Chapter 38

It was almost harvest season. By now, the grapes planted outside the original farm would have finally matured. Cheongsu, Shine Muscat, and various other cultivars had blossomed all across Croatoan Island.

For the first time in a while, I set out for the harvest with the ‘original members’ of Croatoan Island—the thirty English settlers (though two were now absent) and the members of Manteo’s tribe.

“From now on… we will be considering exporting the grapes to Europe. Any fruit that is cracked or damaged by pests must be removed immediately. If they remain, the fungus will spread to the other fruit.”

“…What’s a fungus?”

“Uh, that’s a good… question. Um…”

“…”

“…”

Five minutes later, Bacon fainted on the spot.

Anyway.

The situation was different from before, when we would just pick the grapes, hand them out, and eat the problematic ones ourselves. Now that we were seriously connected to England, we had to begin earnestly researching long-term preservation with the export of Shine Muscats in mind.

We placed the grapes on a sorting machine, selecting only the healthy ones with good weight for packaging. After all, long-term preservation is a process of minimizing quality degradation, not maintaining it perfectly. From the outset, only the highest quality fruit could be sent across the Atlantic. We then stacked the grapes with sulfur pads that emit sulfur dioxide gas to extend their shelf life as much as possible.

‘…In this era, they don’t use sulfites in winemaking, right?’

Without sulfites, the long-term preservation of low-alcohol wine is nearly impossible. This meant that we were the only group that could preserve wine for long periods. Just imagine it. If a ‘1592 Imjin War Edition’ wine were to survive to the modern day… oh. It would no longer be something you could just drink; it would be a cultural artifact.

‘Export… even the wine!’

I already have infinitely regenerating glass bottles, so if I can just get some corks, wine will become an exportable commodity. My ambition grew a layer thicker. I would push a massive volume of grapes and wine onto the European market… and achieve the dream of a grape farmer! Exporting domestic(?) wine… to Europe! I will achieve the dream that the instructor at the ‘Young Farmer’s Winemaking Course’ hosted by the local government was always shouting about!

As I stood there for a moment, overcome with emotion, looking at the newly built vineyards and the stacks upon stacks of storage boxes, someone walked up beside me.

“They’ve grown very well. We won’t have to worry when it’s time to make wine.”

It was Mr. Hewitt. The lawyer who collected my sayings to write a bible, and the interim pastor of this settlement.

“Well, I suppose so. If the vineyards continue to expand like this, perhaps one day the area around this Pamlico Sound, beyond even Croatoan Island, will be filled with grapes.”

“That would be wonderful. I would very much like to see that day.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, Sir Nemo. It is. That would mean that much more grapes and wine are needed, and that would mean that many more of your people have increased in this land, would it not?”

“Uh, uh… I suppose you could see it that way.”

“Yes. Indeed.”

“…”

“…”

It seemed he didn’t have anything particular to say, as Mr. Hewitt, standing beside me, spoke no more. I, too, had nothing to say and remained silent, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. We were both simply enjoying the peaceful quiet.

After a long while, Mr. Hewitt suddenly looked out at the eastern horizon and sighed. I had a feeling I knew what was on his mind, so I asked quietly, “Is it because of those who left for London?”

“…Yes. As I thought, you knew. I cannot seem to shake my worry for them.”

“…”

“I believe they will do well, and yet I can’t help but think, did they have to go to that place, so full of death and malice?… After suffering so much to settle in the New World… why did they leave so suddenly?”

“…”

I couldn’t alleviate his worries. If I were a real angel, I would have flown to London immediately. I could have watched over Eleanor Dare, Walter Raleigh, and Margaret Lawrence 24/7, keeping an eye out for anything that might harm them. But I was just an ordinary human. I couldn’t do such things.

All I could do was believe.

“They… will be safe.”

“Is it because you will protect them, Sir Nemo?”

That’s not it.

I shook my head with a bitter smile. “No. It’s not just because of that.”

“Then… why?”

Let’s not get into complicated stories. Stories about how Sir Raleigh is the Queen’s favorite and the core of the American colony, so he’s unlikely to come to harm. That’s not what Hewitt is curious about. So, I told him something that would put him at ease.

“Didn’t they leave to do a good deed?”

“Pardon?”

“It may be a crude analogy, and a cliché, but… isn’t doing good deeds a bit like farming?” I opened one of the Styrofoam boxes at my feet, picked a Cheongsu grape, and showed it to him as I spoke.

“Just as grapes grow in a vineyard, good deeds will surely be returned with good deeds.”

“…”

Hewitt hesitated, then accepted the grape I offered and put it in his mouth. As I watched him roll the grape around in his mouth, I continued.

“From one very small branch, countless smaller branches extend, and from each of those branches, countless more fruits grow, do they not? Around those who do good, many more good things will grow.”

“…Is that so?”

“Yes, well, it is. At least, that’s what I believe.”

***

“Disinfection! Disinfection!”

“By order of Her Majesty the Queen, disinfection!”

Sturdy men with tanks of diluted disinfectant strapped to their backs roamed the streets of the Aldgate slum outside the London city walls, shouting. Among them were Royal Guards, mixed with Sir Raleigh’s personal men. They rose at dawn, went through every nook and cranny of the alleys emptying mousetraps, sprayed disinfected water on the streets and in the houses, and purified the wells.

Normally, the high and mighty would have passed through this place with contempt and disdain, but now that the hand of the law had been reaching here for several days, the residents gathered in murmuring crowds to watch them.

And.

“Harriot, I don’t know the way from here. Which way does the alley turn?”

“That way is a dead end, sir. We must turn left first and then proceed.”

Sir Raleigh, too, was moving right in the thick of it. When the London celebrity came into view, especially dressed in a strange white garment that a child or a clown might wear, the eyes of the residents grew even wider. And wasn’t this the time of the ‘Black Death’? What on earth was the Queen’s favorite doing, gracing this place with his presence?

“They’re probably going to tear this place down… and build a big mansion.”

“Are they trying to kick us out?”

“Since the plague is spreading… they’re probably going to start by burning down the filthy neighborhoods…”

After a few such ‘plausible’ stories made the rounds, the people’s attitude turned defensive. Though they couldn’t block the Queen’s soldiers out of fear, they made a point of taking wide detours around them or avoiding their gaze.

And then.

Walter Raleigh finally reached a certain place. “…Is this the house of the herbalist?”

“It seems so…”

Naturally, beggars, prostitutes, and day laborers had no money for a proper doctor. So, they would inevitably seek out female herbalists whose faith and medical skills were equally suspect. Raleigh, having found the home of one such ‘unlicensed practitioner,’ shuddered at the foul stench that hit him from the doorway.

It was… the smell of something rotting. The smell of rotting meat and viscera. And this place was far from a butcher shop.

When those two facts were combined, he could roughly guess what was happening inside. As Sir Raleigh, at the head of his soldiers, hesitated and then took a step forward, Harriot grabbed his shoulder.

“No, sir. You must not go in there now.”

“…”

“You need to spare your strength. You’ve been up all night for days due to state affairs…”

“Waaaaaaah!”

A cry. Not that of an adult.

At the sound, Raleigh’s body moved before his mind could. His soldiers hastily followed him. “My lord!”

Raleigh pushed his way through the building, where the rotting corpses of those whose limbs had turned black lay scattered. He stepped over the body of the herbalist old woman, already dead.

And. Fling! He threw open a door, and a child who looked to be five or six years old was contorting in a high fever.

“H-Help… hel…”

“…”

A swarm of rats scurried around the child. Sir Raleigh held his breath for a moment, then threw himself forward. He dove into the sea of rats and pulled the child out. As he held the child in his trembling arms and stepped outside, everyone was staring at him blankly.

The wary eyes of the slum prostitutes, the worried gazes of the soldiers—all were fixed on him.

“The… the clinic.” And he spoke. “There… there are no other survivors in that building… Disinfect the surroundings and… burn it.”

“…”

“Send this child… to the clinic in Southwark. Mrs. Dare and Miss Lawrence will save…”

“You should go too, my lord.”

“…”

“Are you not feeling dizzy?”

“…Now that you mention it.”

“Of course you are, doing things like this.” Harriot asked, “Why are you going this far? If you are to work, you must take care of your own body…”

“Oh, my friend. It seems you still have not cast off your skeptic’s nature.”

“…”

Raleigh smiled weakly, yet clearly, and soothed the child, who had stopped struggling. “…The path to salvation is open. What more could I ask for?”

There was a fire in his eyes. A fire that could burn his entire body and still have fuel to spare was blazing from his heart.

***

“Over here! Here!”

Eleanor ran, feeling her sweat-soaked hair sticking to her neck. She had just finished her day’s work and was heading to her cabin to change out of her protective suit when someone had called out to her like this. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. Whenever she was coming or going, people would ask her to help carry a family member or friend who was a patient and couldn’t move. This time was the same.

“…Huh?”

…At least, that’s what Eleanor thought as she turned the corner.

It was a dead end.

“Excuse me… there’s nothing here.” As Eleanor said this and turned around, something glinted in the dark alley.

It was a blade.

“…You remember Sir John Hawkins, don’t you?” the man said, licking his lips as he slowly walked toward Eleanor. Only then did the man’s features, which she hadn’t noticed in her rush, come into view. Things like skin that was too clean for a slum dweller and fleshy cheeks. Features that were useless to notice now.

“It’s a truly frightening thing to fall into the disfavor of a great man. Do you know how frightening it is?”

“…”

“It’s just as frightening as meeting a murderer in a desolate alley in a slum.” The man chuckled, seemingly pleased with his own humor, then… took another large step, closing the distance to Eleanor.

He was about to swing the knife he was holding and lunge toward Eleanor…

“J-Just push that!”

CRASH!

“…Huh?”

Eleanor, who had squeezed her eyes shut imagining the blade piercing her chest, cautiously opened… her eyes at the sudden shout. The boxes that had been stacked next to the wall had toppled onto the ‘murderer.’ He was still clutching the knife, twitching… then his movements ceased. When Eleanor moved closer and checked his pulse, she felt nothing.

“A-Are you alright?”

“Aaaah!”

“D-D-Don’t worry. We, we, we won’t, h-harm, Mrs. Dare.”

A woman was cowering, stuttering badly. Looking closely… it was a patient who had been discharged from the clinic just three days ago. A young prostitute who stuttered.

“I-I saw a, a strange, an un-unfamiliar, face, s-so I followed…”

“Mrs. Dare! Are you alright?”

“Are you hurt anywhere?”

Soon, other patients she had cared for and volunteers she worked with came running, kicking the already dead murderer and checking on her condition.

“What? Ah, I’m fine! I’m fine, but…”

“Come with us! Something big has happened at the clinic!”

“…Pardon?”

Eleanor let an old beggar take her by the hand and ran blindly with the others. Once again, she was heading from the middle of a dark, narrow alley toward a bright, wide main road. Squinting as the sudden sunlight hit her eyes, she blinked them open to see…

The sturdy men with cudgels who had surrounded the clinic… were cowering in fear before the powerless beggars. It wasn’t the other way around. The sturdy men were shrinking back from the beggars, trembling.

“Here, you bastards! Eat this!”

“Eat this and get treated here, too!”

The beggars were throwing rat carcasses. They were from the mousetraps Eleanor and Margaret had set up throughout the slums some time ago. Because of this, the rumor that rodents were the cause of the plague had already spread to some extent.

“D-D-Don’t come any closer!”

“S-Save me…”

And that ‘knowledge’ was terrifying the thugs who had come to threaten the clinic. They didn’t know what to do… then they jumped in fright at a shout from behind them.

“You there! Who are you!”

It was a voice that no one in London did not know. A face that no one in London did not know, from having roamed the slums and alleys so much.

“The-The Royal Guard is here in person!”

“Oh, fucking hell!”

When Eleanor turned around, she saw ‘Captain of the Royal Guard’ Sir Walter Raleigh and his men, drawing their swords and charging at the thugs. The thugs scattered in a hurry and fled. As she stared blankly at the scene, Margaret came running from a distance. Margaret hugged Eleanor and began to sob.

“M-Mrs. Dare… I-I, the others said they didn’t know where you went, so I thought something had happened to you…”

“It’s alright! I’m really alright, so…”

“Hey! You two, are you alright?”

“Sir Raleigh? That child in your arms…”

“A patient. For now, this child first… cough.”

“You’re coughing! Sir Raleigh, you should also…”

“The child first.”

“…”

“There won’t be… any more attacks. Now that they’ve failed once, they won’t try any more foolishness. From now on, I’ll station guards here as well… cough, hack.”

“Get treatment first! This way! The people in line… first…”

As Eleanor and Margaret hurriedly supported Sir Raleigh after he put the child down… the chaos of the crowd instantly ceased. The crowd that had gathered before them parted to the sides like the Red Sea. Even those who had been standing in line first willingly moved aside, opening a path for them to enter the makeshift infirmary.

Hundreds of people… were praying in that state. Some knelt and raised their hands to the sky, while others repeated, “A saint and a saintess. A saint and a saintess…” and made the sign of the cross over and over.

In that strange and holy silence, the three of them walked toward the half-demolished clinic.

***

And that night.

“That tent over there collapsed! Raise it up!”

“Gather the syringes and bring them here!”

Those who walked the streets, the residents of this slum, protected and rebuilt this place. People gathered from somewhere, quietly offered a small helping hand, and then disappeared.

And when hundreds, thousands of those small hands gathered.

“…Huh?”

“What… what happened?”

When Eleanor woke up the next day, the clinic was almost completely restored.

It is a simple and childish faith. The belief that if you do good, more good will come back to you. But sometimes, even such a faith is rewarded.

Just as countless smaller branches extend from a very small branch, and from each of those branches, countless more fruits grow.