel and dangerous profession, where one sometimes faces fellow doctors who are far more formidable than ordinary people, and even a moment of hesitation can plunge one into utter despair.””
““I understand…””
Ever since Helm had fired upon ‘Luke,’ she had understood that some diseases could only be resolved by death.
She hadn’t been overly saddened then, for the condition was incurable, and death had offered him a release.
Yet, there were instances of healing; Helm’s younger brother, for example, had been cured of a plague.
““I wish to know how you treat plague patients?””
Callan felt a wave of relief, realizing the young woman was finally prepared to speak.
Extending her index and middle fingers,
““There are two approaches. For mild, curable illnesses, patients live under the constant surveillance of the Order until their full recovery. The other approach targets severe, incurable cases—I trust you already know what that entails.””
““I’ve largely ruled out the latter for you. Some illnesses are much easier to treat the earlier they are discovered.””
‘If only it were truly easy to treat,’ Ghervil thought, considering the affliction that had plagued her for two lifetimes. She still placed more faith in the Abbot.
““I require some time,” she stated, looking up to meet Callan’s gaze earnestly.
““Once I’ve clarified a few matters, I will tell you everything. I promise.””
‘For this matter, she needed to consult the Abbot for her opinion.’
““I agree,” Callan conceded, her demeanor having entirely shifted. She reached out and playfully ruffled the small, white head that she seemingly never tired of touching.
““Only I would be this kind to you; those stubborn old men wouldn’t be nearly so accommodating.””
““Thank you, Dr. Callan.””
Her hands paused briefly. In the few days they had known each other, this was the first time she had heard the young woman thank her, and with such a captivating smile, no less.
Even as a woman, she had to admit she was utterly charmed by the smile.
Due to the demands of her profession, she deliberately cast aside superfluous emotions—a practice common among most in her line of work, albeit to varying degrees.
She was among the most exceptional in this regard.
‘Her earlier overtures and jests had merely been an attempt to lower the young woman’s guard, to build rapport and thereby obtain what she desired.’
Now…
She quietly withdrew her hand.
‘How strange… that she would actually become so agreeable…’
‘No, perhaps she had simply let her guard down.’
Lunch resumed, and thanks to Callan’s professionalism, the dining atmosphere remained unchanged; the two women chatted and laughed until the meal concluded.
****
After purchasing a pair of white silk stockings at the market, and arranging for a carriage to return, Ghervil decided to pay Mrs. Keith a visit.
Her knock went unanswered, but a voice called out from number 100,
““Mrs. Keith has likely gone to church by now. She informed me this morning when she came to check on you, before you had even woken up.””
‘A pang of guilt struck her; she had concealed far more from Mrs. Keith than she had from the doctor.’
Having bathed, she changed into her freshly laundered black habit and new silk stockings, then, securing a sufficient amount of coin, she stepped out.
From the second-floor window across the way, a somewhat flippant compliment drifted to her:
““Quite lovely, actually. A shame it doesn’t quite accentuate your figure, though.””
““Care to join me?” Ghervil asked, looking up.
Callan, a faint smile playing on her lips, watched her from the window.
““There’s no need for further probing. I won’t monitor you until it’s confirmed you’re a patient. You’re free to go wherever you wish.””
““It wasn’t a probe; it was a genuine invitation. I truly hope you’ll accompany me.””
“…”
The sound of wheels creaking on cobblestones approached.
The coachman drove the carriage closer.
““There’s no need to rush, ma’am. Evening vespers commence promptly at four o’clock this afternoon, and you have ample time.””
After a moment’s contemplation, the young woman boarded the carriage.
““Let’s go… we can depart now.””
As the carriage gradually receded into the distance, Lily of the Valley Street fell into a brief stillness, soon broken by the buzzing chorus of summer cicadas.