An attendant came to help her undress and to find the scented soaps and oils, then withdrew at Linsha’s request and left the Knight to her bath in solitude. To Linsha, after days of heat, humidity, dust, toil, and last night’s dunking in the dirty harbor, the cool water was blissful. She soaped and rinsed and soaped and soaked until her skin wrinkled and her hair was squeaky clean.
Reluctantly she left the pool at last and dressed in the loose, flowing robe and baggy pants someone had left in her room. The clothes were lightweight and comfortable for hot weather and fit her well enough. And they were much more feminine than anything Lynn usually wore.
She walked out of the bathhouse into the brazen sun and stopped so fast she almost stumbled. Commander Durne had one foot on the low wall surrounding the reflecting pool, and resting his elbow on his bent knee, he leaned forward to talk to Shanron. His pose was casual, friendly, and relaxed; his smile was full of humor and charm. Shanron reclined on the wall in front of him, her long legs stretched toward him, her weight resting on one arm as she dangled a hand in the water. They laughed together as friends, but were they intimates?
Linsha was amazed and dismayed by a pang of jealousy that flared out of nowhere. It was no matter to her what their relationship happened to be. She was too busy, and in too precarious a position, to even consider harboring feelings for anyone, let alone her commander. She fixed a smile of tranquil welcome on her features and joined the two by the pool.
The commander turned his pale aquamarine eyes to her. Linsha had seen those eyes convey many emotions, but it surprised her to recognize the pleasure, surprise, and interest she saw there while he slowly appraised her.
“There is more beneath that rough exterior than one would imagine,” he said.
The remark sent a chill sparkling down Linsha’s spine. Should she be flattered or wary? Did he simply mean she cleaned up well, or could he see beyond the disguise of Lynn the alley-basher to another woman? She had to remember he was a potential threat, a stranger and a loyal official in the government of a man her order had sent her to investigate. Just because she risked her life to save him didn’t mean there could be any emotional attachment.
Linsha abruptly twisted her fingers into her linen towel and tore her eyes away from his face. “Did you say something about a meal?” she said to Shanron. The words came out too quickly to her ears, but she hoped no one else would notice.
Shanron lifted her long frame from the wall and climbed to her feet. “A little better than a bath in the harbor, isn’t it?”
The sincere smile that warmed Linsha’s face brightened her eyes and brought a rose blush to the freckles that dotted her cheeks. “It was utter paradise.”
Ian Durne blinked and looked at her again thoughtfully, disarmed and diverted by a loveliness he hadn’t noticed before. His mouth opened as if he wanted to say something, then snapped shut with a second thought. Abruptly he drew himself together. His light eyes turned away. He nodded to the two women. “I will leave you to your duties.”
Shanron returned his nod. Since she wasn’t in uniform, she wasn’t required to salute. If she noticed anything unusual about Linsha’s or Durne’s behavior, she kept it to herself. As she led her companion toward the big kitchens and the eating hall she told Linsha the functions of some of the other outer buildings, the granary, the smithy, and the brewing house. She pointed out the location of the privies, the training hall, and the central well and introduced Linsha to the half a dozen guards they passed. She dropped no hint of a friendship with Durne, and Linsha didn’t ask. The lady Knight was happy to let the subject drop.
The eating hall was filled with guards coming in for the noon meal. They made Linsha welcome and had her repeat the story of her jump into the harbor in her own words. Her reputation, under scrutiny as a new recruit, rose several notches, for Commander Durne was liked by his men and commanded their respect.
Linsha hungrily ate of the simple but hearty food, and afterward she begged a plate of scraps from the cook to take to the cat. He grumped about feeding useless strays, but after listening to several of Linsha’s heartfelt compliments, he gave her a bowl of stew meat and some fish scraps.
Outside the hall, Shanron took her leave. “I’m on sentry duty this afternoon,” she explained, “but I will see you tonight. Go to the armorer, over there, to see the tailor about your uniform and talk to Captain Dewald. He’s filling out the duty roster. Oh, and squires may not leave the palace grounds without permission and only in the company of another guard. So no shopping without me.” She waved and hurried off to don her own uniform.
Linsha carried her scraps to the stable and was pleased to see Windcatcher happily settled in an airy stall with a full hayrack and fresh water.
An old groom ambled up to greet her. “She’s a fine mare. Glad to have her. That for the cat? No wonder the captain wanted to save her. She’s caught three rats already. She’s up in the hayloft. And go quietly! We have an owl up there. Just appeared, so don’t scare it off.” He winked at her and ambled off without waiting for a reply.
Bemused by the groom’s rapid-fire announcements, Linsha chuckled to herself. She found the ladder to the hayloft on the far right of the long row of stalls and climbed slowly up, balancing the two bowls of food in one hand. The loft was hot, dusty, and close. Stacks of hay filled the loft almost to the roof beams in some places and made intriguing hills and valleys where it had been forked into racks below.
Linsha moved deeper into the interior and peered around in the dim light. She whistled softly, the cry of a mourning dove, and from somewhere in the shadowy rafters came a reply. She tried to spot the owl, but Varia’s russet coloration and barred feathers made her very difficult to spot in poor light.
A shape detached itself from a beam and came floating down toward her. “There you are at last,” called a whispery voice. “I have been waiting for you.”
Linsha made herself comfortable in a pile of hay and put the bowls on the floor. She was about to ask the owl for her news when something rustled in the hay nearby. The calico cat walked sedately around a mound, a mouse in her mouth, and padded up to the owl.
Linsha watched warily in case the bird or the cat threatened the other, but the cat laid the mouse by Varia’s talons and meowed softly.
If the owl could have grinned, Varia would have been smiling from ear tuft to ear tuft. Her golden eyes blinked, and she delicately laid a foot on the gift. “I like this cat,” she told Linsha with a soft hiss.
The woman’s eyes widened. “She’s bringing you mice?”
“We have an understanding. I was supposed to ask you to bring fish for her because that’s what she prefers, but I see you’ve already anticipated this.”
Linsha, who had not anticipated any part of this, pushed the bowls of stew and fish scraps toward the cat and watched, amazed, as each animal enjoyed its meal.
As soon as the last bit of mouse disappeared, she leaned forward and whispered, “What news do you have? Did you see Lady Karine?”
The owl hopped to a pile of hay close to Linsha. “I did. She is pleased and will pass on the word to the Clandestine Circle.”
Linsha couldn’t help but grunt. “Huh. They probably already know.”
“She passes on greetings from your father. He spoke to your grand master and asked that his affections and regards be sent to you.”
The mention of her father pleased Linsha. It had been too many years since she had a chance to go home to visit her parents and grandparents. She hadn’t even seen Palin’s new Academy of Sorcery that he built in Solace.
“She also told me to tell you to be careful,” the owl went on. “You have been on the death ship, in town, among the dead. She is afraid you could become sick.”
A cold, crawling fear rolled in Linsha’s belly like a snake rousing from sleep, a fear made more uncomfortable by her long absence from her parents. What if she never saw them again? “I have thought of that,” she responded slowly, “but I don’t know wha
t I can do.” She paused when another painful thought occurred to her. “Lord Bight was on the ship, too. What if he dies from this plague?”
That event would certainly shake the state of affairs in the eastern half of the Newsea. Who would move faster to claim his authority, the Dark Knights, the Solamnic Knights, or the black dragon, Sable?
Linsha was quiet for a time, lost in thought. “I saw you at the harbor last night,” she said after a while.
“Yes. I saw you, too, jumping off that pier after a man you hardly know.” The owl chuckled deep in her chest. “I almost sent some pelicans to fish you out.”
“Did you see the man who incited those boys?”
“I didn’t notice him until he left, and even then I regret I did not know the significance of his departure until he was already well on his way. I lost him in a street of busy taverns.”
“Would you recognize him again?” Linsha asked.
“Maybe. He had dark hair and a distinctive gait. Do you think he may be important?”
“I don’t know.” Linsha absently pushed the curls off her forehead. “Watch for him, Varia. Keep listening. Something doesn’t feel right.”
“Of course,” the owl replied. She was quite good at hiding in trees or rooftops or making herself invisible in the shadows. She had become Linsha’s eyes and ears in the night-filled streets of Sanction. She hooted softly. “Always trust your instincts.”
Linsha slapped her hands on her thighs and pushed herself upright. “Well, my instincts tell me now I’d better go before that groom wonders what I’m doing.”
The cat licked the last of the drippings from the bowls and curled up beside the owl.
“Don’t forget to bring more fish,” Varia trilled as Linsha made her way to the ladder.
The captain of the Whydah never had a chance to reclaim his cat. Shortly after the sun rose and the steaming heat returned, he collapsed from fever and dehydration and was laid upon a pallet. Kelian, the woman healer who had visited his ship and returned to organize the sick house, used her mystic power to sooth his fever and tried to still the raging sickness in his abdomen that caused the deadly dehydration. It dismayed her how much energy it took to give him ease, yet most of his symptoms seemed to disappear and the red blotches on his skin faded. She fed him herbal infusions and beef broth to give him strength and kept a close watch on his progress. But all too soon the rest of his crew began to fall ill, and then the harbormaster’s wife, Angelan, and others who’d had direct contact with the Whydah’s crew succumbed. Some fell into feverish delusions and violent hallucinations and had to be forcibly restrained. Kelian didn’t know which symptoms were harder to treat, the rapid decline from dehydration or the delirious terrors.
The rest of the patients in quarantine were terrified and would have fled if the City Guards had not forcibly detained them. Before long, the healer and her assistants were exhausted, their powers spent, and those like the captain, who’d had a remission, slipped back into fever and delirium. Kelian held back her tears and summoned more help.
Shortly after noon the next day, a decree came from the governor’s palace in both a written proclamation that was nailed to special notice boards set aside for city information and in a verbal announcement that was spread by the town criers all over the city. The decree detailed the Sailors’ Scourge, for that is what the healers called it, and its symptoms and ordered all those with any health problems to report to the healers at the warehouse.
For the first time, the inner city took this plague seriously and the outer city began to panic. No one knew how the contagion spread, so how could anyone defend against it? It could have been caused by evil spirits, foul air from the volcano, insects, or even a curse spoken by any one of Sanction’s numerous enemies. The streets boiled with rumors. The sales of amulets and herbs that were reputed to ward off disease escalated like a gnome’s skyrocket.
In the manner of all frightened populations, different groups reacted in their own ways. Some people stockpiled food and water in their houses, locked their doors, and refused to come out, while others went to the nearest tavern to indulge as much as possible before death found them. A few packed their goods and left the city by the first available ship. A few more thought of the long-departed gods and wondered if this wouldn’t be a good time for them to come back. Although the harbor continued to function as usual, there was an underlying tension in the faces of everyone who ventured out. Only the kender and the gully dwarves seemed unbothered by the currents of fear around them.
Some of those who knew they’d had contact with the death ship, or the Whydah and its crew, appeared at the warehouse to talk to the healer. Kelian was weary and feeling overwhelmed, but she did her best to examine and reassure everyone who came. Six were already showing the early signs of the disease, and they were immediately quarantined. The ones that concerned the healer the most, though, were not those who came to see her but those who’d been with the Whydah’s crew and kept their mouths shut. If they became ill and stayed away, they could help spread the contagion among the unsuspecting.
By day’s end, new healers and more supplies arrived at the sick house for those in quarantine. There were now twenty-seven people in various stages of the illness, the captain and the harbormaster’s wife being in the worst condition. Kelian did her best to keep the captain alive, but he slipped too far beyond her reach. He died late that night. Even as she helped her assistant roll the body into a tarp to be taken away, the healer realized her own throat burned with a fierce thirst. When morning came, her face was marked with livid blotches, and by noon she was delirious.
“Keep your hands up. Keep them up! Protect your face,” bellowed the weapons master for the tenth time that morning.
Linsha obeyed by lifting her elbow higher than it should have been, leaving her chest exposed. As she guessed he would, the weapons master threw up his arms and stamped over to rearrange her defensive posture.
“You are a master with a sword,” he complained. “How can you be such a dolt in hand-to-hand fighting?”
“Because I’ve never let anyone get this close!” she replied testily.
In truth, Linsha was an expert in two forms of martial arts—also the dagger, the short sword, the rapier, and assorted weapons from other cultures. But Lynn would not be. Lynn of Gateway was a sell-sword with no formal training, which meant Linsha had to disguise her abilities and pretend she knew few of the advanced moves in the strategy of self-defense.
“Lynn, by the gods, I don’t know how you’ve survived as long as you have.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” In one flowing movement, she slid her dagger from its sheath, flipped it in the air, caught it by the hilt, and slid it neatly back into the sheath at her belt.
The corners of his mouth turned up in a half-smile. The master’s head was level with her own and bore a long braid of graying black. His arms and legs were muscular but trim as those of a runner or wrestler, and he walked with the slow grace of a panther. He pointed to a straw target against the wall of the training hall and said, “You may not be able to fight with a dagger, but I’ll wager a steel piece you can throw it.”
Linsha’s dagger left her hand before the words died in the air, and before he noticed what she was doing, she snatched his blade out of his belt sheath and threw it, too. Both daggers penetrated the black center of the target and hung there quivering. She turned and gave him a demure smile. “You’d win. Like I said, I don’t let people too close to me.”
“In that, you are quite skilled. Still, young woman, there will be times when an opponent slips past your guard and moves closer than you want.” So saying, he took a quick step behind her, struck with his foot to knock her off-balance, and flipped her over his back to the dirt floor.
Ruefully Linsha tried to take a deep breath. As she stared up at her instructor, her chagrin turned to embarrassment. Commander Durne had joined the master and leaned over to examine her. He flashed one of his glowing smiles and
offered her a hand. Her face hot, Linsha accepted his hand—it would have been rude to do otherwise—but she dropped it the moment she bounced to her feet.
Durne’s cool blue eyes actually twinkled. “Does she pass muster?”
“She’ll do,” the master said, crossing his arms. “She is superb with a sword, but as expected with one of her background, she is weak in the arts of personal defense. We will concentrate on that.”
“Excellent.”
Linsha allowed herself a mental sigh of relief and got busy dusting off her pants and new tunic. She walked to the target and retrieved the two daggers. With a bow, she returned the master’s blade to him and pushed her own back in place.
“Have you attended the horse master yet?” Durne wanted to know. When she shook her head, he gestured to the entrance. “Then if you are finished here, I will walk with you.”
The weapons master saluted the commander, nodded to Linsha, and left to attend to other duties.
Durne fell in beside Linsha as they walked into the blazing heat outside and moved toward the stable. At first he said nothing.
Linsha glanced up at his handsome profile so close by and swiftly tore her eyes away. She hated the way her heart was beating.
Finally he spoke, and his voice was very different from the brusque, powerful speech he used with other men. “I admit I was reluctant to accept you into the guards when Lord Bight told me he wanted to give you a chance. I didn’t think you were equal to the duty.” He chuckled and unconsciously rubbed the newly healed scar on his forehead. “You are proving me wrong.”
Linsha felt her heart contract from the warmth in his voice. Yet another voice, a silent knell of reason deep in her head, sounded a warning. She couldn’t let him get too close or see beyond her mask; she could never reveal her unexpected attraction to him.
The Clandestine Circle Page 10