The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 1024 Ch.1023 Ice and Map

During Delos and Roland's stay at the church, London, this pus-filled city draped in a magnificent robe, finally awoke—

Mayor Marcus Barton and Vice President of the Royal College of Physicians of Bertram, Falcon Potts, were in charge of the cleanup operation. The Inspectorate, the local police department, and the Church of Justice responded quickly, drawing white 'cutting lines' with lime in the areas affected by the plague.

They bravely ventured into the plague-stricken areas, evacuating citizens with mild symptoms or even those who were fortunate enough not to have contracted the disease from the infected zone.

Meanwhile, the Royal College of Medicine of Beatrice confirmed that the infection spread from three locations to surrounding areas, with well water as the source of the infection.

Falcon Potts's prized student claimed in the newspaper that, under the guidance of his excellent, skilled, and benevolent mentor, they had grasped the clues of the disease and would probably find a way to truly eradicate it within a few days.

He urged the public not to be intimidated by the disaster, and to persevere for a few more days, as medicine for treating the disease would eventually reach every household on the summer evening breeze of London.

of course.

That's what the newspaper wrote.

This newspaper was also mostly sold in the West End.

The ladies and gentlemen were quite pleased: the development of events had not been unexpected for the Empire—after all, they were capable of resolving disasters, or the armies of any nation, weren't they?
of course.

After it was revealed that the source of the infection was well water, the price of all drinkable liquids in the city, except for water, skyrocketed: apart from their own urine being free, citizens were even reluctant to spit on the ground.

Inferior beer, three times the price.

Whiskey, five times.

Good quality red wine and champagne, ten times more.

These are the prices for the next two days.

Day three.

Double.

Falcon Potts ordered police officers in each district to maintain order in their respective jurisdictions, while instead giving more power to the Church of Justice and the Ombudsman, sending them on "risky" missions—to oversee government-appointed craftsmen who were building houses specifically for the sick in the outskirts of London.

How can the hospital accommodate them?
The government must allocate funds so that they can send the patients in batches to places where they will not cause further pollution.

of course.

The cost of building a mud-brick house was twenty shillings, or twenty pounds, thirty pounds, eighty pounds, one hundred pounds…

That depends on the empire's conscience.

Can you bear to watch the citizens suffer for nearly a month, finally seeing hope, only to be abandoned in the wasteland like a piece of used sheep intestine?

The children have not yet experienced the joys of life.

The poor girls didn't get to experience a fashionable life.

The workers have worked for half their lives, yet they have never even crossed the boundary line of the western district.

They're sick now, does the empire just want them to fend for themselves?
Of course not.

Falcon Potts's students appealed in the newspapers, and soon received a response from many ladies and gentlemen in the West End:
The ladies paid more attention to details. Their letters, like snowflakes, expressed their hope that the government's funding could be used more for living expenses—to provide some material comforts to the poor who are sick, doomed, and suffering, including an expensive house, more delicious food, some decent drinks, and kind words of comfort (and double or even triple the salary of doctors who dare to face death).

One lady even suggested that she could fund a band and, once the 'hospital' was built in the suburbs, let these gentlemen who immerse themselves in the sea of ​​art go there to soothe their tormented souls.

The gentlemen, on the other hand, were more concerned with practical matters.

They wanted the mayor, Phalcon Potts, and other deputy officials to use government funds for 'trivial' things, like what to feed and drink these people normally, or to provide them with a better standard of living when they were sick—instead, they wanted to use the money to build houses and hire craftsmen at high wages.

They hope to use gold to shorten the hospital construction process and to provide care for as many sick and poor people as possible in a 'low-cost and wide-reaching' way.

Due to the wording of certain gentlemen.

On the third day, a war of words broke out in the newspapers.

Phalcon Potts’ disciples said their mentor would make good use of the funds, saying the first batch of temporary ‘shelters’ would soon be completed and that doctors and caregivers from Betless would be heading to the suburbs.

"Obviously, your name isn't on the list, 'Great Detective' Kingsley."

The Royal College of Medicine, Bertelsburg. Ward area.

office.

Florence glared angrily at the man who was engrossed in categorizing the patients' conditions, and when she saw him elegantly flicking a pen at the end of a certain word, she could no longer contain her anger and yanked the notebook away with her fingers.

The pen drew a long blue line on the table.

Kingsley raised his wrist and silently found the cap and screwed it on.

“Obviously, your name isn’t on the list either, 'Dean' Florence,” Kingsley said calmly, looking at him quietly. “What’s the difference between us?”

“The difference is, I belong to Bertram, I’m Mr. Williams Jenner’s student! I’m a caregiver! I have to go!”

She couldn't help but be angry.

She was supposed to go to the suburbs with her mentor this afternoon, but somehow Kingsley persuaded Williams Jenner. He only stayed in the mentor's office for five minutes before the old dean said that their group could have one more man.

That's the ward area.

Kingsley knows nothing. What's a detective doing in the ward?
"I think it's no different from what I've been doing these past few days... What do you think?"

Kingsley shrugged, listening to the wails echoing down the corridor.

Of course... there are differences.

Once you get to the ward, you'll have to take care of the patients yourself.

How could Florence allow Kingsley to come into contact with sick people? How long would she regret it if he contracted the disease?

“I don’t think we need to talk about this much… Oh, Mr. Snow agrees.”

The name was even more damaging to Florence than her mentor.

Edward Snow.

A renowned physician who returned in haste, found the source of the plague within half a week, and even personally drew a map of its spread.

He was also a former student of Williams Jenner.

Her…

“I agreed to Kingsley’s going, precisely because of his wisdom, Florence. Without Kingsley, I fear I would have been delayed even longer regarding the source of the plague… Are you arguing?”

The doctor, who arrived wearing glasses, carried a leather bag.

He looked at Kingsley, then at his junior sister who was looking away, with a puzzled expression.

They were both determined to go to the suburbs, so why did they argue about it?

"If you're willing to agree to a temporary truce, I have a new discovery to share with you..."

Edward Snow adjusted his glasses and opened his leather pocket.

Inside was a hand-drawn map of London.

The grades are marked with brown, red, and yellow respectively: red represents the earliest, followed by brown, and then light yellow.

“Water is a problem. But, Florence, look at what Kingsley and I have found—”

Florence knew that he had commissioned a 'remarkable' detective (or perhaps Beatrice's only detective at the moment) to travel all over town, going door to door to inquire about the duration of the illness of the sick.

just now.

There are results.

"here."

Edward Snow pointed to a patch of area that was as red as blood.

(End of this chapter)