Chapter 3
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[POV: Jerimiah Ridgeworth]
Prof. Dr. Ridgeworth blinked twice in succession, his mind had wandered to the gruesome tale of what is being dubbed the "Plague-Port" incident. Having mentally returned to the small room, he cast a small glance back at the occupants. The Nurse was effectively smothering the poor child with love and care, ensuring that he feels well enough to drink yet another cup of water. He seems to be on his 4th , no make that 5th cup. He apparently feel well enough now.
'Unfortunate about the memory loss', he would have liked to have known what measures were taken that had caused him to be the only one to have survived the total demise of the crew. 'Nothing to be done about that immediately however.'
His eyes fell over the frail Child. The subtle smile he gave Nurse didn't distract him from the rest of his appearance. About 10 years of age but decently sized for a boy, 'no doubt that his family had enough wealth to keep him properly fed if they could afford to pay for Voyage across the English canal' .
The top of his head was covered thick ash-blonde hair, all over the place. No doubt from sleeping for well over a day in a hospital bed. His eyes reminded him of a frosty arctic blue, but only when it caught the light at a certain angle.
Moving on to Brother Edward, he reconsidered his choice of having the man join him today to witness the awakening. The Monk is well known in academic circles for his quick wit. Yet the undertone and, dare he call it zealotry betrayed his origins. Instead of seeking to understand the world in its causes and effects, the monk turned to take god as the most plausible answer to difficult questions.
'But he his young. He has time to learn, reflect and reconsider. Although he definitely has a mind for medicine, I feel it would be better for his personal development if he completed studies in philosophy first. As a young man he still had time aplenty. Suggesting that book from Göthe was definitely the correct call. To study all, yet deny the devil… what a grand ambition.'
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[Auhors note: Yes, I know Göthe wrote "Faust" in the 1700s, but I took some creative liberty here. In this story Faust is a man who studied everything there was to study, yet still found it to be unsatisfying, hence he made a deal with the devil.
The prize? All Knowledge. The cost? His soul.
Bit of a tough read. But take your time. Page by page. My friend's father is a well-read man, and he enjoys literature, often from the past. Mad lad that he is, can quote is favorite "Faust" lines by heart. Now back to the story folks]
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Seeing that the man forgot one of the main reasons to join him in this room, he made sure to remind him.
Brother Edward was in the middle of his tirade " it was the most unbelievable sight, only-"
"I believe it is time to return the boys belongings. From what I understand this will help clear up the issue concerning his name at the very least"
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SI POV:
"Leonhard Sebastian Silberschein"
That's what was inscribed, in a child's handwriting on the leathery book the monk had given to him. The book itself was unspectacular. A well-worn, German copy of the bible.
' I can't imagine the kids parents were happy that he scribbled his name into the bible of all things. Nonetheless very helpful, but still odd. Since my name before all this body switching madness was "Leonhard" as well it will make the transition easier.' he rationalized to himself.
'But since this body was holding onto it, it must have been of great importance to him.As interesting as this is, what really caught his attention was the part about a sailing vessel and the plague, sound like Europe, but a few centuries ago… time to take action.'
Puppy eyes? Activate!
"Excuse me kind sirs, could I trouble you to tell me more about the sea trip? Anything that has now come to light? This book is all I have and it doesn't exactly have text beyond my name and the two testaments."
The Monk replied, rather unlike his previous positive disposition in a somber tone: " I fear that there isn't a whole lot more we can tell you. After clearing the ship, the Plague Doctors- "
- Prof. Dr. Ridgeworth snorted at the mention of his "colleagues" -
"secured a few documents from the captains' quarters, such as the travel logs. Shortly after that it was determined that the safest way to prevent an outbreak was to pull the boat ashore, and burn it in its entirety. Including whatever was found in the captains notes. From what they could glimpse at however, the could confirm the number of passengers matching what he had seen, as well as proof of payments. Apparently most passengers paid in order to preemptively escape the European mainland and seek safety from the minor outbreak in Italy. Unfortunately they didn't succeed. All that is left are you and the name of the incident"
I looked at Brother Edward with questioning eyes: "And that would be?"
"they call it `The port plague of 1611` after the local papers coined that term."
'Oh crap. No way. Stop. I was expecting it but really? 1611? Omg. Omg I can't. Please no. Icantdothispleaseletmegohom…..'
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POV END
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Young Leonhard was left alone after his three visitors exchanged worried glances. The color had drained from his face, and despite the thick woolen blankets pulled up to his chin, he trembled with a chill that had nothing to do with the air. The terrible tale they had shared seemed to hollow him out. His eyes had gone glassy, unfocused, as if he were seeing something far beyond the pale walls of the hospital room.
Deeming it best not to linger and risk unsettling him further, the visitors offered quick, polite farewells. Their voices were hushed, as though afraid to disturb some fragile spell. Brother Edward placed a hand on his shoulder before he left him to be. The door clicked softly shut behind them, and Leonhard was left alone with his thoughts and the ghost of a story he could not unhear.
.
.
.
The next two days passed in a rush. Leonhard said little, and when he did speak, it was in short, flat sentences that gave nothing away. The nurses are usually warm, talkative women. Now they kept a respectful distance, offering pitying smiles and gentle reassurances from the doorway.
"Do you need anything, Leonhard?" they would ask, but he only shook his head or gave a soft, toneless "No." He avoided their eyes. He avoided mirrors. He barely touched his food.
It was on the third day, just as the routine had begun to settle into something gray and suffocating, that the rhythm broke.
Brother Edward returned.
He entered the room not with a small book of psalms, but with an unfamiliar solemnity in his step and in his hand a sealed envelope of thick parchment and a look in his eyes that was difficult to name. There was no soft smile today, no gentle jest to coax the boy back to conversation. Instead, he pulled a chair close to the bed and sat quietly for a moment, as if weighing something invisible in the air between them.
Then, with the kind of care usually reserved for sacred things, he placed the envelope on Leonhard's lap.
"I have a proposition for you, Leonhard," Brother Edward said at last.
The boy himself was confused for but a moment. He opened the sealed letter with a steady pace. Within he found documents. It was an invitation.
While the young child was reading the letter the monk thought to himself: ‚Alright. He has already passed the first test. I did not seek to put him under any more stress the last time we met. But this is definite confirmation that he can read. His ability to write was the most likely conclusion after seeing his name, which correlates with the Captains passenger list. Silberschein… not the most common last name, but certainly not nobility. I checked our records on German nobility just to be certain. Oh well, at least his parents were wealthy enough to ensure he enjoyed an education.'
"This… this is an invitation to join our church here in London as part of the angelic patron program. We usually take in orphans, most at an age younger than yourself, and we provide them with care, reading, writing, bible and art lessons. I myself was once a foundling. Taken in with open arms, and provided for. Now I seek to continue with this practice. What are your thoughts?" Brother Edward questioned with a fond expression.
Leonhard reread the letter a third time and thought about the monks words. To him, this sounded like quite the opportunity. It is not like he would have anywhere else to go. Or be. Or stay…
"I do have a question: What do you mean with Art-Lessons ? "
"Ahh yes the Art-Lessons. I remember sitting there myself when I was right about your age. We, at St. Benedicts Chapel are one of the few institutes the church comes to when they have art related requests. Usually, it is for a painting of biblical depictions. But sometimes we expand beyond that. To meet those needs, we ensure the young ones are quite capable of measuring up to the strict requirements. Does this interest you?"
Halfway through the monks speech young Leonhard's thought drifted to another place. His old room. But mainly, his art collection. He had many unique pieces there. Some he had bought, others he had found. But despite wanting to explore his own ability to create, he never found the opportunity to do so. That is until now.
Looking into Brother Edwards eyes for the first time, with a faint smile gracing his lips he replied:
"I accept."
"Very well. I welcome you, Leonhard Sebastian Silberschein to the St. Benedicts Chapel."
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