You see, after the Black Plague was finally completing its greatest grim tour of Europe those 600 years ago, someone had the foresight to capture it. Bottled up a bit of the germ in a glass jar and put it on ice in the hope that someday something less indiscriminately genocidal could come of it. Such forward thinking was rare in those days.
Through the centuries, the knowledge was passed down but kept limited to a tiny few. Whoever had managed to capture the plague told a fellow scientist. In his old age, this scientist passed it on to his brightest understudy. And so did the secret follow the best of humankind through the ages. Some of those who knew studied the plague under microscopes, spending weeks, months, or years trying to crack its code. Others knew, and passed it on, but never once decided to mess with it themselves, being too fearful.
It was inevitable that someone would finally get careless. And about five years ago, someone did. And so the secret was secret no longer.
This was where being more advanced as a society came in. We knew what the plague could do. We'd all read about it in school. And we'd changed. Our streets were not dirty and filled with animals. The homeless and deprived were kept clean and safe in group homes. People knew what showers were. And antibiotics were more advanced. The Black Plague wasn't just a musty memory from our history books. It had come back, weaker, in recent centuries. But it never made the same impact - not in more developed nations. And our advances in science were why. It's things like that that make me proud to be a scientist.
The moment the first deaths were reported, a quarantine was placed upon the city. Citizens were allowed to evacuate only if passing a complete and total examination to determine they and all possessions they wished to bring were 100% free of the plague and of carriers like fleas or ticks.
I was lucky. I have no family here, and I never caught the plague. Why would I? I spent most of my time holed up in my fortress, and on the rare occasions I left for errands I was covered in my typical dress quite well. Once I'd heard of the plague spreading I added a hooded coat to my ensemble, but that was all.
But really, I was especially fortunate that I didn't have to see my colleague, Dr. Welward, as anything but a friend.
Bartholomew Welward... is a morbid man. A man who has worked with the dead for his entire career. He has two specialties. The first is studying fatal diseases with no known cure. The other is study of the limits of human life - where life ends and death begins, how long the mind can persist, and whether there is such a thing as a soul. The coming of the plague gave a huge boost to his activity. He seemed to take more pride in his grim work than ever, and for the first time in years he began treating live patients rather than just doing autopsies and funeral services. He quickly rose to prominence as the go-to man in the city for plague-related treatments and discussion.
And he began wearing that damned birdlike plague doctor mask all the time. He was entirely too excited about this.
"Afternoon, Welward."
"Afternoon, Bulgrave! Keeping well?"
"Well enough."
"No symptoms?"
"None at all. *psssh* Seems my choices in fashion are a boon."
"Good to know."
"How many today?"
"Just two. The government's done a fine job keeping everyone orderly about this. We've hardly got more than twenty cases, none outside Gunningshire, and it's been two whole weeks. A few of them even look like they'll survive."
"You sound disappointed."
"Well..."
"Welward, why? Why do you have such a sick fascination for human suffering? *psssh* You and I, our job is to relieve suffering, not revel in the causes."
"I do nothing of the sort, Bulgrave. Seeing these people... men, women, children, all types - seeing them in need moves me to find a cure. I have studied the Plague for-"
"There is no cure for the Black Plague. Immunization, yes - surgery, possibly - but not a cure."
"No KNOWN cure, my comrade. But I'll find it. I'll be the first. I will be the one who saved the people from the Plague."
"You're a few hundred years late on that one."
"This year begs to differ. It could rise again for real, Bulgrave, immune to our antibiotics. What then? Why, that's when the world turns to me."
"Seems rather selfish of you to wish a disease to return from the grave just so you can be the hero."
"You're one to talk about selfishness. How's that research in brain disorders coming along?"
"Pah, I've given up on that for now. It's not possible at this time... *psssh* Instead I'm considering applying to join a Zoofights team, and learn that way."
"Zoofights? That traveling gladiatorial animal show? A fascinating pursuit to be sure, if a tad morbid. I've looked at many animals in my studies of the crossing of life and death, and I'm not certain that-"
"Humbug, they're only animals. Animals don't have souls, or feelings. And they don't feel pain like we do. They are tools for advancing our knowledge, and devices for human entertainment."
Dr. Welward stared, deep in thought, before finally responding.
"Are they?"
For years after our conversation, I thought I knew the answer to that question. And it was "yes".
Today, I am no longer so certain.
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