Selen’s soft moans tinged in his ear as he buried every inch of himself inside Louis. Louis shut his eyes and tensed. Their left fingers entwined, while with his other hand, Selen clenched his thigh to open him. Louis nibbled his lip. Progressively, Selen rocked his hips without restraint. Captive in his arms, Louis let his friend return him the favor and carry his mind away.
Except for the footsteps of a few servants, the castle was still plunged in silence. Though it was morning, daylight would not come before a few hours. Louis headed towards the great hall where his companions had probably gathered for breakfast. He already smelled the fragrance of crisp bacon. Lissandro must have been up early. Though his hips felt like the ones of an elderly man, he forced himself to walk as straight and nimble as usual. He opened the door to the great hall. Lissandro, Kilda, Folc, and Selen sat at the table. Louis’s stomach rumbled at the sight of the foaming, golden bread and conserved cherries. Louis went to take a seat on the bench next to Lissandro. As he sat, he pressed his palm on the table and blinked.
“I gave the order to have our horses prepared,” Folc said.
“Oh. Good. Did you put someone in charge of the city?” Louis said, glad to have his attention distracted. He poured himself a mug of hazelnut milk and spread cream cheese on a slice of flax bread.
“Two of my men will collaborate with one of the masters of the bowyers’ guild and the captain of the guards.”
Lissandro wiggled on his seat. “Did…” He snorted. “Did anyone think to take a map and a compass?” he asked before taking a large bite of his eggs and covering his mouth again with his hand.
“I did. I went to the library early this morning and found a map. I didn’t know where to find a compass,” Selen mumbled, half dozing.
“Will we avoid villages again?” Kilda asked. She cut herself a part of apple pie.
“We will try to ride as straight as possible, but we will need food and rest. As we are only eight, it may be hazardous to sleep in the wild. Not even mentioning the cold,” Louis said, shifting slightly on the bench. “Does anyone know where the rest of our companions are?”
“Eliot went to the chapel. Askjell is busy packing our food. I don’t know for the Child,” Folc said. “Don’t you fear he will cause us problems? It seems he hasn’t seen much of this world.”
“We will keep an eye on him,” Louis said. “In fact, we will all keep an eye on each other. We travel to the secret place of malevolent people. We may find more obstacles on our way than we think. Therefore, it may be preferable to travel anonymously.”
“We should depart now if we want to make the most of the day,” Folc said while he rose.
“Yep, you’re right.” Lissandro got up. He bent next to Louis. “Good luck on your horse,” his friend whispered in his ear.
There will be something more tiresome than the cold, Louis thought. Even in a better mood, enduring Lissandro was no bed of roses.
22
A scream woke him up. Josselin sat up in his bed. Did it come from his house? Shouts from the street had been frequent recently. Screams of terror or bellows of drunkards. Someone ran on the stairs. Josselin got up and got dressed. With a candlestick in his hand, he left his bedchamber. Noises came from the kitchen. On his way down, Josselin met Pierce. His steward was half-dressed and uncombed.
“What’s going on?” Josselin asked.
“I don’t know, my lord,” Pierce said. “I hope no one tried to break into the house.”
Since the city watch was busy controlling the gates and battlements, no one patrolled the streets anymore. Rich houses had been the target of intrusions. Robberies stayed unpunished, therefore the nobles and rich merchants had armed their household and defended their properties themselves. Khorkina House had strong doors and reinforced shutters, but no one was safe from organized gangs.
Candles had been lit in the kitchen, and servants stood in the way, hiding the event from his view.
“Make place,” Josselin ordered. “What’s going on here?”
The servants moved to the side. Two bodies lay on the floor. One was the pantler, Myrtle, the other body was one of the grooms. Josselin didn’t remember his name. Myrtle had foam around her mouth, and her features were frozen in the most atrocious way.
“Is this the plague?” Josselin asked. At the mention of the disease, everyone around him but Pierce took a step back.
“No, it’s not,” Pierce said, showing the flask he held in his hand. “It’s poison. Hemlock. She used to take a few drops to help her with her cramps, but the flask is empty.”
“Has Myrtle committed suicide?” Josselin asked.
“He is alive!” someone shouted.
The groom twisted with spasms of pain and vomited white bile all over him. Josselin approached the boy. Though his eyes were wide open, the groom was unconscious. His pupils were dilated. Josselin picked him up with his arm.
“He needs to be carried to the hospital. Pierce, you’re coming with me. What’s the boy’s name?”
“Oliver. He was her nephew,” Alis said. The cook wrapped herself up tighter in her shawl. “I’ll take care of Myrtle.”
Josselin left the house, followed by Pierce, who carried Oliver in his arms. At this late hour, the horses were in the stable and the lads in their beds. Josselin could not saddle a horse with only one arm. He stayed in the yard with the boy while Pierce prepared their mounts. Josselin wondered if it was wise to bring the boy to the hospital. It would put the three of them in contact with the plague patients. Now, if they stayed here, the boy would die. Was the life of one groom worth to risk the ones of his whole household and his? Kilda would have said yes. Therefore, Josselin would not abandon the boy. Pierce came back with the horses. They mounted and rode, the boy tucked in his steward’s arms.
It had been only a week since the king had left. Yet, the city was barely recognizable. The disease had spread everywhere now. As the shops had closed one after the other, the people had turned themselves to the taverns for food. Those who could pay, at least. The others lived on their provisions or scavenged through the waste piles. The cleaning of the streets had ceased. It reeked of excrement. Fortunately, the rats were dead. Still, parasites and other kind of diseases would spread. It was only a matter of time until the water of the wells and fountains got polluted.
A large cloud of smoke rose in front of them. They were drawing near the hospital. The cremation pyres burned day and night now. They rode into the yard behind the hospital. It was the only place where they had a chance to find their horses once they left the building. The heat emanating from the fire was stifling, and the smell of burning, sick flesh made Josselin nauseous. They entered the back door, Josselin leading the way. He covered his mouth with a cloth. People at different stages of the disease stood or sat everywhere waiting for help. As one of the symptoms was lethargy, some sick sitting there could as well be dead. It smelled of body fluids and herbal disinfectants like burned thyme or sage. The moans and continuous sobbing were unbearable. Josselin searched through the rooms for Brother Benedict. He found him near an operating board. He was the only doctor still in a bird costume.
“This one is dead. Send me the next,” the monk said with a muffled voice.
The man lying on the board was thrown on covers and carried away. One of the monk’s assistants threw a bucket of water over the board before the next patient was laid down on it. An assistant put a wooden stick in the man’s mouth. With a long-handled cautery, Brother Benedict cauterized the buboes one after the other. The smell of pus spread in the room as the white fluid ran from under the armpits and groin.
The monk turned to the priest behind him. “Give him ginger and echinacea tea and apply goat cheese mixed with bull blood on his head to cure his headache. Next.”
Josselin and Pierce approached. “Brother, we need your help.”
Brother Benedict looked at them and tilted his head to stare at Oliver. “Is it the plague?”
“No. Poisoning,” Josselin
answered.
“Follow me.”
The monk opened the door in the corner of the room and went out. Josselin followed him. The room was a small office. Brother Benedict removed his gloves and his mask and immersed his hands in a basin of vinegar. His features were drawn as if he had aged ten years. His eyes were reddened. The monk lacked sleep and probably food.
“You should not have come here,” Brother Benedict said. “This place is a cemetery. I haven’t been able to cure a single one of them.” He passed a hand over his face. “I’ve reached the point where my medicine is only guesswork. The gods may help us.”
Pierce put Oliver on the table. “The lad has taken poison. We think it’s hemlock.”
Brother Benedict put his palm on the boy’s face, opened his mouth, and laid his fingers against his neck. “His pulse is feeble. Why did he take hemlock? Is he epileptic?”
“No. We think he might have tried to commit suicide,” Josselin said.
“He would not be the first nor the last. Even here, people commit this sin. Who would blame them?” The monk checked the boy’s pupils with his oil lamp. “Give him coffee, tannic acid, and mustard. You must keep him warm.”
“When was the last time you rested, Brother?” Josselin asked.
The monk gave a faint smile. “I’ll sleep when I am dead. It may be soon enough.”
Josselin and Pierce took their leave and walked out with the boy. Gazing around him, Josselin saw the dying moan after their families, the priests apply the greasy ointments while covering their coughs with their other hand. Unseen by all, a baby slept on a woman’s corpse. On a bed, one man trembling all over clenched the golden jewelry he had around his neck and gazed around with suspicious, mad eyes. Josselin hurried to the backyard. All he wanted was to get out of this inferno. When he reached the doorway, he stopped and breathed in the cold air. On his left, priests threw corpses onto the pyre. Limbs could be seen pointing out of the pile. The time was gone when shrouds would have hidden such a sight.
“Go back to the house with the boy, Pierce. I need to walk,” Josselin said. “Take my horse with you.”
Josselin strode away until he could no more smell the stench. He remembered his little boy. Many nights they had watched over him, helpless. His cries had broken his heart. The fever had never dropped until that morning when they had found the little corpse lifeless, finally at peace. He could still see the small body on the pyre they had made. Josselin was relieved to know his wife would never be among the victims. I don’t know if you still love me or not, Kilda, but don’t return here to die. He dried the tears on his cheeks and slowed his pace.
The streets were dark. No one lighted the streetlamps anymore. Still, music and light came from the taverns around. Josselin approached one of the doors. He would not mind a drink. As he opened the door, the sight in the tavern struck him. The thought that he had confused a brothel for a tavern crossed his mind. Yet, he knew the place to be the Happy Ducklings, and it was a charming tavern. Had been. Once.
The place was crowded and noisy with the voices, the songs, and the moans. The round tables with their lace mats had been turned into gambling boards where dices knocked, and greasy cards were laid down between rows of mugs. Most of the customers were drunk and bawled like animals. Women dressed in cotehardies or silk gowns sat on men’s laps with their corsages open, letting their bodies be shamelessly groped by whoever sat nearby. Some even copulated in the sight of all, like the worst harlots. Was this what this city had reduced herself to? Was this what despair looked like? Josselin felt the rage grow in him. He turned to the nearest table.
“What is going on here? Where do you think you are?” he asked, refraining from shouting.
One of the men turned to him with a broad smile. “Having a good time, my lord. Want to have a seat?”
“Is this what you call a good time? This is an orgy.”
“Well, we can’t leave the city, and we will soon die here. So, we can well enjoy our last moments in the way we want,” the man said, cheerful and passably drunk.
“Our king is out there searching for a cure. You could make the best of your time to control the propagation and organize yourself,” Josselin retorted.
“The king,” the man sneered. “The king left us here to rot. He may be sucking the queen’s cock by now. He fooled us well with his good words on unity. Can’t even stay in his own city.”
“He didn’t leave to save his life. He will come back. You know as well as I that no king would stroll those streets by now, whatever the kingdom or whoever he was,” Josselin said. “There is no need to throw our king the stone.”
The man stared at him with a nasty look. “No. But the queen has a cock.”
“And I am a one-armed man with half a face, but I’m still your minister and a better human being than you.”
Josselin knew that minister or not, after those words, he had to leave the place. He walked back to the door and went out. The drunk man had better to do than kick his face, as he never followed him outside.
So, those were the people of Nysa Serin. They could well all die of the plague for what it mattered to him. Angry, he wandered through the streets until he realized he had landed in the slums. The place seemed deserted. Doors and shutters had been nailed shut. In the moonlight, he saw that large black crosses had been painted on the walls. Josselin was wondering if it was the mark of infested houses where people had died when he heard faint screams of pain come from the inside. No, it wasn’t only houses where people had died, but also houses where people were dying. Exasperated by the slowness of the government, the people had taken their own measures to isolate the slums. They had shut families into their own homes, as if they were buried alive.
Shouts came from behind him. Josselin hurried to see what was happening. A sea of torches moved hastily in one direction. The heteroclite mob pointed forwards as if chasing after something. Josselin joined the back of the group.
“Over there! I saw him!” someone shouted.
“What is going on?” Josselin asked the woman at his side.
Excited by the chase, the woman turned to him with a broad smile. “The filthy vermin. He is sick but came into our streets to contaminate us,” she exclaimed, short of breath.
“But what is the point with this chase?”
“We need to get rid of them. We need to cleanse the slums.” She ran faster towards the front.
Josselin heard screams, and the flow of people slowed down. He tried to step closer, but the crowd was too dense. Eventually, the people dispersed, carrying on their faces the satisfaction of a well-accomplished job. Josselin walked where the center of attention had been. What was left of the man couldn’t be described. The mutilated face was unrecognizable. A pitchfork was still stuck in the body, which had been abandoned on the pavement as one more waste. Josselin felt his stomach contract and barely had time for a few steps before he threw up. With all he had seen tonight, he was certain now that no social bound was left in this city.
Josselin was heading home when he heard a plank fall in an alley. Curious, he stepped closer. He had left his sword at home. All he had was a dagger, but he grabbed it nonetheless. A shadow moved behind a cask. Something or someone was hiding.
“Is anyone here?” he asked.
Trembling hands rose in the air. “Please, don’t kill me,” a frail voice said.
“I won’t kill you. Are you sick? Do you live here?” Josselin asked.
“I’m sound. I live here, but they shut down my house.” The girl rose from behind the cask.
“If they see you here, these people will kill you.”
The girl lowered her head. “I know. But I have nowhere else to go.”
Josselin knew that if he left her there, she would end like the man with the fork. “Follow me. I can take you to a safe place.”
She hesitated before taking a step towards him. Josselin backed into the street, keeping a distance to let her feel more secure. She appeared at his side. S
he stank and barely had a thin coat on her shoulders. Leading the way, Josselin walked to the only safe place he knew in the city. Home. Though he was the master of the house, he knew his household would disapprove of his gesture, and he apprehended their reaction. The last thing he wanted now was insubordination in his House. They needed unity to face the epidemic.
“When we arrive there, don’t say you come from the slums. Say you’re a maid who lost her position.” Maybe this would pass better. “Can you be of some use in a household?”
“I have never been a maid, my lord. But I can wash and cook,” the girl answered low.
They passed in front of the taverns again. In the lights coming through the windows, Josselin could see her better. She was young but no more a child. She was filthy, and her blond hair was a mess. But above all, her face was skinny. He wondered how long she hadn’t eaten consistent food. Feeling him staring at her, she turned her face towards him. Her eyes widened, and she halted with a hand on her mouth. Josselin expected her to run away with a scream. She probably only noticed now the scar crossing his entire face and his blank eye.
“You are the hero of Earthfell,” she muttered.
Josselin was taken aback. “Yes, I am.” As he had wished, his deeds had turned into songs and bards had sung his name across the country. What Josselin had not expected, besides surviving the dragon, was the reaction of the people when associating his appearance to the one of the hero. He was too slim to be seen as a brute and still too pretty on the good side of his face to be considered as a harsh warrior. Though he received respect and awe, too many people stared at him with compassion and sadness. And still a few saw him as what he looked like, a monster.
The girl didn’t run. She curtsied clumsily and muttered apologies. “My lord, I… Where are you taking me?”
“To Khorkina House.”
They passed under the porch. The courtyard was lit, and Pierce stood outside, waiting for him. Once he saw them, the steward drew closer.
“My lord, we were worried. Oliver is in his bed and being taken care of.” Pierce glanced at the girl and looked at Josselin with inquiring eyes. “My lord?”
Light from Aphelion 2 - Tears of Winter Page 18