Book 3: Chapter 65: The Faith of Men
The smell of foul, putrid flesh clung to the boy’s tattered, linen shirt as he huddled in a corner on the farmhouse porch step and watched the Baron’s men drop his older brother’s rotting corpse into the fourth casket. The boy’s father, mother, and baby sister were already laid out inside the other three plain pine boxes lined up in front of their family home, which meant the fifth and final coffin was for him.
“This one’s still alive,” one of the plague collectors commented as he prodded the boy’s bony shoulders with the metal tip of his shovel.
“Has he got it?” Another collector called out. His voice muffled behind his beastly mask.
“Bound to after being stuck inside with them.”
“Should have starved with them then. Saint’s mercy—most of this village is already dead and rotting.”
“We’ve got three more houses left to clear out and burn before we head back,” responded the taller of the three masked men, with the most pronounced gut, who appeared to be their leader.
“So, what do we do with him?” asked the plague collector standing over the boy.
“Orders were to collect the dead and burn this village down by sunset.”