A tip from a harlot led Melcher Fitz to the city of Segasti. At the brothel there, he learned that his target had moved on to Zimnira. Then to Myrdiach.

Melcher had his subordinates block off each of the city's gates while he rode in alone, confident that he could apprehend this traveler without issue. The whores had described his target as small and frail, someone they only knew for sure was a man after he took off his clothes, and even then there'd been some speculation that he was still just a boy.

Whether boy or man, he'd infected every harlot he'd touched with the plague.

If he was ignorant of his own crimes, Melcher Fitz would give him poison for a quick and painless death. If, however, he was doing this on purpose, Fitz would make a show of burning him alive in a place where everyone in Myrdiach could see.

The common rabble scrambled out of Fitz's way as he passed through, no doubt frightened at the sight of his uniform. This fear allowed him to move freely through the otherwise crowded streets. The peasants even gently pulled their dogs away, though the canines barked furiously at the strange, giant bird walking through the city streets.

Melcher could see the brothel ahead, as evidenced by the wretches leaning over the balcony rails and speaking obscene offers to the men passing below. It was a wonder to Melcher that in such times, with a plague looming over all their heads, that local law did nothing to put a stop to these houses of disease and filth. If even one whore in that brothel caught plague, then they would all have plague within a fortnight, and so too would every traveler or local who had joined them in their wretched beds.

Fitz stormed the front doors of the brothel, drew his sword, and pressed it against the tip of the madam's nose. The madam raised both her hands in nervous surrender. The prostitutes and patrons alike who'd been lounging in the entryway now shrieked and fled from the intruder.

"A frail, short traveler arrived here," Fitz said, twisting the blade. "Is he still here?"

"Y-yes!" the madam cried. "Yes, he's still here!"

"What room?" Fitz asked.

The madam stammered for a moment.

"SPEAK, WHORE! WHAT ROOM?" Fitz bellowed and pressed the blade against her nose.

A line of blood dripped from where the point met her flesh and the madam pointed upstairs. "Fourth room on the left," she said. "Please, don't hurt my girls!"

Fitz withdrew his weapon from her face. "If all goes well, your harlot will not be harmed. But I cannot make promises." With his sword still in hand, Fitz stomped up the stairs, shoving brothel patrons out of his way as he passed.

Fourth room on the left.

Fitz counted the doors in the hallway as he closed in on his destination. On the other side of each door, he could hear the typical, exaggerated moaning of the vile wretches inside practicing their abominable craft. If he were not alreay on a far more serious mission, he might have kicked in each door he passed, just to startle those inside and remind them of the risks they were not only taking but also forcing upon others.

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When he arrived at the fourth door, Fitz raised his boot and kicked the door open with a thunderous snap.

The woman inside screamed and yanked the bedsheets over to cover her bosom. Her patron found himself without anything to cover his loins.

The young man (or, perhaps, boy) fit the description Fitz had heard at every brothel he'd visited for this investigation. He had red, wispy hair in a mop atop his head, and flesh so white it would make snow appear dun by comparison. His jaw held no hair, except for a lone, long strand hanging from his chin. His limbs were rail-thin, and Fitz watched his ribcage rise and fall as he breathed.

Fitz crossed the room, seized the young man's arm, and twisted it behind his back to force him onto his knees. The frail man yelped, and Fitz snapped his beak at the harlot. "Did he stick it in you yet?"

She stammered for a moment, feigning confusion.

"Answer me, whore!"

Her face contorted into hideous bawling and she said, "No!"

"Don't lie to me, whore!" Fitz snapped. "God damns all liars!"

"No!" she insisted. "We didn't get that far!"

Fitz's attention whipped back to the frail man. "Everywhere you've gone, harlots you bedded caught plague. Did you know you have plague?"

"Ah!"

A groan of pain was the young man's only response.

"Lad, I will twist your arm out of its socket if you don't tell me!" Fitz demanded.

"I don't have plague!" the frail man yelped.

"I'll break you, boy!" Fitz shouted as he twisted the frail man's arm a little further. He was a little surprised the bone hadn't snapped already. "You have the plague, and have given it to five whores so far."

Fitz turned his mask to the prostitute hiding her body behind the bedsheets. "Don't feel sorry for him. He almost killed you."

"I didn't know!" the frail man cried.

"Swear to God you didn't know!" Fitz demanded.

"Unhand me!" the frail man shouted back. "I'm a prince of Bohemia! Unhand me!"

Fitz snorted. "A prince of Bohemia? Traveling without bodyguards to small-town brothels? I think not." Fitz pulled the frail man up, forcing him to his feet. "That's one lie too many. You go to the pyre."

"No!" the frail man cried out.

Fitz ignored his pathetic pleas for mercy and dragged him out of the brothel, naked as the day he was born.

"What's going on here?" came a demanding voice from nearby. A tall man with broad shoulders approached, a pitchfork in his hands.

Fitz kept him back with the point of his sword, still dragging the frail man along. "Stay back! This man has plague!"

"He doesn't look sick to me," the peasant replied, following Fitz.

"Oh, he doesn't?" Fitz spat back in a condescending tone. "Pray tell, at what university did you study medicine?"

The tall peasant stopped in his tracks and blinked twice. "I... I didn't attend university..."

"Oh, so you're not a physician?" Fitz grunted. "Then leave the diagnosis to the doctors! This man is sick."

"Help me!" the frail lad cried.

Fitz kicked him in the back. "Enough out of you!" The frail lad yelped in pain again. Fitz forced both of the lad's wrists together behind his back and clapped manacles over them. "Whoever you are, I sentence you to die for the crime of intentionally spreading the plague. May God have mercy on your soul."

"You can't do this!" the frail lad shouted. "I'm a prince of Bohemia! My name is Gabek... I'm a Prince of Bohemia!"

"One more word and I'll cut your tongue out!" Fitz bellowed.

The citizens of Myrdiach watched from the sides of the streets with pity and fear, but none of them dared draw near. With no one standing in his way, Fitz dragged the frail lad to the gates of the city, where three other plague doctors immediately rushed in to take hold of him.

"He knew what he was doing," said Melcher Fitz. "Don't listen to his filthy lies. He goes to the stake to burn."