More than fifty ragged refugees trudged along the road, their steps weak. To the left lay fields cracked by drought; to the right, a river with broad stretches of exposed riverbed. The blazing sun overhead refused to hide behind the clouds.
Behind the refugees, a group of local farmers followed at a distance, carrying simple weapons and fearing the refugees might turn back.
It was nearly noon when the refugees finally crossed to the other side of the territory marker, and the farmers breathed a sigh of relief.
But their work wasn't over. They still had to go back and keep watch as another group of refugees passed through.
Just then, an elderly priest came walking up from ahead.
"Baron Weissen has set up a rest area up ahead. Keep going, everyone! You'll be able to eat lunch soon!"
A priest, first and foremost, needed a loud voice and strong lungs. Otherwise, those sitting farther away wouldn't hear him during a sermon.
Hearing the priest's news, the refugees found a little strength in their leaden legs and picked up their pace.
At the front of the group walked a tall, middle-aged man. He was as gaunt as the others, and his hair and beard were a tangled mess, full of grass and dirt. His face—especially his nose—was caked with mud.
He carried an old woman on his back, and she carried a small bundle.
The priest who had brought the news surveyed the refugees, then quietly said to the priest accompanying them, "After lunch, let the 'old, weak, sick, disabled, and pregnant,' along with their families, take a cart to the camp first."
The accompanying priest was now the refugees' main source of support. He knew some of them, so he went over to the middle-aged man carrying the old woman. "Hozzenplozz, after you've eaten, take Old Mrs. Kaspar to the camp."
Hozzenplozz only nodded, numb.
One day in early spring that year, he had been on his way to ransack Old Mrs. Kaspar's home. Just as he was about to break down the door, a thunderous crash came from the direction of the riverbank. Before long, the water in the village had risen above their ankles.
Hozzenplozz had long forgotten what he'd been thinking then. When he came to his senses, he was carrying Old Mrs. Kaspar on his back and clutching the stone mill he'd meant to steal—a mill that played music when turned—as he struggled through floodwater that was nearly up to his knees.
They reached a hill outside the village. Looking back, they saw that the flood had risen as high as a dining table. Many houses had collapsed, and people and livestock could be seen struggling in the water.
It was as if a year's worth of rain had fallen all at once upon the land. When the floodwaters receded, they left the ground bare. Then came a spell of relentless heat, with no rain, from early spring to early summer. The mud carried by the flood had filled every well in the village.
When someone began showing signs of plague, the landowner hurried back to his castle, raised the drawbridge, and shut the gates. Those who had planned to rebuild their homes fled for their lives.
After they passed a small grove, they saw a fenced-off area ahead, with a cluster of shelters inside. The smell drifting through the air was like a stimulant, and many refugees summoned all their strength and rushed toward it.
"Don't rush! Don't run! There's plenty of food!"
The priests shouted as they tried to calm them.
But the refugees wouldn't listen. People driven to the edge by hunger could do anything.
The knights sent by the local lord were less gentle than the priests. They stuck out their long staffs, tripping several people, then whacked a few on the head. The refugees obediently crouched on the ground.
Hozzenplozz walked slowly with Old Mrs. Kaspar on his back. Like several others with families in tow, he didn't run with the rest.
The accompanying priest went over to speak with the knights, then sent Hozzenplozz and the other refugees with children to get food first.
A young monk came over and led Hozzenplozz to a table and chairs. He had him set Old Mrs. Kaspar down, then sent him to wash his hands before collecting their food.
Frederick had set up several rest areas ahead for the refugees, where they could be given food and told about the policies, while the sick were identified to keep the plague out of the camp.
Today Frederick had disguised himself as a young monk and come to check on things. Some of what he saw was exactly as he'd expected, but there was nothing he could do about it.
By his standards, each person should get a bowl of soup—about 500 milliliters—and a half-pound whole-grain bun per meal.
The local lord's people diluted one pot of Concentrated Soup Base with four pots of water, then tossed in the whole-grain buns and cooked everything into a mush. The "exquisite and expensive" Slime Gel bowls and spoons had all been replaced with ordinary wooden ones collected from the local population.
Even the gel bags that had held the Concentrated Soup Base and whole-grain buns had vanished. The soup base was all stored in clay pots, and the buns were piled into wicker baskets.
What could Frederick do? All he could do was make sure the priests boiled the soup for five minutes before serving it, remove at least the moldy parts of any moldy buns, and scald the wooden bowls and spoons with boiling water.
Hozzenplozz washed his hands, then joined the line and collected two wooden bowls and spoons. He filled both bowls with mush and brought them back.
Today's soup was plain bean soup. It was a little watery, but still carried a faint hint of spice. The whole-grain buns had boiled down and, once stirred, formed a fairly thick mush.
To him, the aroma was on a par with roast pork.
He carried the mush over to the table and saw the young monk talking to Old Mrs. Kaspar. She didn't respond at all. She was like a stone.
"It's no use." Hozzenplozz set down the bowls and pointed to his head. "She saw her grandson swept away by the water..."
Then he leaned close to Old Mrs. Kaspar's ear and murmured, "Kaspar sent this for you."
Only then did Old Mrs. Kaspar change from a withered statue back into a person. She picked up a spoon and slowly began to eat.
Hozzenplozz shook his head and said to Frederick, "This is all we can do for now."
After that, he gulped down the mush in his bowl and licked it clean.
Frederick asked, "Is she your mother?"
Hozzenplozz gave the excuse he'd prepared long ago. "She's my aunt."
By then, everyone had received a bowl of mush, and there was still a little left in the pot. The people here poured in two buckets of well water and prepared to boil it.
Some people couldn't wait and tried to go over and drink it straight from the pot. But one of the men keeping order stood beside the pot with a staff, and no one dared take another step.
Frederick couldn't risk letting them drink untreated water. If cholera broke out in the camp, they'd be done for.
The priests stepped in then. They still had some credibility among the refugees, and persuaded everyone to wait.
A knight walked over to the pot and tossed in a Small Fireball about the size of a ping-pong ball. He stirred the contents a few times with a ladle, and moments later, the water in the pot was boiling.
The soup of whole-grain buns had a scorched taste, but the refugees didn't care. They were grateful just to have something to eat and drink.
For people who had been hungry for a long time, the meal wasn't enough to fill them up. Still, it was a proper hot meal, and it gave many of the refugees a little strength.
After they ate, they were herded into another shelter, where only burlap covered the roof. Dry grass had been spread on the ground for them to rest and sleep.
The priest pointed to the enclosed areas on either side and told them those were the toilets. Anyone who needed to relieve themselves had to go there; anyone caught relieving themselves wherever they pleased would be strung up and beaten.
Everyone sat numbly on the dry grass. It was impossible to tell whether they'd taken in any of it.
Hozzenplozz climbed into the cart with Old Mrs. Kaspar on his back. He left this temporary camp with the young monk and several refugees who had children with them.
The passengers stared blankly ahead. When the priests told them to board, they did. No one asked where they were going.
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