It is the curse of pestilence. Carrion crows and vultures screech as they circle overhead. Concerned citizens hammer wooden boards to doors to keep the infected away. And the sickly cough, gag, and murmur in despair. Someone carrying chains passes by, and rats snicker at their feet. Far off, a shovel digs into gravel—likely to create an impromptu mass grave. The buzzing of flies is omnipresent.
