He chuckled and slid the gold chain into her hand. “Fair enough.”
Hanging the chain about her neck, Linsha tucked the scale under her tunic, saluted the governor, and took her place by the window just as Commander Durne, the dwarf Mica, Chan Dar, the master of the Farmers’ Guild, and the new harbormaster entered the great hall. The four quietly took their seats as servants arrived with refreshments.
A second dwarf—Chert, the engineer, dressed in dusty leggings and leather vest—arrived and plumped down on the chair beside Mica.
The group was subdued. They paid more attention to the wine and fruitcakes than to each other. A few more minutes passed before Priestess Asharia came into the hall and took a seat beside Lord Bight.
Linsha was stunned by the change in the vivacious woman. Asharia’s boundless energy had reached an end, leaving behind a woman pale and haggard and mantled in exhaustion. She sipped a glass of wine given to her by Lord Bight, but she made no effort to eat or speak.
Lutran Debone came next, followed by a second man wearing the colors of the Merchants’ Guild. Lutran, too, was subdued and didn’t even bother to irritate his nemesis, Chan Dar. He sat at the far end of the table and looked everywhere but at Lord Bight.
The final man, in the merchant’s robes, bowed to the lord governor. “Your Excellency, I am Wistar Bejan. My master, Vanduran Lor, sends his regrets. He is unwell and cannot attend. He has asked me to come in his place and give you what aid I can.”
Lord Bight looked troubled. “I hope he is not ill with the scourge.”
A younger man than Vanduran, Wistar appeared uncomfortable in the presence of these august people. His head drooped. “I am afraid he is. He would not leave the harbor district where his ships lie moored and his warehouses sit full of goods he cannot move. He is at home now, but his family holds little hope.”
The governor turned to look at the priestess with a silent question.
She shook her head. “Most of my healers are dead or dying, Your Excellency. This disease is too powerful, too devastating. I will try to find someone to go to him, but unless we can find stronger tools to fight this plague, it will defeat us.”
Lord Bight leaned forward, his hands clenched to the arms of his chair. A light like hot fire was behind his golden eyes. “I will not accept defeat,” he said in a fierce voice. “Not from the plague, nor the volcanoes, nor fires, nor any of you.”
His last words caught the council by surprise, and they swiveled in their chairs to look at him.
“As you know now,” he went on, “I was gone for two days conferring with a source I know well. The information I gained has been passed on to Mica, and we are making every effort to find those stronger tools. Since my return, I have discovered that too many things have gone wrong. For example, the supplies I ordered from the farms were not delivered to the city. Why not?” He pinned his raking gaze on Chan Dar.
The farmer nervously shifted in his seat and replied, “We are still taking an inventory, Your Excellency. Many of the crops have failed this year because of the hot, dry summer and the lack of water for the new irrigation project.” He paused for a moment to glare at Commander Durne. “We were also raided by the Knights of Takhisis two nights ago. They swept out of the northern pass, burned some barns, stole our food, and disappeared before anyone could stop them. I mentioned this to the commander, but he has been busy.”
“We have all been busy,” growled Durne. “Your problems are only two among many. I don’t have the manpower to spare to chase stray Knights back into the mountains.”
“The guards have been trying to help us,” Chert spoke up for the first time. He put his fists on the table and frowned. “One of the reasons you don’t have water yet is that the construction sites for the aqueduct have been sabotaged. The destruction is childish. Tools and plans stolen; measuring lines misaligned; mortar ruined. Simple things. But they have all added up, and we cannot find the culprit. Or culprits. Someone is trying to hinder us, to delay the completion of the aqueduct. It is stupid! Why would anyone do such a thing when our wells are going dry and there is such a need for water?”
Why indeed? wondered Linsha.
“Lord,” Wistar spoke up. “We think the fires in the warehouse district were deliberately set.”
“Explain”
“Vanduran wondered about it earlier. There were two or three smaller fires set in other places, but those were quickly put out by nearby residents. Only the warehouse fire went out of control. He found a witness who saw someone in the warehouse only a short time before the fire started. The warehouse was supposed to be locked and empty.”
“Did this witness have a description of the intruder?” asked Commander Durne.
“Unfortunately, no. It was too dark.”
“So,” Lord Bight’s voice grated. “We have raids, arson, sabotage. What else?”
“Your Excellency, if I may speak.” Linsha stepped forward. At Lord Bight’s nod, she moved closer to the table. “I think you could add inciting to riot to your list. The man I tried to capture the night of the fire was spreading rumors that you had ordered the fires to be set.”
“Why?” Asharia said, horrified.
“He claimed the lord governor wanted to burn out the contagion by burning the hospital and the harbor district. He said the gates were locked to save the rest of the city. Many of the people there believed him. I think he could have started a full-blown riot if we had not been there to stop him.”
“What happened to this man?” asked Chan Dar. “Did he also start the fires?”
Linsha’s mouth tightened in disgust. “I don’t know. He tried to escape and fell down the sinkhole. Apparently he fell on his own knife.”
“How convenient,” the farmer said snidely. He turned to looked at Lutran. “It was your council that ordered the gates shut. Did you also send this rumormonger to cause trouble?”
Lutran Debone leaped to his feet, his expression livid. “Of course not! The entire City Council debated the closure of the gates and voted to lock them. We did not intend to start any trouble.”
“But you did not carefully think this through, did you?” Lord Bight said coldly.
The elder finally met the gaze of the lord governor. “No, Your Excellency. We did not. We did not consult with Commander Durne either. I admit we were frightened and overwhelmed by the disaster. You were not here to accept the responsibility, so we took it upon ourselves.”
Lord Bight ignored the insinuation about his absence and gestured to Lutran to sit down. “I understand why you would want such a plan to work. I wish it would, too. I would lock those gates in an instant if I thought it would save our people.” He leaned back in his great chair, resting his head on the silken pad behind him. His face lost all expression, and only his burning eyes moved to study each member of the council in turn. “Unfortunately, our enemy is within, and it is not something we can lock out.”
“Lord Bight,” said Asharia, speaking for them all. “Do you suspect one of us is responsible for these crimes?”
If he didn’t, Linsha thought, he ought to. According to the Clandestine Circle, one these people close to Lord Bight was an infiltrator from the Knights of Takhisis, and after hearing the list of things that went wrong in the governor’s absence, Linsha was inclined to agree. The problem was finding the traitor. All of these people had been in Sanction for years and had been advisors to Lord Bight for as long as she had been there. Where had the Circle gotten its information?
“I do not suspect anyone yet. But I will not let this continue. I am declaring martial law for the city to go into effect immediately. The older residents will remember the laws from the early days, but for the newer inhabitants, my scribes will make copies and post them on the news boards. Alert your own people. The guards have resumed patrols in the harbor district to control the looting. Second, the City Council is to go into recess until this crisis passes. If you have a problem, bring it directly to me. Third, we will double the guard on
the construction sites, and I will send riders to guard the shipment of food into the city. Is there anything else?”
“We could use laborers to dig more graves in the outer city,” Asharia suggested.
“Unless the families object, take the bodies to the lava dikes. The lava will be quicker and cleaner.”
They talked for a while longer of rationing food supplies and water, of setting watches for more fires, and of sending patrols to search houses for dead bodies. Their mood was grim and their optimism languished in the face of such difficulties. Lord Bight soon called an end to the meeting and told them to return the next day.
Commander Durne hurried out to organize guards for the construction sites and to strengthen the watch on the walls. The others left more slowly in ones and twos until only Mica and the harbormaster were left.
Lord Bight beckoned to the harbormaster to stay and walked slowly with him close to the window where Linsha stood. Without mentioning his source, he told the harbormaster about the rumor of pirates and dark ships near the mouth of the bay.
The harbormaster glanced out the window toward the harbor. “I haven’t heard that, but I will send scout ships to investigate.”
“As soon as possible. And when they return, tell no one but me,” Lord Bight ordered.
When the harbormaster had bowed and left, the lord governor turned to Linsha. “Now, squire, I have a task for you.”
Linsha tried to hold on to her bland expression. The last time Lord Bight said something like that, she’d found herself facing a lava river and a black dragon.
“Are you able to read? Enough to identify labels and titles?” he added.
Her eyebrows lifted. This sounded a little safer. “Yes, Your Excellency.”
“Excellent. Mica is going into the harbor district to retrieve some records from an old priest. I would like you to go with him, help him find the place, and bring the records back to the Mystics’ temple. He has a great deal to sort and catalog, so help him with that, too.”
“My lord,” Mica said, the annoyance plain in his voice. “I can do this myself. I doubt an alley cat is going to be much help.”
Lord Bight swiped his hand to one side. “I think you’ll find this one is different. Take her with you. She knows that area better than you do.”
“But she’s human. If she’s exposed to—”
The lord governor cut him off. “She’s been exposed indirectly several times. She may be immune to it by now.”
“Immune? I doubt it!” grumbled the dwarf. “If she isn’t, then it’s on your head.”
The lady Knight jerked her chin up in a knowing nod. So that’s why Lord Bight gave her the dragon scale—to send her out into the plague-ridden city. How kind. Still, the scale beneath her tunic lay warm against her skin and took away the worst of her inner dread.
With a salute to the governor, she joined Mica by the table. She smiled sweetly at him and said, “Meow.”
The dwarf had no sense of humor. He stood and glowered at her. “Come on. Let’s get this done,” he said with poor grace.
For the fourth or fifth time since they left the palace, Linsha swatted away a swarm of flies from her face and glanced at the silent dwarf walking his horse beside hers. He hadn’t said a word as they traversed the length of the road into the city. His deep-set brown eyes stared straight ahead; his bearded face registered no emotion. She noticed he was as fastidious about his appearance as ever, for his hair was combed, his clothes were immaculate, and his heavy boots were new. He carried no weapons, only a leather pouch filled with things that left lumps and bulges. She wondered if he had trained at the Citadel of Light with Goldmoon or at one of her mission schools. She wondered what had brought him to Sanction. His stony silence discouraged conversation, and his brooding gaze seemed far away.
They took the Shipmaker’s Road and passed easily through the city. Wheeled traffic was very light and few pedestrians were out. The Souk Bazaar was almost deserted. At the West Gate, City Guards held a strong presence.
A sergeant Linsha didn’t know halted them and requested to know their business. Mica told him gruffly, and because he was well known to the guards and Linsha wore the uniform of the governor’s bodyguards, they were quickly passed through.
“Sorry,” the sergeant apologized. “The gates may be open, but we’re trying to restrict traffic to only what is necessary. Most people are cooperating.”
At that moment a heavily loaded freight wagon rumbled through without stopping. The two drivers merely waved.
Linsha pointed at the tarp-covered load. “Why didn’t you stop them?”
“They’ve been by here twice today. That’s the dead wagon, carrying bodies to the lava moat.”
Mica shrugged at her expression. “You had to ask.”
They left the gates and hurried on into the outer city.
“Where do you need to go?” Linsha inquired.
“Watermark Street. The man is a scribe and has a shop there,” Mica said.
“Then we need to turn left here.”
“No, we don’t. Watermark Street parallels the harbor. We’ll just go straight and meet it,” he growled.
“If you go straight along this road, expecting to find Watermark, you’ll end up in the harbor. Watermark dead ends in a fish market a block before Shipmaker’s Road. Besides, I know the shop you want. He’s the only scribe on that street and his shop is in a tiny alley.”
“Fine,” he said in annoyance. “You lead the way.”
Linsha was pleased to do just that. She trotted Windcatcher ahead of the grouchy dwarf and let him worry about keeping pace with her. She relaxed into her saddle, glad to be back on familiar streets in the daylight, to see favorite landmarks and old scenery. The problem was that, while the streets and buildings looked unchanged, the atmosphere was radically different. The bustling energy and verve she was so used to feeling in the streets were gone. The harbor district seemed virtually empty. Only a few people were outdoors, mostly dwarves or kender or those without human blood, and they hurried by with tough expressions, as if driven by some grim purpose. Houses were boarded shut; taverns were closed. Here and there a few stores were open for business, while others were locked and shuttered. Some had even been looted. Abandoned dogs roamed about, looking for food.
The stench of death Linsha had noticed two nights ago was still present and even stronger in the heat of day. She noticed also many of the houses they passed had yellow paint splashed on the doors.
When she asked Mica about the paint, he unbent enough to answer. “The paint is to mark homes where all the inhabitants have died.” Linsha fell silent. Worry for Elenor preyed on her mind, and she wondered if she could talk the dwarf into taking a small detour to Elenor’s little house to check on the old lady. She glanced back at the dwarf’s stony face and decided probably not. But maybe she could confuse him in these back streets enough to lead him by Elenor’s house. It wasn’t that far from Watermark Street.
Casually she pushed Windcatcher into a faster walk and turned the corner at the public water pump, where a few children played in the trickle of water that still flowed. Mica duly followed, making no comment. Linsha led him on past empty inns and gaming houses, where desultory music echoed into the streets to lure customers inside. She took several more side streets and turns and soon came to the street she knew so well.
Mica rolled his eyes. “Either you have no idea where you are going, or you are deliberately trying to mislead me.”
Linsha turned in her saddle and said, straight-faced, “I’m deliberately misleading you so I may check on an old friend. We aren’t far from Watermark. I’ll have you there in five minutes.”
“You didn’t need to sneak around like this,” he sniffed. “All you had to do was ask.”
“Oh, sure,” she muttered. And give him the satisfaction of saying no?
They passed a small grove of sycamores drooping in the heat, several silent houses, and a small bakery before reaching Elenor’s
house. Linsha noticed the ladder still leaned against the chimney and a few windows were open to the slight breeze blowing in from the harbor. There was no yellow paint on the door.
Before Mica could protest, Linsha leaped off Windcatcher and flew to the door. “Elenor?” she shouted. She shoved open the door and dashed inside.
“Oh, by Reorx’s Beard,” Mica grumbled. After dismounting, he tied both horses in the shade of a nearby tree and stamped into the house after the infuriating woman. He found her in the back of the house, in a small kitchen, bent over the still form of an old woman sprawled on the floor.
Linsha raised a tear-streaked face. “She isn’t dead yet. Please help me, Mica.”
The dwarf laid a gentle finger against the woman’s jugular. Her pulse still beat steadily and there was no sign of the tell-tale blotches, but her skin felt hot and dry.
Together they lifted Elenor and carried her to the bed in her small room. Linsha went to fetch water while Mica examined Elenor. It took a while for Linsha to find a bowl, a pitcher, cloths, and water, so by the time she returned to the room, Mica was already finished.
“She doesn’t have the plague yet,” he announced. “She’s dehydrated and there’s a lump on her head. She must have fainted and struck her head on the floor.”
“I’m not surprised about the dehydration. There’s no water in the house. I had to get some outside.”
Using the cloths, Linsha bathed Elenor’s face in the tepid water and trickled water down her throat. Mica found the lump on her head and, using his power of healing, repaired the bruising and strengthened her diminished system.
Elenor’s eyes fluttered open. She saw Linsha first, and a smile shone on her withered face. “You’re back!”
“Hello, Elenor. I came to visit and what do I find? You flat on the floor. What were you doing, chasing ants?”
The woman’s face screwed up in bewilderment. “No, I … Let’s see. I was looking for a bottle of cherry cordial I had hidden somewhere. I was thirsty. There’s not much to drink.”
The Clandestine Circle Page 19