One afternoon, Cal and Cinn come with gifts. A better fishing rod for Amon. A pan for me. A little wooden top to spin for Clove.
“Buying us off?” I ask.
“Just showing we have nothing to gain from our friendship” says Cal.
“Except … maybe a fish supper, eh, Amon?” says Cinn.
“You know how to dig worms?” Amon laughs.
“Fish supper … here we come!” Cinn exclaims.
Cinn and Amon walk together down the hill toward the riverbank. I watch them working together to dig a hole and stockpile worms.
“Let’s make a fire for that fish,” Cal offers.
“Can you teach me?” I ask.
“Sure thing,” he replies. “We’re going to need some firewood.”
I put the skillet down and we start walking up the hill.
“Truce?” he asks as he hands me a stick.
“I guess,” I say. And that’s my honest answer.
The summer is in full swing. The grass is dry from the heat. We begin to collect twigs and branches. I put them in a pile next to the firepit. Cal then collects some brown grass that is the color of oatmeal. He bends down and takes the two rocks out of his pocket. I am watching him.
“Iron pyrite and flint,” he says as he holds up the rocks. “This round one is the iron pyrite and the one shaped like an arrow is the flint. Rub them together and we have fire.”
“Is that so?” I ask.
“It is so,” he smiles.
My cheeks blush. I take a deep breath to make it go away.
In the middle of the firepit, he lays down the tree bark with a bunch of dry grass over top. Then, above the grass, he strikes the flint against the iron pyrite.
“Look for the spark,” he says.
He clanks the two rocks together and a red spark falls onto the dry grass. Cal bends down and cups the grass and bark in his hands. He gently blows air, puff by puff, feeding the spark. It catches fire and he quickly lays it down on the ground. He feeds the fire grass, bunch by bunch, until it is mature. Then, he adds sticks and twigs to sustain it.
“See?” Cal says. He beams with pride at making a fire. I think I see his skin blush as he looks at me. He must feel it too because he quickly calls out, “How’s the fish coming?” down to Cinn and Amon.
Cal and Cinn hold up four good size fish and one small one.
“That’ll do,” I say.
I put the pan on top of the fire so it can start heating up.
Amon walks up the hill toward us at the firepit. “Can I have the cutting rock?” Amon asks.
“I’ve got something better,” says Cal. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pocketknife.
“That’s new,” I say to Cal, looking at the knife.
“You okay with a knife?” Cal asks Amon with a bit of concern.
“I’ve used a knife for fish lots of times,” replies Amon. He nods his head to reassure us he is safe using a knife.
“Cinn, keep an eye?” I call out to Cinn below. I trust Amon, but I don’t want him to hurt himself with the knife. Cinn puts his thumb up to show he’s got it under control. Amon walks down to the river to rejoin Cinn and the fish.
“Got it off a sleeping sailor,” Cal says to me.
“For your next fight?” I ask.
“For my next meal,” he laughs.
Amon starts to skillfully clean the fish. We all go down to watch him.
“Where did you learn to do that?” Clove asks.
“Mama had me clean the fish. She didn’t like getting her hands dirty,” says Amon.
“I’m impressed,” Cinn states. “You are doing a good job, Amon.”
“We grew up on a wheat farm,” Cal explains. “Butchering animals is new to us.”
Amon works quickly and efficiently. Soon the fish are cleaned and ready to cook.
“Let’s get those in the pan,” I say.
After we cook and eat the fish, we are happily full. The air feels sticky and humid.
“Fancy a walk to the docks? There’s bound to be air coming off the water this evening.” Cinn asks.
“Yes, please,” Clove says.
“Sounds good to me,” Amon says.
Cal and I nod.
The five of us walk up the hill and into the city.
As we turn down a lane to head toward the docks, we hear a man calling. “Bring out your dead. Bring out your dead.”
Cal holds his hand out in alarm and says, “Cross over. Stay clear of the dead cart!”
“Dead cart?” I ask as he moves us over to the other side of the road.
As we walk closer, I get a better view of a wooden cart. It has two large wheels and two handles and is pulled by a tired-looking man. It is a cart full of …
“Dead bodies?” I ask, stunned.
“Bring out your dead. Bring out your dead,” the man continues to call.
“Cover your mouths,” Cal orders. We cover our mouths with our elbows.
The man with the dead cart passes us on the other side of the street. I grab Clove and turn her head into my tummy. There are five or six dead people lying in that cart.
“Come on,” Cal insists, hurrying us to move.
“Bring out your dead,” I hear the man continue to call.
“What was that?!” I ask.
“That is the best way the City of London can get the dead out of the houses and into graves,” Cal says. “You can put your hands down now. Let’s go get some fresh air.”
As we get closer to the sea, a pleasant salty breeze washes over us. We all inhale deeply. The fresh air does us good.
We sit at the edge of the docks and let our feet dangle. We watch the slow wash of the river crest and fall.
“Tell me about the dead carts,” I ask Cal.
“The city needs to deal with the dead, so the dead cart workers come out in the evening, when it’s not so hot, and collect the bodies.”
“They bury the lot in the plague pits in Charterhouse Square,” Cinn adds.
“They put them all in pits?” I ask.
“No time to dig individual graves. They want them buried quickly. And pits are the quickest way to bury a lot of people fast.”
I imagine the gravediggers and their sons digging pits for the Plague victims. I wonder if they buried Elizabeth. My heart aches for her. We all fall into a mournful silence. For hours, we sit and watch the water.
Eventually, we realize that we have to go back to our bridge. Clove, who long ago fell asleep, is carried by Amon.
“Let’s go by the square,” I suggest. I want a different route home. Just in case the dead carts are still making the rounds.
We walk toward the old marketplace. The air becomes stickier the farther we walk away from the docks.
“Rose,” Cal warns as we get closer to the square. He has spotted something before me.
“I don’t believe it,” Cinn whispers.
There, imprisoned in the pillory, is my brother, Lem.