The Strange Company & the Plague that Never Was

Knock-knock.

“Who’s there?” growled an annoyed, sleepy voice behind the town gate. The evening was not young anymore, and the air was yet crisp. The nights following yearbreak were always the longest and darkest.

“A weary traveller, honest and elderly, seeking to enter Smoketown” sounded the reply. Smoketown was a maze of narrow, crooked, muddy streets meandering all over a steep hill, fortified by walls, with only a single gate where travellers’ fates were decided.

Though the sound of his voice matched his words, a suspicious hmmmmm echoed behind the town gate. A peephole slid open, revealing two distrustful eyes peering from under a bushy unibrow.

This unibrow belonged to none other than Otanvic, Smoketown’s chief of security and its self-proclaimed strictest gatekeeper. No one entered Smoketown while Otanvic had the night shift.

“Good evening, master gatekeeper,” said the traveler — an elderly chap — putting on a courteous smile despite evident weariness. His journey was long and food and rest scarce.

“Not sure if the evening is as good as you think it is,” yawned Otanvic, “but whether it is good or bad for you, old man, shall soon be revealed,” he stated, unibrow rising.

“Indeed it shall,” sighed the traveler.

“State your name and — yawn — business,” said Otanvic, drowsily taking out his notepad and dipping his plume in ink under the light of a large candle.

“Barmafaz is my name.”

“Barma-what?”

“Barmafaz… is my name,” emphasized the elderly traveller.

“Barmafaz Ismaël?”

“Barmafaz… is… my… name,” enunciated the traveler.

“Barmafaz who?” the questioning continued.

“Barmafaz the Wise.”

“The what?” In amused disbelief, Otanvic looked at Barmafaz from head to toe, jotting down a pointy hat and clad in murky rags onto his notepad, “You sure picked a fancy nickname.”

“Oh, I did not pick it myself. The good people of Smoketown gave it to me during King Sootyslaw’s reign.”

Otanvic frowned even more while noting a large walking stick on his notepad. To verify the information, he tried recalling the history of his country’s ruling dynasty — in vain. Too many kings have sat on the throne lately. Too many battles and diseases claimed their lives. But had Otanvic recalled King Sootyslaw from history classes, he would know that he reigned over ten score years ago. And that would make Barmafaz very old and plausibly very wise too.

“And your business?”

“My business is… well…”

“Well?”

“Private.”

“Hah! Anyone could say that. On what grounds do you expect me to let you in Smoketown?”

“On the grounds of being invited by Friederink, the Margrave of Smoketown, on very important and private business.”

“No written invitation was delivered to the town gate, old man. So that makes you a liar. We do not admit liars to Smoketown.”

The peephole slid closed.

“Otanvic Gatekeeper, don’t you dare disrespect your Margrave’s orders!”

The peephole slid open again to reveal two wide eyes. How did he know his name?!

“How — ”

“Because I know Smoketown and its people like the back of my old hand. I just haven’t stepped inside its gates in the last decade. So I remember you, Otanvic, as a fidgety little boy — you just don’t remember me,” said Barmafaz and smiled at the stunned door viewer with a merciful smile.

Debating whether to trust the strange words, he finally muttered: “Very well then. Who else is with you?”

“I thought you would never ask. My trusty pony is Clementine. And riding on Clementine’s back is Aedgar, the black cat. And the last member of our company — ”

“Animals don’t count,” Otanvic snapped. After all, almost every traveller, whether of any or no importance, had a pony of no importance.

“They should count. They, too, are here on very important business,” Barmafaz stated gravely and seriously.

Then he looked up as large wings shuffled in the night air — a stately raven landed on his left shoulder. Otanvic would not even see the creature in the pitch dark were it not for white flight feathers on its wings — an unusual feature.

“Ah, the last member of our company… Allow me to introduce Elvira,” said Barmafaz with an air of reverence for the raven, which, regal as it looked, hardly deserved any according to Otanvic.

At a loss for words, Smoketown’s strictest gatekeeper felt he had every reason to deny Barmafaz entry, yet he couldn’t voice any.

“I cannot let ravens in,” he finally stuttered.

Barmafaz stared at him for a good minute.

“I can’t let the raven in because of the germs,” Otanvic snapped, “Ravens bring strange germs into town!”

“Otanvic Gatekeeper, if you must know — and I’d rather you did not but, alas, you are going to know sooner or later — we are here because of the germs that are already in your town,” Barmafaz explained, at patience’s end.

Dumbfounded, Otanvic stared at the strange company. The accusation struck a sensitive cord: “Wait, what? What germs are in my town? I didn’t let any germs in!”

The silence felt heavy. No answer would do.

“W-which germs?! Point them out now!”

“You are still young and foolish, Gatekeeper, and think you can control your destiny. The margraves of your town summon me every century to rid the town of plague. You, of course, can’t remember the last outbreak — your grandfather was but a nurseling. And the people of Smoketown, I have found, have a rather short memory. Now, open the gate and let us in. Let us have a hearty supper and a good night’s sleep. We have work to do in the morning, which mustn’t be delayed!”

Otanvic felt droplets of cold sweat on his forehead. His heart was beating fast, his mind was spinning. He felt as though death and disease were creeping in through the town gate. Plague in Smoketown? Death and disease on the doorstep?! I didn’t let them in!

***

The next morning, Otanvic took part in a ceremony led by Barmafaz the Wise. Treading the muddy streets, Clementine the pony carried a bowl of fuming herbs. The smoke was spread by Elvira the raven’s mighty wings of feathers black and white, while Aedgar the cat sent Smoketown’s rodent population scurrying out through the town gate. Following unintelligible incantations, Barmafaz the Wise proclaimed Smoketown free of plague for the next century.

Applauded as the town’s redeemer, he gave a speech about the importance of sanitary precautions and remembrance of past plague outbreaks. Thus, Otanvic and his fellow townspeople survived a plague that never was —rattled, relieved, and ready to forget once again.