‘Ring around the Rosie,’ the children sang aloud from the town square. Their crisp voices stung through the air, chilled and bitter as the autumn began to kneel to the succession of winter. ‘A pocket full of posies,’ they danced around and around again, hand in hand, so carefree, all living for each and every passing moment. ‘Ashes, Ashes. We all fall down!’ All at once the gather of friends dropped to the ground, rolling and giggling to each other as they stumbled to their feet, stammering about in the dizziness of the morn before rejoining hands once more.

                ‘Ring around the Rosie,’ Sadie watched from the sill of her window as her friends skipped freely below, running through the early morning crowds. She sighed; it had been but a week prior that she had been with them last, laughing, playing as the others did now, and yet it seemed to her that all her life had been filled with pain and misery, now infinitely palpable in her every being.

                “We’ll get better, Jade,” she coughed to the small rag doll she had been allowed to keep, “you’ll see.”

                Sadie gripped the bars on her window; cool to the touch with a forbidding aura about them. Despite what her mother had been told they held no order in containing the quarantined air, nor the disease which rode on it with swift, deadly wings.

“Please mum,” Johnathon begged, hands held together desperately, “all my friends got money from their parents. Been said he’s a real magician. Can’t I have a coin, just one?”

                “You’re quite old enough to stop filling your mind with such nonsense John,” she insisted. “You’re getting older now, and if you spent had half the attention you divert on magic to work, you’d have a real job by now. Besides, I want no part of any witchcraft, not especially at a time like this, what with your father gone, and your sister,” she stopped with a weighted hesitation.

 “It’s not witchcraft mum, and what if he can help Sadie?” He persisted, “Maybe he could make her a spell that’s to cure the blackness she’s got...”

                “Johnathon, that’s quite enough from you. I don’t want to hear anymore of this,”

                His face scrunched in disappointment. “I’m sorry,” the boy hung his head low, pouting in defeat.

The woman, raised an eyebrow, slightly displeased with her son’s childishness, but nonetheless she submitted, “Oh alright, just this once.”

                “Thank you mum!” Johnathon contentedly held out his hand as his mother reached into her purse for a coin. He took it with great haste as he ran out of the house towards the market place where the Magnificent Mariano had already begun his show.

                Johnathon entered the tent, paying the fare at the entrance, and took his seat eagerly in the back of the crowd.

                “And now ladies and gentlemen,” Mariano announced, revealing an empty box as the boy entered, “You can see it has quite disappeared!”

The audience, mostly children, soon came to realize that the show was like none other in their small town. Jesters rode alongside the magician, as lights and fire erupted when least expected from within the tent. Such joy struck the tired eyes of the children, as was the initial intent of the act in such a gloomy age. ‘The Magnificent Mariano’ indeed, and not only by name; the awe struck crowd all agreed to one another as they left the grounds in no hurry. And still, even as the afternoon concluded, and all others had left the square, Johnathon remained.

“Excuse me sir,” he said, nearly in a whisper. The magician spun around in a startle.

“Hullo there my lad,” he said with a grin, “In what way may I service you? I do hope you enjoyed the show; it’s my in this town.”

“It was amazing!” Johnathon said, suddenly more excited, his mind weaving in the past sights of the day.

“So glad you thought so,” the man turned back to his boxes and hats, juggling balls and toys, packing them all into a rather large bag.

“Excuse me sir, but I have this question,”

Mariano looked from over his shoulder. The boy was short still, turning of age shortly, perhaps eleven at the time being. He was as unrefined looking as any youth, but overlooking this Mariano was soon struck deeply by the anxiety in his glossy brown eyes. “And what would that be?”

“I... I have this sister you see,” he said in a slight stutter. “She’s not well. Rashes cross her skin and mum’s locked her away upstairs, said it’s just like what happened to dad. I was just wondering, since you’re magic, that maybe you could help her.”

The man bit his lip, melting inwardly from the poor boy’s plea. He could not help her, that much he knew, nor could the finest physicians in the state, nor all the churches in all the land. What was plainer still was the fact that he could not be the one to say such things to the young boy. Instead he sighed, “I don’t know son,”

“If you need payment, I’ll give you anything you desire,” he implored, then frowned, “well, maybe only what I have.” He emptied his pockets, holding out three coins, more than likely his entire savings. “It’s not a lot, but it really is all I have.”

Mariano reached out to the boy, closing his tiny hands upon his money. “I cannot take this from you, I’m so sorry,”

Johnathon’s head began to spin, his eyes filled with tears. Before long the sight proved too overwhelming for the man before him. He kneeled, grabbing the child in his arms, and held him in a sorrowful embrace. “I cannot be sure how to help your sister, for indeed, this plague has robbed many homes of their beloved, but I can offer you these,” he rose to his feet again and began searching his bag. In a moment he turned round once more, now holding a small, brown box, containing seven filled chocolates.

“They were a gift to me, from a good friend of mine who entertains the duke,” he said, handing them to the child. “Give your sister one each day, and bless her soul, I hope she gets well.”

The boy took the box, his hands shaking slightly. Through the blur of tears, a smile erupted from across his face. He lunged at the man, holding him tightly around the waist.

“Thank you sir,” he cried, “I’ll not forget this deed, not ever.”

He ran out without another word, not even giving his saviour a chance to respond.

A knock sounded lightly on the door of Sadie’s room. She woke slowly to the sound of footsteps by her bedside. So long it had seemed since the sound of company had filled her ears, however, through the comfort of companionship, came a stress of panic.

“John! You can’t be here! I’ll get you sick too,” she cried, her voice weak and dry, cracking from the strain. “Then mum will be cross.”

“What mum doesn’t know won’t do harm,” he said, sitting quietly at the end of her bed. In his hands was the box of chocolates. “Besides, you won’t get me sick, ‘cause I found you a cure. It’s from a magician, the best sorts too. Said it came all the way from the duke himself!”

“Really!” Sadie gasped.   Suddenly she fell into a fit of coughing, trying desperately to sit up to ease the choke. Her older brother held her shoulders, pulling her upright. Gently, he fed her the first of the seven chocolates, handing her a glass of water to wash it down. And every day he returned in secret, and every day she grew stronger. Johnathon however began to grow weaker as the gift he had received slowly emptied to half.

Sadie smiled a more joyful, healthier smile each day he came to call. On the fifth day, he, however, entered coughing and shivering with a great chill.

 “I feel better today John,” Sadie said in greeting. And indeed her voice sustained the strong confidence it once carried so cheerily. However when John went to feed her the fifth chocolate, she recoiled in shock. “Your hands are freezing!” 

In spite of the icy bite of his body’s touch, his mind was clouded by fever, quickly gaining toll. Nonetheless, the infant ate the chocolate treat, as well as the cool glass of water from the kitchen below.

The sixth and seventh days passed, and although bubonic rashes now covered his limbs, Johnathon hid them under thin clothes, determined to see his sister’s treatment through. The boy brought the next two chocolates in succession, stumbling dizzily into the room, feeding excuses of rough sleep for his illness. 

 The end of the week arrived quickly, and Sadie had recovered to a fine extent by the hand of a miracle, or perhaps by magic itself. Yet unnoticed in the rush of winter; Johnathon had all but deteriorated under the influence of exposure to his sister’s plague and filth which was intended to be locked away, and for purpose.

 Then the seven days had ended, and Sadie sat happily on her bed with her doll, waiting patiently for her brother`s promised visit. The previous night, the bars had been removed from the sill and her windows were opened, allowing fresh air to circulate freely, releasing the room from its squalid atmosphere. Yet still, Johnathon did not come. Sadie remained in her room, even as the sun peaked over the house tops in the village, even as hunger gnawed at her stomach impatiently.

“Ring around the Rosie,” Sadie began softly, rocking to herself in her bed. She tapped her fingers on her knee, thinking over a decision waveringly. 

“A pocket full of posies,” she rose and left on her own accord, strong enough to walk now on her feet. She staggered to her brother`s room, knocked twice, “Ashes, ashes,” she whispered, then entered silently, peeking her head in curiously. Johnathon lay in his bed, idle and red with swelling, yielded at last to the desire to sleep forever. In his hands still remained a little brown box, filled with the scent of the seven rich chocolates.