The idea of a central healing facility and even of quarantine to fight a widespread disease was something new to Sanction. Before the Chaos War and the disappearance of magic, healers were able to stop disease with spells and enchanted potions. They never had to learn to deal with an epidemic—until their magic was gone. Since then, most epidemics had been allowed to run their course, wiping out hundreds of people, mostly because no one knew what caused them. The mystic healers trained by Goldmoon were beginning to take the place of the old sorcerers, but there were rarely enough in one place to stem a widespread contagion. Lord Bight knew all too well there were too few healers in Sanction to help the population if this strange disease spread as quickly as it appeared to. He hoped quarantine would contain the plague to a small area and to numbers his healers could cope with.
From within the warehouse came the healer, Kelian, who gestured to the newcomers to enter. The innkeeper and his companions didn’t move. In the dim light of the torches, the large space loomed over them as black and frightening as the grave, for none of them knew if they would ever come out of that warehouse alive.
“Lord, how long will we be here?” Cobb asked hesitantly.
“Until the contagion is over,” Lord Bight replied. For the first time, he looked down from his horse into the faces of the people gathering at the roped entrance to see him, and his expression softened. “I’m sorry to force this on you. It is all we know to do thus far. But I promise you that we will do everything we can to fight this sickness so we can release you as soon as possible.”
The captain of the Whydah pushed his way forward, his face red and sweating. The guards tensed for trouble.
“Lord, I ask a boon. We were removed from our ship too quickly to settle our affairs. Now I hear the Whydah is to be burned.”
Lord Bight inclined his head. “You know the reasons.”
“Aye, I know,” he replied, resigned. “Before you do, will you have someone find the ship’s log so it can be sent back to the owner? And bring out our cat. She doesn’t deserve to die like that.”
The other sailors around him nodded.
The governor’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. Of all the arguments or demands he expected to hear, he hadn’t guessed that one. “You have my word,” he promised.
The troop wheeled their horses and continued along the darkened streets down to the southern pier, where the Whydah was tied up. City Guards stood watch on the pier to keep the curious, the looters, and the irrepressible kender away. The governor and his troop dismounted.
The news of the burning had already reached the ears of many of the citizens, and a large group gathered at the foot of the pier to watch. They moved aside to make room for the Governor’s Guards, then closed in quickly behind them.
A captain of the City Guard saluted the governor as the soldiers approached the Whydah. “Sir, preparations are nearly complete. We have placed the dead on board and have prepared the ship to be fired. We are awaiting the arrival of the rowboats to tow this one out into the bay.”
“Good. We have one more body to add,” Lord Bight informed him. “The missing sailor was found.” When he turned to gesture to the guard leading the burdened horse, his gaze caught Linsha in the middle of a yawn.
“Squire Lynn,” he demanded. “You need some activity to help you stay awake. See if you can locate the ship’s log and the cat before the towboats get here.”
Linsha’s face grew hot at being singled out in such a way. She gave a rueful salute before walking to the gangplank that led to the Whydah. She was not enthusiastic about going on board a ship whose crew had lost members to an unknown contagious disease, but the thought came to her that this could be a test of her willingness to obey the lord governor, so she squared her shoulders and marched on board.
Two men carried on the shrouded body of the young sailor behind her, stowed it on deck beside a row of other wrapped bodies, and hurried off, leaving Linsha alone on the silent ship.
The ship’s log was easy to find. It sat in a niche in the captain’s sea desk in his cabin, leather-bound and well cared for. She thumbed through it and noted that the last entry had been made that afternoon:
Kiren and Jornd died this noon. Three more are ill. Orders to abandon the ship. Whydah is to be burned. May the High God keep our souls.
Neat. Concise. Full of sadness.
The captain’s last words echoed through her mind. May the High God keep our souls. She wondered if the dying captain of the merchantman had time to write a last prayer.
She lapsed into thought. In fact, the ship’s log from the Palanthian ship might hold some clues that could shed some light on the origin of this plague. The log would list the ports the ship had visited and should contain notes about the onset of the crew’s symptoms and deaths. Perhaps Lord Bight would let her read it.
With the book tucked under her arm, Linsha searched the cabin for the cat. There was no sign of it in there or in any of the small cabins under the aft deck. She looked through the crew’s quarters, the sail locker, and the galley to no avail. Finally she took a small hand lamp and climbed down the ladder into the hold, where the cargo of sheep and cattle had been contained in two rows of pens. The pens had been cleaned and washed down after the animals were unloaded, which held the odor down to a tolerable level. Thick, hot darkness filled the hold and hid a myriad of places a cat could hide. In the aisle that divided the two rows of pens, a few bales of straw gleamed pale gold in her lamplight. Barrels of oil, ready for the fire that would consume the Whydah, sat close to the curving wooden sides of the ship.
Linsha walked several paces down the aisle and shone her lamp around. There was no cat in sight. Something moved in the darkness behind her, a small pattering something that dived into the bales of straw. A furry form flew after it.
“There you are,” Linsha said under her breath.
She turned around, and suddenly a heavy weight slammed into her back. She lost her balance, and she fell heavily to the planked walkway. Her lamp smashed into the floor and went out.
Hard and heavy, the weight pressed into the small of her back. A blade nicked her throat.
“What in the name of Reorx are you doing down here?” growled a voice in her ear.
Linsha considered her options for a moment, then decided to lie quietly and try to placate the opponent on her back. If that knife hadn’t been there, she could have flipped him off and kept him at bay, but an armed enemy she couldn’t see in the intense darkness, who had a sharp blade so close to her jugular, was too great a risk.
“I said, what are you doing down here?” he repeated fiercely.
“I am with the Governor’s Guards. I’m looking for the cat,” she said as calmly as she could.
The voice snorted behind her. “You’re wearing a City Guard’s uniform, and a stinking one at that. Why were you sneaking around down here? All the guards have been ordered off.”
“Lord Bight sent me to look for the ship’s cat. Now get off!” Linsha insisted.
The knife moved away from her throat. “The governor’s here already?”
Linsha realized her eyes were growing more accustomed to the dark. She could see faint shapes amid the deep shadows, and the glimmer from the hatch above seemed to grow brighter. She turned her head slightly and saw a gleam of light flicker on the long blade of a dagger, now pointed toward the floor and away from her neck. That was enough for her. As quick as a striking snake, she reached behind her shoulder, grabbed the wrist with the dagger in both hands, and wrenched it toward the floor. At the same time, she rolled in the same direction, dislodging her attacker and knocking him into the wooden walls of a pen. Linsha sprang to her feet, a back-alley curse on her lips, and she pulled her own dagger and crouched, ready to attack.
With a disgusted grunt, a short, stocky figure pushed himself upright and spat into the straw. “I suppose I deserved that,” he said. “But you startled me. The ship is supposed to be empty. I thought you were a looter.”
&nbs
p; Linsha relaxed slightly. She could see well enough now to make out the face and form of a dwarf. “Now it’s my turn to ask. What are you doing down here?”
“Governor’s business,” he growled.
“Well, he’s right outside,” Linsha responded irritably. She was really too tired to be polite to grumpy dwarves, especially ones that put bruises on her back and stuck knives at her throat. She returned her dagger to its sheath, picked up the logbook from where it had fallen, and turned her back on him to search through the straw bales. As she hoped, a slender calico cat was there, sitting behind the bales and staring at a hole where a rat was hiding. Linsha scooped up the cat and, without a word to the dwarf, climbed up the ladder to the deck. She could hear him come up behind her, but she didn’t bother to turn around until she had crossed the ship and stepped off the plank onto the pier.
In the light of the torches, she could see the dwarf clearly now as he walked down the plank. She gave him the barest nod of greeting.
A hint of amusement lightened the frown on his face, and he returned the nod. “I am Mica, healer to the Governor’s Court and priest in the Temple of the Heart.”
So, he was a mystic healer from the newly refurbished temple on the hill. Interesting. “I am Lynn of Gateway, newest member of the Governor’s Guards,” she replied.
He stood barely four feet in his handmade leather shoes. yet he still managed to look down his nose at her sweat-stained uniform. “You must be very new. Had a busy day?”
The lady Knight examined the dwarf’s immaculate brown jacket, linen shirt, and beautifully tailored pants and rolled her eyes. Even after the tussle below deck, he was fastidiously clean and unwrinkled. She felt like a pile of worn-out, discarded rags beside him. “You wouldn’t believe it,” she muttered and was about to walk away when Commander Durne joined them.
“Ah, Mica. You’re still here. The governor would like to talk to you.”
The dwarf inclined his head to them both and walked to join Lord Bight at the end of the pier, where he and his officers waited for the rowers.
Commander Durne looked at Linsha, then took a closer look. “You have straw in your hair and a cut on your neck that wasn’t there earlier.” He grinned. “Did the cat put up a fight?”
To her surprise, Linsha suddenly became very self-conscious of her dirty, smelly clothes and her grimy face and intensely aware of how close Commander Durne was standing to her. She clutched the cat and the logbook close to her, like a shield, and sidled a step away. Fortunately the cat was perfectly comfortable where she was and made no effort to squirm away. A purr rumbled contentedly from her furry throat.
“Ah, no,” Linsha said quickly to hide her discomfort. “The dwarf ambushed me in the cargo hold.”
“Mica?” said Durne, surprised.
“He thought I was a looter.”
“I didn’t think he had it in him. He’s usually too fussy about his appearance to bother attacking people.”
Linsha heard no derision in his words, only an observation. “He said he’s the healer to the Governor’s Court.”
“Yes. He’s very good. He read the previous healer’s report and insisted on examining the Whydah for himself.”
“Have any of the healers recognized this illness?” Linsha asked.
Durne crossed his arms and stared out into the darkness of the harbor. “No,” he said briefly.
They lapsed into silence and stood together, gazing into the night. The darkness was velvety black, heavy with heat and haze. The moon had not risen yet, and little could be seen beyond the scattered lights on ships and pleasure craft anchored beyond the piers. There was still no hint of wind, and the water rested quietly under a gentle swell.
“Good night to burn a ship,” Linsha said softly.
They heard the splash of approaching oars, and two large towboats appeared out of the night. Quickly and efficiently, ropes from the Whydah’s bow were attached to the sterns of the two boats while the plank was drawn aside and the freighter’s moorings were cast off. A chanter on the foremost towboat began a slow, rhythmic song, and the oars on both boats bit deep into the water. The Whydah began to move.
Lord Bight and his bodyguards, the City Guards, Mica, and Linsha watched without speaking as the doomed vessel began her slow journey to the funeral pyre. They watched her glide slowly into the darkness until she was little more than a vague shape against the distant lights, then she vanished completely. Minutes ticked by.
In Linsha’s arms, the ship’s cat lifted her head and pricked her ears. A yellow light flared far away in the inky blackness, followed by a second burst. Two lights, like tiny dancing flames, faded, then brightened and spread into two glowing balls. Suddenly there was a muffled explosion, and the two lights soared into one furious column of flame that consumed the ship and cremated the dead in one last glowing conflagration that could be seen from all sides of the harbor and as far as the city walls.
When the flames at last began to die, a loud, sonorous horn blew a farewell call from the harbormaster’s tower. A boat anchored in the harbor responded by ringing its bell, and in moments people on every craft in the bay were ringing bells or blowing horns to pay their last respects to the harbormaster and the other dead. The sounds mingled into a long, wild dirge that carried the grief and fear of a city high into the night sky, where the gods no longer dwelt to hear.
When at last the horns and bells fell silent and the flames died down into the water, Lord Bight passed a hand over his eyes and turned away, his face stony. He gestured to his men to follow. Subdued, the Governor’s Guards took their places and began the walk back up the pier toward shore.
Linsha, with the cat and the ship’s log still in her arms, walked behind Commander Durne. The dwarf, Mica, stalked beside the lord governor. As the troop approached the boardwalk at the end of the pier, Linsha became aware of a large crowd of people blocking the way. It was a mixed bunch, drawn mostly from the taverns, gaming houses, and sheds along the harbor, men and women, a few minotaurs, a draconian or two, some rambunctious barbarians, and the ever-present kender, who were drawn to crowds like flies to cider. They were quiet at first, but as the lord governor approached, they started shouting questions to draw his attention. Behind them, a few City Guards shifted nervously and waited with the horses while another thin line of guards was all that stood between the press of people and the governor.
He slowed as he approached them, drew to his full height, and swept them with a raking regard.
“Lord Bight, what’s happening?” shouted several at once.
“Why are you taking people away?” a woman cried.
“We’ve heard hundreds have died. They say the illness is a curse!”
Another angry voice shouted, “How many more ships will you burn?”
More people joined the throng, sailors and merchants, pickpockets and servants. Their voices rose, confused and angry, and muddled together until there was only a babble of noise that assaulted the ears and made no sense.
Commander Durne and Captain Dewald, without apparent concern, sent soldiers to bolster the line of the City Guard and to surround the governor.
Lord Bight climbed onto a pile of crates and raised his arms to the crowd to ask for silence. Gradually, with much squabbling and muttering, the onlookers grew quiet.
Using a loud voice and succinct words, the lord governor answered the questions fairly and fittingly and explained the disaster as best he could over a renewed barrage of more questions, comments, and drunken heckling.
Linsha watched, impressed by Lord Bight’s unending patience. He seemed to radiate calm in his voice and in every movement of his body, and his words were chosen to comfort as well as inform. The noisy crowd slowly subsided under the hypnotic quality of his deep, even tones. So powerful was the effort he exerted to sway the mob that no one who stood within hearing remained unmoved by the enchantment of his voice.
Linsha and the guards were so intent on watching Lord Bight, they didn’t no
tice a gang of boisterous youths who had joined the crowd late and were hovering along the fringes, laughing drunkenly and whispering conspiratorially among themselves while they passed several large bottles of ale around.
A stocky man, clothed in a nondescript tunic and leggings, eased into their midst and handed them a jug of dwarven spirits. A smirk and a laugh crossed his face as he whispered something to their leader, a gangly fisherman’s son. The boy choked with mirth as at a joke and leaned over to tell his friends. In the middle of their guffaws, the stranger slipped away into the shadows of a dark alley.
The boys passed the jug around a few more times for courage, then one by one they picked up small items from the ground, the wharf, or nearby piles of cargo and eased their way toward the front of the crowd.
The fisherman’s son took the last swallow from one of the bottles of ale. “Help, we’re under attack!” he bellowed at the top of his lungs, and he hurled the bottle in the general direction of Lord Bight’s guards. His friends threw their ammunition, and a virtual rain of bottles, rocks, bale hooks, and broken boards fell among the guards.
Several guards fell, bleeding and dazed. The rest drew their weapons with shouts of fury.
The crowd gasped like people startled out of a dream. They saw the fallen warriors, the drawn swords, and pandemonium broke loose.
Furious City Guards charged into the mob to capture the boys. Most of the people scattered, terrified, in all directions, but a few of the more observant ones jumped on three of the miscreants, and several others gave chase to the rest of the boys. The guards’ horses reared and neighed in fright at the noise and rushing people. Officers shouted orders to their men.
The lord governor leaned forward, his hands on his knees, and drew a deep breath. His strength was temporarily depleted by his effort to calm the mob and the sudden shattering of his enchantment. His bodyguards, those still on their feet, immediately surrounded him in an impenetrable wall.
The Clandestine Circle Page 8