"Then… what will happen to me…?"
The chef looked utterly dejected.
No, dejected isn't the right word—he looked more sorrowful.
When the first few fell ill, he still had some spirit left.
He insisted it wasn't him.
That it was because this place was too dirty…
But after confirming that 20 out of 22 were sick, and that the symptoms were exactly the same as those of the people in the household he worked for, he had been like this ever since.
"He should be executed."
I wasn't the one who said that.
It wasn't Liston either… it was the Superintendent.
"Wait."
I had to intervene.
Well… it's true that people died because of him.
And not just any people, but influential figures in London died one after another.
The last place he worked was a Count's household, and if something had gone wrong there, it would have been a real disaster.
They're preparing for war right now, and if a key figure were to…
"Why? How many people has this man killed?"
Since this is before the idea that all people are equal, a less important person killing a more important one is grounds for harsher punishment.
But…
"He didn't do it on purpose, did he?"
"Dead is still dead. And think about the future. If this man continues to roam outside… what will happen?"
What will happen?
He just shouldn't cook.
In fact, if he just defecates and washes his hands properly, such a tragedy could be avoided.
Soap isn't yet mass-produced, but its price has fallen enough that it can be bought to prevent people from dying.
"Couldn't we just forbid him from working as a chef?"
"And who will monitor that?"
"Can't we just put something on record?"
"What record? There's no proper way to know if he disguises his identity."
"Ah…"
Well, there's no database yet, right?
It's not that era.
But still…
Kill him?
Execute him?
"It's simpler to just kill him."
This time it was Liston who spoke.
Is he crazy?
A doctor saying it's simpler to kill someone…
"If this leads to a miasma epidemic, it will be a disaster. Who knows how many will die…"
Ah, well…
Of course, he has the greater good in mind.
The sacrifice of the minority for the majority, that sort of thing…
In this period, such things happen as naturally as breathing.
"What about confining him somewhere? If management is a concern."
"Confine him?"
"That costs money."
"No, please! I swear I won't cook anymore!"
At my words, the Superintendent, Liston, and even the chef who was about to die all objected.
Frankly, it was a bit absurd.
I'm arguing against execution, and you're objecting to that? What am I supposed to do?
Well… I'm not entirely keen on the idea of confining a carrier either.
But…
'Typhoid Mary…'
There's a precedent, isn't there?
No, well, since it hasn't happened in this history yet, should I call it a prophecy?
Anyway, that person… ignored warnings not to cook, even using aliases to get jobs as a chef, which led to several more deaths.
That happened in New York; if something like that happened in 19th-century London…
-It's Pyeong Shin's fault!
-Pyeong Shin conspired with a witch!
It doesn't seem likely now, but…
Given it's the land of hooligans, it doesn't seem like a 0% chance either.
I'm very anxious.
"I'm suggesting isolation in a place with a low population, not a prison. If we inform everyone of the danger, he won't be able to cook, right?"
"Haha… Do you think that would work? If they hear about miasma, they'd probably beat him to death. Rather than such a painful end, it's better to just hang him here. Or send him off with arsenic or something."
"Couldn't we send him somewhere they wouldn't beat him to death?"
"Where is there a place that wouldn't beat someone who spreads miasma to death?"
Well.
Where would that be?
Actually, the place that briefly came to mind earlier was my house in Upton.
Couldn't we have him carry liquor bottles instead of being involved in the brewing process?
My father isn't that strong to begin with, and the uncle has a hernia due to age, so I heard they're short on people to move things lately?
'No, no… If we tell him to move it and something happens…'
People might accuse me of hypocrisy…
But hasn't my 19th-century persona been inconsistent anyway?
Sending him to my house is a bit…
Thinking of sending him elsewhere, it does seem… he'd probably get beaten to death.
Our British people taking on risk themselves?
That's strange.
They'd kill him immediately.
"See, you're haha too."
No, that's not it!
There are places here with good people too.
Moreover, there are people living almost in confinement.
"What about a monastery…?"
"A monastery? Ah… hmm. A monastery?"
"Yes, a monastery. Even if we explain the whole story, they probably won't kill him there, right?"
"They probably won't kill him… definitely. Hmm… It wouldn't be easy for him to escape either."
"Exactly."
"Fortunately, I know of one place."
The gazes of the Superintendent, Liston, and I fixed on the chef.
The chef still looked tearful.
Even if he's alone and has no major ties…
He doesn't seem particularly devout, so being told he has to go to a monastery out of the blue would understandably make him want to cry.
But…
"If I stay here, I'll die, right?"
"Uh, definitely."
"What will the charge be…?"
"We'll just make something up. Murder, wouldn't it be? I have the authority to execute you."
"Ah…"
It wasn't just anyone; the Superintendent publicly declared he would kill him.
If this were 21st-century South Korea, it would instantly trend on SNS and cause an uproar, but this is 19th-century London.
If he says he'll kill him, he'll kill him.
A problem?
Would one even arise?
Didn't the Count himself say that bastard needs to be killed before he left?
"I'll go…"
And so, the chef was sent to a monastery.
There was one problem.
"You should go with him to explain. Aren't you the one who knows most about this issue? Since you're someone Jesus often possesses, going to a monastery might be good for you?"
"Well…"
"I know it's a bother. But you know, don't you? London's public safety is only getting worse. It's difficult to spare officers for outside matters."
I know for a fact those officers are gambling right now…
Besides, doesn't the Superintendent himself not particularly care about public safety?
No, he does care, but mainly about the safety of the high and mighty.
He doesn't care if people in the slums are beaten to death or starve.
But can I say that?
I can't…
"I understand."
"I'll go too. It might be dangerous for you to go alone."
"Thank you, Hyung."
The fortunate thing was that I would be going with Liston.
It's not just street robbers; even bandits appear on 19th-century rural roads outside London.
Monasteries, then and now, tend to be tucked away in remote corners, so this one was in the middle of nowhere.
That means the road there is damned dangerous.
Clip-clop.
Naturally, neither I, nor Liston, nor the chef, nor even the coachman were happy about this journey.
So, aside from the sound of hooves, it was almost silent.
The occasional conversation was only between Liston and me.
"By the way, this is my first time on such a rural road too."
"I suppose so. You especially…"
"I thought Upton was rural, but this is…"
"That place is at least a small town. Anyway…"
Liston, uncharacteristically, trailed off and glanced toward the chef.
He had kept his eyes closed the whole time since departure, but he didn't seem to be sleeping.
If he were sleeping, he wouldn't be able to stay so still in this jolting carriage.
"Do you know what kind of place this monastery is that you're sending him to?"
"Huh?"
"So you didn't know when you suggested it. There's a rumor going around the streets lately, and it's an unfair one."
"What rumor is going around?"
"That it's ruthless. You can be a bit ruthless, can't you? But this time, it might be a bit unfair."
"No…"
What are you talking about?
Why is sending him to a monastery ruthless?
Isn't it a holy place with monks?
I don't understand.
Seeing my expression, Liston chuckled.
"You'll see when we get there. They say there are a lot of strange people there."
"Strange people?"
Monks might be a bit strange.
Why else would they seclude themselves in remote places for ascetic practice?
But I've been a 19th-century man for over ten years now, haven't I?
I could tell he didn't mean it that way.
'Don't tell me.'
Was I the only one who thought, "If I send him to a monastery, they probably won't kill him even if he's quite problematic"?
Wouldn't 19th-century people think that even more?
"Monasteries have the highest number of mentally ill people. They say even sane people go mad if they go there."
"No… Are there only such people there?"
"Ah, no. Not exactly."
"R-right?"
"There are also many consumptives."
"Ah… damn."
'Consumptives' probably means tuberculosis.
There are other lung diseases, but…
With the medical technology of this era…
There are no other lung diseases you can live long with besides tuberculosis.
If it's regular pneumonia, you either recover completely or die on the spot.
And tuberculosis… has a very high probability of transmitting the disease to those living together.
'So that's why he turned pale.'
I glanced at the chef.
I kind of… wanted to give him better treatment.
He doesn't seem like a bad person, no matter how I look at him.
But…
If he stays in London, he will die.
Even if not by execution, that's what will happen.
Why?
Too many people, besides the Superintendent, have found out that he spreads typhoid.
The police will probably kill him.
Even thinking they're doing a good deed.
"But if he lives quietly there, the abbot agreed to write a recommendation letter allowing him to return to daily life…"
"Well, that's true. If he doesn't die?"
"Don't say it like that. He's not asleep."
"I know. But he needs to know what he's getting into."
Liston is too keen on the right to know.
I glanced at the chef, who seemed on the verge of tears, and then turned my head forward.
The coachman said we were almost there.
Honestly, London roads are cobblestone and jolty enough, but this is a dirt road, so my butt was starting to hurt beyond belief, feeling like it might get bruised.
Setting aside my worries about the chef for a moment, I was glad to be able to get off the carriage.
"Whew. Survived."
"For someone who was feeling sorry for the chef, your expression is overly bright."
Liston immediately pointed that out, but I decided to ignore it.
"Well, since we're here, let's see what this place is like."
"Let's. I've only heard about it too; it's my first time."
It must feel like a sanatorium run by a religious foundation, right?
With that thought, I stepped inside.
A friendly-looking monk greeted us.
For some reason, he was holding something like a club, and I thought I knew why.
'He must be someone who beats his own body to understand Jesus' suffering.'
Momentarily moved, I put my hands together in a prayer gesture toward him.