At a large round table, one of many set up close beside the riverfront, Stacy and her companions sat under the stars, joking and toasting one another and ordering new rounds of wine. Above their heads a clustered group of glow globes swirled, sending down pale glimmers of yellow and orange. Everyone was dressed in their finest garb: Trevor, handsome and dashing in his smart officer’s uniform; Elias, in his spanking-new captain’s tunic of deep, rich purple; Simon in a wine-colored toga. Lorna, eyes ever bright, was dressed in a pale pink shift, the latest and most popular style in the Valley, but to the eyes of Trevor and Elias it was Stacy who held the attention. She wore a soft amber tunic, and her hair was pulled back tightly by a slim bronze-colored band. Large earrings dangled and danced with every move of her head. She sat with her legs crossed, arms over the back of the wicker chair, breasts rising and falling slightly with every breath as she watched a group of brightly dressed dancers race along the pier to take up positions atop a small stage. The musicians began to play as the dancers, five lads and five lasses, twirled about, skirts flinging high, hands clapping in time to the music. Gracefully they encircled, then broke, formed partners, then encircled again. Stacy watched with glee as the men held out glistening swords and the women nimbly jumped and danced inches away from the threatening blades. One of the men grabbed two torches and, swinging a girl over his shoulder, then between his legs out behind him, leaped and threw the torches high into the air. He caught them both with perfect precision and at last took a series of deep bows as the watchers stood and applauded loudly.
“Magnificent!” Trevor cried. “That’s the best dance I’ve ever seen!”
Elias winked at Stacy. “Valley folk don’t have that, do they, my lady?” He toasted her with his wine.
Stacy shook her head emphatically. “Our dancers are amateurs by comparison. These were wonderful! What kind of a dance was that?”
“A Rhonnda folk dance, Stacy. You’ll be seeing a lot of it in the years to come.”
Stacy smiled, missing Trevor’s puzzled glance. “I hope so.” She sighed, feeling slightly tipsy, but good.
As a waitress returned and refilled the empty goblets, everyone suddenly looked up. There was a low dim sound, almost like a mournful wail, coming from some distant point on the river.
“What’s that?” asked Trevor, glancing in the distance.
Elias put a finger to his lips and strained his ears. The sound came again, this time vaguely louder than before. Elias stood up. Already a small crowd of onlookers had gathered at the edge of the pier and was staring out into the black waters. “It sounded like a ship’s horn,” Elias told them.
“Now?” asked Lorna. “At this time of night? Wouldn’t a ship stay out of port until daylight?”
Elias shrugged. “Usually. But why would he be blowing his horn? We only do that in —”
“An emergency,” interrupted Simon. He put down his goblet and stood. “We’d better have a look.” Stacy got up, too, and followed.
Elias pushed his way through the crowd, Simon and Stacy beside him. The blast came again, so loud that they winced at the shrill sound. From the shadows ahead they could see the silhouette of a sloop moving with care and caution toward the harbor. Her sails were furled, and she crept along at a snail’s pace, carried only by the current.
“There must have been an accident,” whispered Stacy, transfixed at the eerie sight.
“And look at the way she’s moving,” added Elias. “She’s weaving along with the current. As if there were no one to sail her.”
Simon shuddered. The sloop was coming closer; he could make out the shape of a lone sailor standing at the prow and holding a bugle to his lips. Save for him, there was no sign of life.
Suddenly Stacy gasped. She squinted her eyes. Atop the mast was a dark banner flapping unevenly in the breeze. “I can’t make it out, Elias,” she panted. “What colors is she flying?”
Elias drew a deep breath and shook his head. “We’d better command a skiff and take a peek on board. I don’t like the looks of this.”
“But the flag,” said Stacy, pointing at the bare mast.
Simon looked back to the riverman and said, “Get us a boat, Elias. I’ll have to order the dockside to be cleared. I don’t want anyone within sight of the sloop.”
Stacy stood perplexed as Simon called to Trevor, and the Valley soldier, with the help of some nearby Rangers, pushed back the crowds. Almost too frightened to look, she forced her eyes ahead and began to understand. The sloop had come to a dead stop a few hundred meters from shore, standing silently. The only movement came from the fluttering flag — and the flag was black.
Thick cumulus clouds, grim as the night itself, scudded high above Rhonnda as the small skiff made its way across the still waters to the foreboding ship. Save for the soft splash of the oars and the moan of creaking wood the quiet pervaded.
Elias, face drawn and tight, stood fore on the skiff and counted the oar strokes drawn by the two burly sailors. In front, the hull of the sloop loomed large as life. He could make out the faded name of the ship painted on the side: Sea Witch. And his heart skipped a beat. She was a Rhonnda ship, now lost and forlorn, unsailed, at least by any living hand as far as he could tell, and somehow she had come home to port, perhaps by her own will. Waves slapped softly against the hull. The young bugler on the prow was suddenly gone. Vanished as swiftly as he had mysteriously appeared.
Elias could see the deck now, as plain as he could see the anxious face of Simon at his side or hear the heavy breathing of Stacy standing directly behind him. The sails were clumsily furled — if you could call them furled at all. Sections of canvas hung awkwardly down from the spars, torn at the edges. Water barrels, as well as various tools, could be clearly seen, scattered from prow to stern. Elias and Simon exchanged worried glances.
At last the oars were drawn; the skiff ebbed close beside a long rope ladder dangling over the ship’s side. Elias reached out and grabbed hold. “Follow me, Simon,” he said. “The rest of you had better wait for us.” The sailors nodded without a word, but Stacy shook her head. “I’m coming, too,” she said defiantly.
“This is no place for you, Stacy,” Simon told her. “It’ll be safer for you to wait.”
The girl refused. “I’m coming with you.”
Rather than argue, Simon reluctantly agreed. He waited as Elias climbed the ladder and boarded, then climbed the rope himself. Once over the side, he held out a hand for Stacy.
The deck was smeared with oil and grease. Elias looked around with apprehension. Rats and mice were darting from view behind old crates and boxes. There was a nauseating stench in the air.
“We won’t find anything up here,” he muttered. “We’ll have to have a look below.”
Stacy gulped. From the companionway door she could see that the cabins and storage holds below were completely dark. And the thought of the rats running at her feet made her tremble with revulsion.
“You can go back to the skiff, Stacy, if you want,” said Elias, sounding gruff and tense.
The girl stared sharply at him and shook her head. She had come this far, and she would see it through.
Elias gritted his teeth. Then, leaning out to the bowsprit, close to the very spot the bugler had stood, he took hold of a musty, cloth-covered torch. He dipped it lightly into a pool of spilled oil and struck a flint. The torch jumped to life, long yellow flames dancing high and black smoke curling thickly above it. Then, cautiously, he kicked wide the companion way door. The blaze of light brought forth squeals from frightened mice as they ran over the steps and darted between his feet. Elias grimaced. Step by step he lowered himself below. Simon took Stacy’s arm and together they descended in the shadows of the torch.
They walked a long narrow corridor that led forward to the captain’s cabin. On the way they passed a large dormitory like room. This was the crew’s quarters, they knew — and, as fearfully expected, it was deserted. For an instant Elias poked the torch inside. The blackne
ss gave way to the hectic light. Again small mice scurried to hide.
“Nothing to see here,” he mumbled.
Stacy looked around. Her canine sense of smell led her to push open a storage room door on the portside. Strong currents of pungent meat filled her nostrils. She lurched back, her eyes scanning the dark. “Here, Elias! Bring the torch here!”
Elias turned quickly and followed her voice. The girl stood halfway inside the room, eyes closed. The flames flickered, exposing the decaying body of a sailor.
Simon ran to the body. With the expertise that comes easily to a physician, he studied and examined the yellowed, cold face. He touched the lymph glands and let his fingers run lightly up and down the abdomen. The sailor had been dead at least three days, he realized. Perhaps more, but it was difficult to tell. Yet why had the body been left like this? Why hadn’t his shipmates buried him? It made no sense. But nothing aboard the Sea Witch seemed to make any sense, anyway.
“Let’s try the captain’s cabin,” said Elias after Simon looked up and indicated that he was done. For a few moments longer they continued on their grim walk. At last Elias stopped. The door of the captain’s cabin was locked. He turned the torch over to Stacy and with all his might pushed his frame, shoulder first, against the door. With a thud the heavy oak gave way. Elias peered inside. Again empty. A few books and charts lay across the floor, and a chair stood at the side of a narrow bunk bed.
“I just don’t understand,” whispered Simon. “What could have happened here?”
Elias knelt down and thumbed through the scattered books. He grimaced. “This is the captain’s log,” he said. “If anything can give us some clues, this will.” Eagerly he pored over the pages as Stacy held the light. After a while he found what he had been looking for. Elias handed Simon the book, and the physician began to read.
“Mr. Cady fell ill this morning. I have relieved him of all duty. His brow burns, and he cries for water. Yet he shivers and complains of the cold.”
Simon ran his finger down the page, skipped an entry or two, then read again:
“Mr. Land and Mr. Deer are close to death. Cady died this morning. We buried him in the river. May the fates take his soul. Now Mr. Tiller has developed the same rash.”
Stacy’s eyes grew wider. The captain of the Sea Witch spoke of each of the crew, including himself, beginning to show various symptoms of the illness.
“His skin has become red on the neck, armpits, groin. His face is flushed, a ring of pallor shows around his mouth. I have tended to him, but I can see that he will die like the others.”
Simon paused and looked anxiously at his listeners. Then:
“My face is marked with the same red spots, intense and diffuse. My throat has become inflamed. It will only be a matter of days until I die, also. Land and Deer were buried this morning. Cates became wrought with madness. Last night he tore off his tunic, and, burning with fever, he jumped into the river.”
“They committed suicide!” cried Stacy.
Elias nodded glumly. “They were all out of their heads. Scarlet fever does that to men.”
The girl turned white. Fever, she thought, fever! That ancient scourge that had so often wrought destruction on the Valley had come to Newfoundland.
A lunatic laugh suddenly rang out from the passageway. Elias turned and yelled, “It’s the bugler! He’s down here!” He pushed Stacy aside, nearly knocked Simon over and raced from the cabin. There was a muffled cry and a loud banging as the two men fell outside. Stacy ran outside. She saw Elias on top of a frail boy, a lad of no more than sixteen. His face was disfigured with dark pinpricks. His eyes raged with torment, and his mouth foamed even as he laughed and cried at the same moment
“You’ll die, too!” he chuckled as Elias held him down, pinning his shoulders firmly.
Elias slapped him hard across the face. The lad turned his eyes away and began to whimper. “Oh, mercy! Help me, please! I don’t want to die! I don’t —”
Simon knelt down beside him and winced as he felt the burning forehead. “Listen to me, lad,” he said softly. “I’m a physician. I’m going to help you if I can. Your mates are all dead, but you’re still alive. We have medicines. We might be able to cure you, but first you have to help me, all right?”
Choking back tears, the boy nodded.
“Where was your ship bound? And what cargoes did you carry?”
“We sailed from the Cottonwood, sir.”
Simon bit his lip. “What stops did you make on the way?”
The boy stared. “None, sir. We’re a Rhonnda ship.”
Simon sighed. At least this was good news. If the ship had not stopped at any ports, then it was a safe bet that none of the river towns was contaminated.
“And how did you make it this far? Who sailed the ship?”
“There were three of us left until yesterday, sir. The captain, a midshipman and myself. We knew that by tonight we’d be in sight of Rhonnda. But they were too ill to go on.”
“There’s a body in one of the storerooms,” said Elias. “Why didn’t you bury it like the others?”
The lad stared at the riverman. Then he began to grin maniacally. He put his hands to his mouth and stared at Elias. “For the rats, sir! Don’t you know? Aren’t you a sailor?”
“For the rats?”
“Of course!” laughed the boy. “No one knows it’s there but me.” He began to whisper. “But you won’t tell the captain, will you? Or Mr. Cady, the first mate. He’ll be mad at me again.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Simon, scowling.
“You fool! The rats were hungry. I left Mr. Tubbs’s body for them to eat!” He frothed at the mouth again, tongue swollen and purpled, hanging limply.
Stacy hung her head and cast her gaze away from the stricken boy. Elias let him go and peered up at the physician. “This ship will have to be burned,” he said.
Simon nodded. “That’s just for a start. We’re close to port. If any of those disease-carrying rodents have swum to shore, they could infect the whole city.”
Stacy glared at him. “An epidemic?”
“Too soon to know. But this bodes badly for us all, I’m afraid. Word will have to be sent to Deepwater. And I’m certain Bela will put a quarantine on Rhonnda. We can’t take any chances of having ships pull in and leave carrying fever on board. It could spread like wildfire throughout Newfoundland. And even back to the Valley.”
“But you can’t quarantine all of Rhonnda,” protested Elias. “We need supplies. The city will die!”
Simon shook his head. “For the present there’s nothing else to be done. My authority as medical commissioner gives me the right to declare a quarantine here and now.”
“But why?” asked Stacy. “There’s no evidence that the fever will spread.”
Simon looked at her darkly. “And I pray that it doesn’t. But there’s an incubation period. Symptoms won’t show until a week after exposure. Don’t you see, Stacy? The Sea Witch has been drifting close to the shore for days. At any point some of the infected rodents might have jumped ship. At this very moment they could be in our fields, attacking our cattle — or worse. They might be running wild and free in the city. Any ship that drops anchor runs the risk of the same fate as the Sea Witch. I can’t let that happen.”
“How long will the quarantine last?” asked Elias nervously.
Simon shrugged. “If there’re no outbreaks, no more than a couple of weeks. But if it spreads...” There was an ominous tone in his voice.
“The Brora is set to sail in three weeks,” said Stacy pensively. “The quarantine won’t affect us, will it?”
Simon looked at her sternly. “It will affect every ship, including the Brora. It’s for your own protection.”
“But we’re not headed for any of the Newland towns,” Stacy protested. “We’re bound for the open sea!”
“No matter, Stacy. We can’t let any ships sail. Nothing moves on the river, either to Rhonnda or from Rhonnda. Tha
t’s the way it has to be.”
Stacy’s eyes smoldered. “If we can’t sail on schedule, we might as well not sail at all.”
Simon was not about to budge. “Then you’ll have to postpone.”
“But we can’t postpone!” cried the girl, distraught and disbelieving.
Elias nudged gently at her arm. “In the meantime, Simon,” he said, “things will continue in Rhonnda as usual, isn’t that right? We’ll at least be able to have the shipyard work continued?”
“Certainly. Make her as fit as you like. But remember, not a stitch of sail will be unfurled until we’ve dealt with this.” He gestured to the creaking ship around them.
“I understand,” said the riverman. “Then let’s get on with it. The first order of business will be to get this poor fellow to land and to some medical care.”
“And then we burn the Sea Witch” said Simon. “The rest is up to the Fates. We can ease the suffering and misery of fever, even cure most of the milder cases. But we can’t stop it from spreading. Pray for Rhonnda, my friends. For if the worst comes to pass, the city will be dead within a year.”
*
Under threatening clouds Stacy rode through the silent midnight streets. She wore a long, black-hooded cape clasped around her shoulders. Long black riding boots shimmered in the wet rain; her father’s silver dagger gleamed at her waist. Swiftly she passed the fabled Jeweled Garden and came upon a small cottage nestled beneath the long branches of thick-leaved trees.
Straight from the Free Lands she had come, pushing her mare to the limits of endurance. She had crossed the channel to Rhonnda Island at its shallowest point on horseback, avoiding at all costs the bridges and the Rhonnda garrison. Leaving the city had been forbidden under the quarantine, even to go to the nearby Free Land Mountains. But with rebellion burning in her eyes she had defied Empire law for the first time in her life — and made her way to the waiting Cicero and Casca. Now, her business among the wolves completed, she made her way quickly back to Elias’s house. He would be waiting for her. So would Trevor.
Lady of the Haven (Empire Princess Book 1) Page 15