Althea had some regrets about not going to bid farewell to Jorgen and Dalia.
But she did bid farewell to two other people.
As the carriage left Nightshade Town, Althea stood on a small hill, gazing at the doorway of the small rundown house. Surrounding her, in a complete circle, were many townspeople. They stood in layers.
As Abercrombie stepped out of the small house, a small stone struck him on the head.
"Demon."
"Get out."
"Fallen alchemist."
They said. Initially, it was the words of two or three people, but it gradually became the voices of many, making it hard to distinguish which were actual words and which were just echoes.
"Take your consumptive wife with you."
"What nonsense, his wife died a long time ago."
"She didn't die."
"She did die, a long time ago."
"Maybe she got a heart transplant like that dog?"
They argued.
Abercrombie touched the spot on his head where the stone had hit, then brushed the dust off his robe.
"Abby, don't forget to carry away the corpse of your wife."
"Abby, is your wife's fate the same as that dog's?"
Althea glanced around and took a slight step back. She didn't particularly want the old alchemist to see her.
Abercrombie turned around and reached into the house with one hand, as if he were about to retrieve something. Or perhaps he was going to lead someone out. Everyone was staring at him, waiting for anything that might appear in the dark corridor of the rundown house.
Some people tightened their crude weapons, axes, scythes, and hoes they had prepared in advance.
An elderly woman stepped out. She was about the same age as Abby, equally frail, perhaps a year or two younger. Her clothes were cleaner than Abby's robe, and she had casually tied up her long, all-white hair.
"So she didn't die..." someone said. It was the last sentence spoken by the onlookers.
"Eliza," Abercrombie said, "we have a long way to go. You can't walk, so I'll carry you."
"How can you possibly carry me?"
"Who says I can't?"
The old man crouched down, hands behind him. He didn't look at any of the onlookers, not because he was afraid to, but because there was simply no one there.
Eliza stepped onto Abby's back. He hooked his hands around her small legs, and as he tried to stand up, his body tilted slightly.
"Well, I said you can't carry me anymore."
"I can carry you; it's just..."
"Alright, I'll walk."
Abby lifted Eliza's wrist and began to walk down the hill. In his right hand, he held a small bundle.
"By the way, where are we going?" Eliza asked.
"We're moving," Abby replied.
"Moving again?"
"Sounds like you're complaining. This is the first time we've moved in forty years."
"So... where are we moving to?"
"Let's walk first. I used to have a little experimental hut on Ravenhill..."
"I don't like it there."
"Come on, come on."
They walked down the hill, leaving the rundown house and over a hundred onlookers behind.
Someone spoke up:
"Ravenhill?"
"How could they possibly get there?"
Althea clenched her fist. She glanced at the spot where Pick lay in front of the rundown house—where the earth was slightly darker than its surroundings—but in the end, she said nothing.