When the Dead Counter came I was certain that if they discovered the illness in my wife then I would be taken as well. I commanded her to feign death, and I did the same in the hope that the inspectors would either be too lazy or too stupid to care. True to my suspicion, we were loaded onto the plague wagon without them even bothering to check for pulse. The Dead Counter seemed only concerned in the value of our estate.
I cannot be certain if it was luck or cruel fate that I should survive the drop from the plague wagon. I suspect it might be a curse, for my darling wife not only survived unscathed as well, but the experience nor the plague have done a thing to halt her nagging mouth. Soon we discovered that we were not the only survivors, and in fact a small band huddles close to Rudshore Gate, begging for any chance at freedom.
Certainly by now I should be feeling the effects of the sickness within my chest and throat, but aside from dehydration and the pains of an empty stomach, I feel nothing.