Tomb time

Matins. They woke up and it wasn’t there. The body wasn’t there anymore! Fray Gère looked up to the eyes of Fray Dejan who made one of those faces.

Fray Gère put his hand inside the coffin. Sometimes, when you think you have lost your quill sharpener, it appears exactly in the same pocket you might swear it was before you lost it. Mysteries of the devil, holy mother of god.

No, the coffin was still as empty as it seemed to him before. Fray Dejan didn’t say a word but made a gesture inviting Fray Gère to follow him.

They went out of the catacombs through a spiral staircase and exited at the roses garden. Roses were good for the black Death and masking smells… Fray Dejan showed him by pointing with a very bony finger, the tracks of a pair of horses. They loam was still wet with last night’s rain. Both fryers made the signal of the cross, fearing the body to be used for witchcraft.

Some kilometres away, I can’t really tell how many since it was really dark and it was difficult to see if the horse was well fed or not; two men in black fashionable velvet, went as fast as they could. Behind one of them, there was this big blanket wrapped bundle. It was expected to arrive on time to be buried in Flores

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