After the sermon, Katrine, Carl, Lande, and Merete all followed Tobi back to their house for some food, as well as discussions as to “the betterment of the town.” Carl was fairly unimpressed by these talks, however. Still, guessing that this was the way that Tobi coped with living in such an unsettling place as this, he played along, and sat down on the table with the rest of his friends. Katrine was tasked with cooking the meal, and so the rest of them sat around the table, discussing ideas. Lande was the first to speak up, suggesting that the local authorities prevent loud horns or machinery at night to avoid frightening the animals. Tobi, however, was quick to disregard this, telling him that he was too fixated on the Fredriksen situation. The room went quieter, and Carl clenched his fist in anticipation, before deciding to speak up.

“Are you going to do something about the outbreak then, Lande? Why does everyone approach the infected like it’s no problem?”

Lande raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you let the vicar touch your shoulders?”

Carl’s heart sank. Of course he did, and despite his own protests as well. Was he as blind as everyone else here? No. He would try and make a change. Or, at least ask the group if they would.

“That’s beyond the point. Haven’t you checked on these people? You’re supposed to be a doctor and you can’t help out this entire town? If they can’t afford it, then Tobi, why don’t we put some of your group’s funds to getting it checked out? It’s the most uncomfortable thing in this town, and it would be the biggest move you could make to improve it.”

Lande was about to calmly rebut, but Tobi interrupted, shaking his head. “Carl, you came here a day ago, what do you know about this place? You haven’t lived here. You don’t know what’s uncomfortable.”

“No, he does,” Katrine said. “I want to move out of here. Why are you so obsessed with this place?”

“London is full of pox and sin. You know that. The grass is always greener on the other side. Besides, my friends are here,” Tobi rebutted.

Lande saw that the argument was getting heated, and so he raised his hands calmly. They were large and soft, and it was only now that Carl noticed the rugged charm in his voice. “Gentle,” he said, looking both Tobi and Katrine in the eye. “Tensions are high, but we’re not here to do the impossible. Tobi is right. All cities have diseases, and this strain doesn’t seem very infectious. Secondly, throwing money at the issue might not be the most efficient way to solve this town’s issues. That being said, the hospital could use more books and equipment”.

Merete spoke up. “We should get something for the church. If people are feeling uncomfortable, then they need a refuge.”

Carl was about to add to the discussion, but kept quiet, not wanting to sour the mood. Instead, he ate some of the soup that Katrine served, once again being slightly unimpressed with the blandness. He tuned out of the conversation as the others began talking about the church’s graveyard, and how it might be good to clean off the debris from the months of wear and dead animals, as well as scraping off the moss from the stone. Carl rarely looked at the faces of the others at the table, and mostly looked into his soup as he swirled it around with his forlorn spoon. For a second, he wondered if he would be able to use the time they spent at the church to take a look at the caves. Tobi seemed very into the church maintenance ideas, however, and he figured that speaking about going off and doing something himself would not do him much good.

As he sat and pondered for a few seconds, Carl raised a finger, interrupting Katrine. “Excuse me. You’re all part of this church group. But where’s Olav? Surely you consult him on this sort of stuff. It’s his building at the end of the day.”

Katrine grumbled a little, her eyes squinting at Carl. Lande then spoke up, leaning forwards along the table so that his booming voice could be heard even more loudly.

“Well, you said it yourself, didn’t you? He’s sick. And besides, we were talking about how we wanted to accommodate you earlier.”

Carl sat blankly, trying to seem polite by nodding, but not remembering what the conversation was about. He had zoned out earlier, and he felt like something was sapping his ability to pay attention. Maybe he was just tired from waking up early?

Still. He’d been awake for a while, and he’d been alright inside the church. Carl bit his lip. Had he caught something? His attention was slipping again, he noticed, and he pinched his leg under the table. After doing so, he was finally able to make sense of what Lande was saying without wanting to doze off.

“Tobi knew you wanted to see the mines, and we’re worried about the future of the church. There’s a little chapel up there near the worker’s area in the mines. The priest there might come down to the town if we convince him, and you can enjoy a bit of a look around.”

Carl agreed that this seemed like a good idea, and as the table finished their lunch and sat around for a little break, he noticed the rest of the group were busily talking to each other. Lande and Marete occasionally threw a question his way, but Tobi and Katrine were most certainly too deep in their discussions with one another and the group to talk to him. As he faded between being able to pay attention and his tired distractedness, Carl pondered if he had begun to irritate them. It was only his second day here, if that. Best to leave those thoughts for later.

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It took an hour for them to get onto the road to the mines in the mountains. Despite the harsh sunlight, Carl felt cold, and there was still a hard and slippery frost on the floor. Even the bird songs that he had heard the day before were utterly silent, and there was nothing but the crunching of thin ice under their boots. Tobi was carrying a rifle, claiming that the area was incredibly dangerous, and that the animals were aggressive. Supposedly, he had also insisted for Lande to arm himself, but the group did not want to walk all the way to his house, and most of us agreed that one gun would be enough. They were no brigands, after all.

“Merete,” Carl asked. “Has it always been this unsettling? It’s not just me not being used to the town, right?”

She thought for a few seconds, and shook her head. “No. It’s odd that you arrived so soon after these new occurrences. I think they started a month or two ago? Katrine is a little obsessed about it, but I don’t blame her.”

Her tone changed, and she looked around. “Quite a few people have... passed away recently. It’s serious.”

Carl was getting quite out of breath with the walking. To his chagrin, the rest of the group seemed to have no difficulty climbing the winding paths. Deciding to take a little break, he looked down to the town from where he stood, up on the high ridge. A small voice in his head almost wanted him to jump down to the tiny buildings below, although he quickly disregarded the impulse.

From here, the chugging of boats along the water, the rhythmic synchronisation of row-boats out on the sea, the people walking out into the town, it was all breathtaking. Not crowded, but awe-inspiring and picturesque. Carl’s face broke into a small smile when he had finished catching his breath, and for once, he felt like he finally understood Tobi. Selby was a beautiful town. It always had been. The ominous feelings from the midnight stranger and the dead birds washed away, as he breathed clouds of mist over the landscape. He recognised many of the small buildings, and felt a surge of nostalgic positivity from it. He was so entranced, more awake than ever before: the highland wind was surging through his coat, and gave him a very dramatic flair.

It was the sound of slow, trudging footsteps that brought him back to reality. Thinking that the rest of the group were beginning to set off, he turned his head around. Turning to his side, he saw that the rest of the group were still, and turning their heads to the source of the noise: a waddling hunk of a man in an oilskin.

His skin was pale. Not like Olav’s, but so utterly colourless that even from a few meters away, he could see the throbbing of his veins, like a man in the violent throes of death, flailing as if they could snap open any second. His eyes were sunken and ill, with thick black bags being the only contrast to his face’s pallour. He did not walk, but waddle, like a broken slave in chains.

Carl felt an immediate sense of utter disgust, and gagged. The utter stench of the man was enough to bring tears to his eyes. A ghastly odour of utterly rotten fish assaulted the whole group, who held their sleeves to their noses instinctively. As the stranger saw this, he stopped in his tracks, and just looked blankly at the group, his veins still throbbing and his ribcage seeming as if it would burst from each expansion of his lungs.

“Well?” The man spat, noticing the utter disgust on their faces.

As Katrine looked at Tobi, his hand wrapped harder around his gun. Lande instinctively arched his neck back in confusion, and after a few silent seconds, finally began to reply.

“Are you… Ill?” The doctor asked with a great deal of concern in his voice.

Once again, the silence came. The man in the oilskin simply glared into his eyes with an empty expression, his lips cold and devoid of emotion. As he finally opened his lips, Lande saw his teeth were full of grime and filth.

“We’re all very ill. But I need to work, don’t I? I have a job to do,” he replied coldly.

“Are you a fisherman? Should you really be handling food like that? Surely you’ll spread disease? Do you work for anyone?” Lande was pressing this point a lot, so Carl figured that this man was exceptionally more ill than most. He also wondered how he would get the awful stench out of his clothes after this.

“That is my business. If you are all helping the doctor, then there are people more worth saving up there. But if this is a mountain stroll, then there is nothing in the mines and caves and mountains save for misery, cold, and pestilence.”

The body waddled slowly down the path, constantly exhausted and with hunched shoulders, taking almost two whole minutes to pass the group. Lande walked to approach him, but Merete tugged on his arm with an almost animalistic impulse. They would not be talking to this strange man again, if they could help it.

Finally, after much more time of walking, they heard the clanking of mine machinery and a distant chattering of people. Not exactly chattering, but almost moaning. On this part of the mountain, there were a few pleasant looking cabins, but most looked like poorly-constructed shacks. A surprisingly large number of people seemed to be dressed in oilskins here, despite being far above the sea. Fishermen and miners alike were conversing, working, and trying their best to keep in some spirit. As Carl looked over to the porch of one of the cabins, he saw a man looking back at him serenely.

With a similar sick look to Olav, he was dressed finely in a suit, and was sipping coffee next to a younger man on a bench. Carl noticed they had not cleared the snow off it, but the man’s elderly yet vigorous and plump looking face turned more sour the longer Carl looked at him. He rubbed his thin moustache, and glared at him until Carl turned away, and followed the others. Lande seemed to know exactly where to go, and Katrine was all too eager to trail as far behind him as possible, so that she did not need to be so close to the awful looking men who were working away. They walked through the shacks and workmen until they finally found a medium-sized building with a crucifix on the front door.

Carl, however, was much more interested in what he saw behind it: The cave he had come to this town for. Haphazardly closed off by a warning sign and a small barricade, he made a mental note of it, and stared for a few seconds. He contemplated asking Tobi if he could enter, but the door of the church had already been knocked, and so he turned his head back to it.

Finally, a normal-looking face. The priest inside looked ragged and poor, although not sickly. His body blocked the entrance to his church rather abruptly, although Carl could see that the wood was basic and poorly put together.

“Father Paul. What do you need?” he asked cautiously, before seeing Lande. “Ah, doctor, have you come here to help out?”

“Well, not the sick people here,” he said, rubbing his arm. “Actually, I was wondering if you’d want to come down to help Olav,” Lande replied.

Paul raised an eyebrow at this remark. “And why do I need to come down to help Olav? To abandon the souls here who need me more than anybody?”

“Olav is dying,” Lande said matter-of-factly. “We’ve come all the way up just for you. Please. The people of the town need somebody, and few spiritual leaders have as much conviction as you,” he continued, taking off his hat respectfully.

Paul frowned, and clasped his hands together, contemplating. His face was frowning, and he shook his head in silence. The group stood in anticipation for his response, but it never came. Impatient, Merete spoke up.

“Well?”

The rest of the group shot their eyes at her, before they darted back at the priest. His frown was even deeper now, and he tutted.

“I will consider it.”

The door rapidly closed, and Lande tried to rush in to get in a last word. Paul was too quick, however, and so a piece of Lande’s suit got stuck in the door. He bashed on the door with desperate intensity, but nobody else in the group seemed at all passionate about this walk. It seemed that for everyone here, this walk up the mountain was nothing but an utter waste of time.

For everyone except Carl, at least.