Chapter 3: Mutation

“Bo Heng? What are you doing here—”

Sister Gerding’s words had barely left her lips before she saw the answer for herself—spread out beside Bo Heng and Hester were countless sheets of old newspapers.

“Miss Gerding…” Bo Heng’s face drained of color in an instant, but he quickly composed himself. He shifted his body to shield his scrapbook and, without drawing attention, nudged it toward Hester behind him.

Hester caught on immediately. With practiced calm, she took the book, wrapped it haphazardly in an asbestos cloth, and shoved it to the bottom of the iron cage.

“I always thought you were a well-behaved child…” Sister Gerding’s face darkened to a sickly blue, her chest heaving with the violence of her breaths. “How dare you—you dare—”

“Please, don’t be angry, Miss Gerding.” Bo Heng sprang to his feet, putting himself between her and the others to capture her attention.

The nun snatched up a sheet of old newspaper, flinging it at Bo Heng with a terrifying rustle. Her voice thundered, “Do you remember why I forbid you from reading these things?”

Bo Heng replied, “Because… we do not yet have the wisdom to discern right from wrong; exposing ourselves to the noisy confusion of the outside world at this age clouds our thoughts, making us more vulnerable to straying and to the encroachment of the Shell Sickness.”

Hester stood as well. “Miss Gerding, it was my fault. I was hungry and asked Bo Heng to bring me something to eat. And I’ve always been curious about the stories outside, so—this time—”

“Enough! I won’t believe a word from either of you.”

Hot blood pounded in Gerding’s head, the edges of her vision tinged with blue. She could barely stay upright, only keeping herself from collapsing by bracing against the wall. Bo Heng hurried to steady her by the arm.

After a while, Gerding’s breathing eased somewhat. Her gaze fell once more on the old newspapers littering the floor, and only then did she notice the square-shaped holes on many sheets—clear marks of clippings.

Gerding’s brow furrowed tightly. “What are you doing? Collecting clippings?”

“I—”

“And where are those clippings? What did you do with them?”

“…I’m sorry.” Bo Heng bowed his head without directly answering—he could not bring himself to confess.

Sister Gerding’s anger flared again, but this time, she did not shout at Bo Heng. Instead, her voice trembled as she murmured a prayer of repentance toward the window.

When her prayer was finished, she first removed the key from around Bo Heng’s neck, then, grasping the boy’s collar, shoved him without mercy into the iron cage that had previously held Hester, snapping the heavy lock shut behind him.

“I’ll deal with you later…” With these words, Sister Gerding turned a cold gaze on Hester. “Hester, come here.”

Hester instinctively backed away a step. “…I should be punished with Bo Heng, Miss Gerding.”

“Do you think you can escape punishment? That will come later!” Gerding snapped. “The headmistress heard about what happened today—who knows from whom—and she said she wants to speak with you herself. You’re coming with me to Headmistress Elma’s quarters, right now!”

Hester was taken aback. “…Now? At this hour?”

“Yes, now.”

Hester glanced at Bo Heng—this, at least, was good news. The headmistress, unlike Sister Gerding, was not unreasonable. Perhaps she could even plead on Bo Heng’s behalf…

“Don’t dawdle!”

Without further hesitation, Hester followed Sister Gerding down the hall toward Headmistress Elma’s sitting room.

Headmistress Elma was the eldest in Saint Anne’s Convent. She and Miss Gerding were like the gentle mother and the strict mother here. Whenever the children were sentenced to punishment by Gerding for their various mischiefs, Headmistress Elma would always find a way to ease their suffering.

But about a month ago, the old headmistress had fallen in the cellar and broken both her arms. Since then, Miss Gerding had assumed all her duties.

Without Headmistress Elma’s protection, everyone had been living in fear.

As they neared the sitting room, Miss Gerding slowed her pace and looked back at Hester. “The headmistress is still convalescing. You must not mention anything about Bo Heng tonight—if you have a shred of conscience, don’t trouble her with your worries.”

“…Yes, Miss Gerding.” Hester replied softly, sensing the suppressed sob in Gerding’s voice, the redness in her eyes—at this moment, the nun’s heart must have been aching for the headmistress.

Neither spoke again until they reached the door to the sitting room.

“Headmistress Elma needs her rest,” Sister Gerding reminded her once more. “I’ll be waiting here. Don’t stay too long—when you’re done, come straight out.”

“All right.” Hester finally allowed herself a breath of relief. As long as Gerding did not enter with her, she could speak openly with the headmistress.

Hester bowed to Sister Gerding, turned, and pushed open the door.

The sitting room doubled as the headmistress’s office; she both lived and worked there, and Hester was very familiar with the place.

But tonight, the moment she entered, she was struck by a reek of blood and rot. She hurried to the wall and flung open a window for air—it was usually left ajar, but tonight it was tightly shut.

The room was unlit but for a single, dim white candle, burning as if in some medieval vigil. The soft glow traced the outlines of every object within. Hester saw a stack of papers on the desk by the window, pinned beneath a fountain pen that had long since dried up. Both nib and barrel were coated in dust, as if unused for ages.

She picked up the pen, gently wiped it clean with her sleeve, capped it, and returned it to its holder.

A familiar voice issued from the bed. “Jane? Is that you?”

Hester turned at once. “It’s me, Headmistress.”

The candle at the bedside cast its glow upon the bed’s gauzy canopy, behind which the faint shadow of Elma appeared.

“Come here.”

Hester hurried over, gazing at the headmistress’s veiled figure. The frail voice brought a sting to her nose.

“You’ve gotten into trouble again.” The old woman’s words held a hint of laughter. “I heard from Flossan about what happened today, so I asked Miss Gerding to bring you here… Did you want to eat that squirrel?”

Hester’s face flushed crimson. Staring at her toes, she found herself unable to utter a word, though so much pressed on her heart.

A soft laugh emerged from behind the canopy. “It’s all right, Jane.”

“I know it was wrong.” Hester’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “I won’t do it again.”

“No, no, no… Jane, you were right.” The headmistress’s voice trembled with age. “Squirrel… is delicious.”

For a moment, Hester thought she’d misheard, until a hand swathed in bandages reached out from the canopy and opened before her—a rotting blood-rat lay in the old woman’s palm.

Peering through the lifted edge of the veil, Hester finally realized where the room’s stench was coming from—the headmistress’s bed was heaped with the carcasses of dead squirrels, and she sat amid that reeking, putrid mound, her clothes smeared with blood.

Under the canopy, a pallid, gaunt face slowly drew near, her bones sharp, her eyes bulging with unnatural intensity.

And yet, that inhuman face once more wore a gentle, kindly smile.

“If you want to eat, then eat—right now… I’ll watch you.”