Cascet of souls n-6

by Lynn Flewelling

  “Care to come see for yourself?” asked Seregil, knowing full well what the answer would be.

  The Harbor Way was less oven-like at this early hour, and once they reached the Lower City, a freshening sea breeze cooled their faces. The Grampus Street temple stood at the far end of the ward, near the north mole.

  The Maker’s temples were always humble in comparison with those of the other Immortals of the Four, but this one, though larger than the shrines in the area, lacked even a single tree by way of a grove, just a weathered stump near the front door with a potted bay tree sitting on it. It was a low, flat-roofed stone building, and only its cleanly swept front yard and the sheaf pattern painted over the doorway set it apart from the neighboring houses. Even so, there were doves about, and the youngest acolytes in their short brown robes were spreading the morning offerings to the birds when they arrived.

  Valerius had changed into a simpler brown robe, though nothing so plain as his old drysian garb from his wandering days. The lemniscate he wore around his neck was made of gold now, but his staff was the same simple, worn one he’d always carried.

  His arrival caused quite a stir. Tongue-tied acolytes bowed and led their unexpected guests through the offering hall and into a larger room beyond.

  Twenty-seven people-most of them children-lay on pallets around the room, each dressed in a long nightshirt made of cheap linen.

  “So many!” Alec exclaimed softly, dismayed at the sight.

  A drysian was at work over one of them, but it was a middle-aged, balding priest in green vestments who hurried in to greet them. “Brother Valerius! What brings you here?” He gave the rest of them a puzzled look, too.

  Valerius wasted no time on pleasantries. Fixing the man with a dark look, he said, “I’m told there’s some new ailment going through the Lower City, but it came to me from these men, rather than one of you. Why is that?”

  The priest seemed to shrink a little under that hard gaze. “We’ve been dealing with it, Brother, and saw no reason to trouble you-”

  “Or attract the vicegerent’s notice? There have already been a few found up above. Fetch me water and clean rags.”

  The priest gestured to the acolytes, who scurried away.

  Valerius began his examination of the stricken, touching them with remarkable gentleness and skill. Meanwhile, Seregil knelt down by one of the few adults, an emaciated old woman with chapped, large-knuckled hands that spoke of a hard life. Her rheumy eyes were fixed; her chest barely stirred.

  Across the room, Alec was looking at a tall, sharp-featured young man not much younger than himself. “This is Long Nais, the keek.”

  “The what?” asked the priest.

  “A kind of footpad, one really good at locks,” Alec told him.

  Seregil joined him and looked down at the prone figure. “Yes, that’s him, all right. Odd finding him here among the likes of these others.”

  “Tell me what you know,” Valerius ordered the cowering priest as he moved slowly among the sleepers.

  “We’ve never seen the like, and nothing we do brings them

  around, Brother,” the man told him. “There’s no rhyme or reason to it that I can make out: young, old, men, women, children. The only thing they have in common is that they are all poor.”

  “There are more children than adults,” Alec noted.

  Valerius nodded and turned back to the priest. “How many have you seen so far?”

  “There are reports of seventy-two dead since the beginning of the summer, and what you see here. And those are only the ones we know about.”

  “It only strikes the wretched?”

  “So far, Brother.”

  A young drysian woman came forward hesitantly. “If I may, Brother Senus, there is what I was telling you yesterday.”

  “Go on, Sister, though I still say it’s only coincidence,” the older priest said grudgingly, clearly displeased at being interrupted by his subordinate.

  “A week or so,” she told Valerius. “That’s the longest any of them have lingered, though the littlest ones and the aged usually go more quickly. The first who were brought in had been lying in the street. We didn’t know when they’d been stricken, but then an older boy and a girl were brought in by their families the day they fell ill. The girl lasted five days, the boy nine. Now we’re watching Silis.” She pointed to a child of no more than five. “His mother brought him to us two days ago. They go quietly, at least.”

  “The rest of these were found in the street,” the priest explained. “Only the Maker knows how much time they have.”

  “Or how many don’t get brought to us,” the woman added sadly.

  Valerius examined the little child and the old woman closely, then grasped his staff, muttered some spell, and laid his hand on the old woman’s chest. She didn’t stir. “Have you tried sparis root and rabbit vetch?” he asked the priest in charge.

  “Yes, Brother, and lania bark with spleen water, bitter saw grass, and Zengati salts. As you can see, nothing has any effect.”

  “What do you think?” Alec asked when Valerius stood up again.

  “I’ve seen other maladies that leave the stricken ones catatonic like this.” Valerius scratched under his unruly beard. “It’s closest to some form of Kalian falling sickness but there’s no sign of jaundice. And even if it was, one of those remedies should have helped them.”

  “Thero wondered about epilepsy,” Alec told him.

  “But you can’t catch epilepsy, can you?” asked Seregil.

  “Not that we know of, but we also don’t know what causes it,” Valerius told him. “And the salts should have brought them around.”

  “It could be some form of plague that causes epilepsy,” Alec suggested. “But Seregil and I haven’t caught it yet, and we’ve been close to it. Same for the drysians who tend to them.”

  “Often, there’s no rhyme or reason to who catches plague,” Valerius told him. “Sometimes it takes the old and sick. Sometimes it takes the young and healthy, and it’s never all of one and none of the other. This one seems to strike children the most often, but you have a few of the old and ill.”

  “What about Nais, though?” Alec pointed out. “He was young, and healthy as far as I know. And he doesn’t look like he’s been sick.”

  Valerius arched a bushy black brow. “And you can tell that by looking at him, can you, Brother Alec?”

  “No, I didn’t mean to-”

  “Don’t jump down his throat, Valerius. He’s concerned,” Seregil warned.

  Valerius gazed around the room, expression softening a little. “It’s most certainly some new disease, and given where it’s been observed, I’d say it’s something brought in by sailors, as usual, or some trader. I’ve seen stranger things. As it is, though, I have no choice but to tell Prince Korathan.” He mopped his brow. “I can’t say I’m looking forward to it, though.”

  “Well, he is a good deal easier to deal with than his sister,” Seregil pointed out with a smile. “But the Rhiminee merchants and the nobles who back them won’t like losing

  custom to smaller ports up the coast, or beyond the Cirna Canal if he decides to close the Lower City, especially on account of an illness that strikes down only those in the most wretched wards.”

  “Which is why the vicegerent relies on me and not them to judge such things.”

  “Maybe whatever it is will pass when the heat breaks,” said Alec.

  “Perhaps,” said Valerius, but he didn’t sound particularly hopeful. “I think it might be best if you two come with me to speak with Korathan, since you’ve seen more of it than I.” He cast a baleful look in the direction of the priest. “I should send him, so he can explain why he kept all this secret, but I see no point in wasting the prince’s time.”

  The prince’s formal audience hours had not yet begun in the great hall. A servant led them instead through the royal household to the queen’s garden, where Korathan was taking breakfast alone and reading a tall stack of
correspondence as he did so. Seregil hid a smile at the prince’s look of surprise as he and the others bowed.

  Korathan rose and took Valerius’s hand, then raised an eyebrow at Seregil and Alec. “You two again? This is unexpected.”

  “Please forgive the early intrusion, but we bring word of a matter of the utmost importance,” the drysian replied. “A new sickness has appeared in the Lower City and over a hundred people have died.”

  The prince’s pale eyes narrowed dangerously at that. “And this is the first I’m hearing of it?”

  “I only heard of it this morning, and from these two,” Valerius explained.

  Korathan glanced at Seregil. “You certainly are busy fellows.”

  The drysian went on. “The priests and healers down there have been trying to study it and manage it themselves, but it continues to spread. Last night Alec found a man in the Upper City, who’d apparently come up through the Harbor Way.”

  Korathan sat down and waved them to the other chairs. “Bilairy’s Balls! As if we needed anything else this summer. Tell me more.”

  “Seregil and Alec have seen more of it than I have.”

  The two of them told the prince of the people they’d found, and the temple drysians’ reactions.

  “You handled the bodies and yet you come here?” Korathan asked incredulously.

  “Yes, and as you can see, Your Highness, we haven’t caught whatever it is,” Alec replied.

  “How it is passed is a mystery so far,” Valerius explained. “But it doesn’t seem to be through physical contact. I mean to look into this personally.”

  “Very good. See that you keep me apprised of your progress. Of all the damnable luck!”

  “With all this heat, I’m surprised we haven’t seen more sickness,” said Valerius. “Hopefully this one will run its course quickly.”

  “I’ll issue the edict of quarantine immediately.” With that Korathan returned to his breakfast and the papers he’d been studying.

  Parting ways with Valerius at the front gate, Seregil and Alec headed for Wheel Street.

  “There, that’s handled,” Seregil remarked as they rode down Silvermoon. “Are you satisfied?”

  Alec shrugged. “Quarantine isn’t going to help the people who are already sick.”

  “It’s in Valerius’s hands, now, tali. There’s nothing more we can do. Come on, let’s see Thero, then it’s home for a nap for me.”

  CHAPTER 28. Ruby Lane

  SEREGIL had his answer about the attempted assassination the following afternoon when Runcer appeared at the library door. “My lord, there’s an urchin asking for you.”

  “The usual urchin?” Seregil asked, setting his book aside.

  “No, my lord. A new one.”

  The boy in question had been left waiting on the front doorstep. He wasn’t much older than Kepi, and had the same capable, starved look about him. He hopped to his feet as soon as Seregil stepped out.

  “Message for you, m’lord,” he said, making a sort of bow.

  “Yes?”

  “Just one word, m’lord. ‘Laneus.’ ”

  Seregil felt a cold sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, although he’d expected something like this. He gave the child a silver penny and went back inside.

  Alec came in from the kitchen and found Seregil staring at the murals, absently rubbing at the thin scab on his throat.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Laneus didn’t waste any time. He set the assassins on us. I doubt they’ll stop at just one attempt.”

  “Time to pay him a visit, don’t you think?” asked Alec.

  “Perhaps he and his lady would enjoy an evening out? I’ll send invitations to him and Malthus, and Eirual and Myrhichia, too. The women will be a good distraction. I’ll fall ill at the last moment and send you to play host. Take them to the Red Hart. If anything goes wrong, you can excuse yourself and ride like hell to warn me.”

  “Why can’t I do the housebreaking? You’re better at entertaining the nobles.”

  “You’ll be fine.” Seregil leaned forward and kissed him on the tip of his nose. “Besides, it’s my turn.”

  “We’re taking turns now? If that’s the case, then you’re wrong. You burgled Malthus, and Reltheus,” Alec countered, undeterred by the kiss. His expression darkened ominously. “This is the second time you’ve tried to keep me from going out alone. Is this about that night I broke into Kyrin’s house without you?”

  “No, tali, I just-” Seregil broke off with a sigh. He’d sworn long ago not to lie to his talimenios. “Well, maybe a bit.”

  “I’m going,” Alec said in a tone that he seldom used with Seregil, or anyone else, for that matter. “Either you trust me, or you don’t.”

  “It’s not a matter of trust.”

  “Yes, it is.” Alec took him firmly by the shoulders and looked him square in the eye. “You’re going with Laneus. Because you are much better at charming the nobles than I am, and always will be. I’ll be fine-and careful. I promise.”

  A muscle twitched in Seregil’s jaw as he clenched his teeth against all the arguments he wanted to make. It was true; he hated the thought of Alec doing the job alone, in a large and unfamiliar villa. But Alec was also right about their individual skills. His young partner had taken to nightrunning and swordplay far more naturally than he had to the delicate thrust and parry of social subterfuge.

  Caught in the strong current of that earnest blue gaze, Seregil gave in. “All right. You do the housebreaking.”

  Alec grinned. “And I won’t set anything on fire.”

  Dressing for the evening, Seregil was careful to leave the lacings of his shirt loose, so that the garrote mark showed. It would be interesting to see how Laneus reacted to the sight of it.

  The sharp thud of an arrow striking a wooden target drifted in through the open bedroom window. Seregil shrugged into one of his more elaborate coats and wandered over to watch

  Alec send another shaft to the center of the painted bull’s-eye. The setting sun cast a mellow light over the garden and picked out glints of pure gold in his lover’s hair as he smoothly nocked an arrow and raised the bow again, speeding a third arrow to split one of the first two. It was a neat trick, if hard on arrows, and one that never ceased to impress people. Alec made it look as easy as picking a single ward lock.

  As he lingered there at the window, however, another image came to him: Yhakobin’s villa in Plenimar, and the day he’d stood at a barred window, seeing Alec alive in another garden, walking with Ilar.

  Stop it, Seregil told himself, willing the painful image away. The past was past and Alec was right about his unreasoning fears.

  He stood a moment longer, admiring the strong lines of Alec’s slim body, and the lean, corded muscles in the younger man’s bare forearms as he pulled the bowstring to his ear again. Seregil had long since come to appreciate that archery was far more to Alec than a mere skill; it was a kind of meditation, a way he sometimes focused that fearless mind of his.

  Alec let fly, then looked up and smiled at him, as if he’d known he was there all along. Seregil smiled back and went to find his boots.

  Alec saw Seregil off that evening, then stole off to the Stag and Otter to pass the evening until it was time to go. Settling by an open window in the sitting room with a book Thero had lent him on dragon lore, Alec tried to read, but soon found himself scanning the same page over again. He set it aside and gazed out over the neighboring rooftops as the shadows lengthened across the city. Seregil had always been concerned for him, he knew, and in the early days of his apprenticeship that concern had been warranted. He wasn’t sure when it had begun to irk him, but it did now.

  When it was full dark he went to one of the clothes chests in the bedroom and put on a plain dark coat and trousers, then tucked a square of black silk and his tool roll inside his

  shirt. The cool weight of the tools against his bare skin was familiar and comforting, as was the dagger at his belt. After a m
oment’s thought, he buckled on his sword belt and threw on a light cloak to cover it, in case of assassins or footpads, though the latter were less likely in that quarter.

  He blew out the lamp and went back to the sitting room and one of the chests there. Inside, he found the muslin bag he was looking for and selected an owl feather. He held it a moment, sending up a silent prayer to Illior Lightbearer, patron of thieves-and nightrunners, presumably-then singed the tip of it over the remaining candle and tucked it behind his ear for luck. Gathering the rest of the night’s equipment, he blew out the candle and set off.

  Laneus’s handsome three-story villa in Ruby Lane had plenty of tempting balconies and lots of trees. Alec skulked down an alleyway to the tradesmen’s lane that ran behind it. The wall here was higher than most. Seregil had joked that the higher a noble’s rank and the greater their fortune, the more they walled themselves in.

  He checked the lane, then took the rope and muffled grapple from under his cloak. Checking the cloth wrappings that would mute the sound of the metal on stone, he swung it up and grinned when it caught on the first try. Tugging it to make certain it was securely seated, he climbed up to the top and peered over. Metal spikes that had once protected the house had been sacrificed to the war here, too.

  The garden was large and laid out in a formal pattern, with traditional crushed-shell paths that showed pale in the starlight between the beds of flowers and herbs. Balanced there, Alec appraised his route in. On this side of the house there were no trees or convenient drainpipes close enough to the balconies to be of any use. However, the ground floor was lined with tall glass doors overlooking a terrace and an ornamental fishpond. He’d have preferred a kitchen or pantry window, but the sides of the house were walled off. There was no choice but to take the risky way in across the terrace into the lower level, where it was more likely that some servants could still be underfoot.

  But he wasn’t about to give up the job he’d had to fight for.

  There was no sign of a watchman, but there could be a dog. Or dogs.