Casket of Souls by Lynn Flewelling
“It only strikes the wretched?”
“So far, Brother.”
A young drysian woman came forward hesitantly. “If I may, Brother Senus, there is what I was telling you yesterday.”
“Go on, Sister, though I still say it’s only coincidence,” the older priest said grudgingly, clearly displeased at being interrupted by his subordinate.
“A week or so,” she told Valerius. “That’s the longest any of them have lingered, though the littlest ones and the aged usually go more quickly. The first who were brought in had been lying in the street. We didn’t know when they’d been stricken, but then an older boy and a girl were brought in by their families the day they fell ill. The girl lasted five days, the boy nine. Now we’re watching Silis.” She pointed to a child of no more than five. “His mother brought him to us two days ago. They go quietly, at least.”
“The rest of these were found in the street,” the priest explained. “Only the Maker knows how much time they have.”
“Or how many don’t get brought to us,” the woman added sadly.
Valerius examined the little child and the old woman closely, then grasped his staff, muttered some spell, and laid his hand on the old woman’s chest. She didn’t stir. “Have you tried sparis root and rabbit vetch?” he asked the priest in charge.
“Yes, Brother, and lania bark with spleen water, bitter saw grass, and Zengati salts. As you can see, nothing has any effect.”
“What do you think?” Alec asked when Valerius stood up again.
“I’ve seen other maladies that leave the stricken ones catatonic like this.” Valerius scratched under his unruly beard. “It’s closest to some form of Kalian falling sickness but there’s no sign of jaundice. And even if it was, one of those remedies should have helped them.”
“Thero wondered about epilepsy,” Alec told him.
“But you can’t catch epilepsy, can you?” asked Seregil.
“Not that we know of, but we also don’t know what causes it,” Valerius told him. “And the salts should have brought them around.”
“It could be some form of plague that causes epilepsy,” Alec suggested. “But Seregil and I haven’t caught it yet, and we’ve been close to it. Same for the drysians who tend to them.”
“Often, there’s no rhyme or reason to who catches plague,” Valerius told him. “Sometimes it takes the old and sick. Sometimes it takes the young and healthy, and it’s never all of one and none of the other. This one seems to strike children the most often, but you have a few of the old and ill.”
“What about Nais, though?” Alec pointed out. “He was young, and healthy as far as I know. And he doesn’t look like he’s been sick.”
Valerius arched a bushy black brow. “And you can tell that by looking at him, can you, Brother Alec?”
“No, I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t jump down his throat, Valerius. He’s concerned,” Seregil warned.
Valerius gazed around the room, expression softening a little. “It’s most certainly some new disease, and given where it’s been observed, I’d say it’s something brought in by sailors, as usual, or some trader. I’ve seen stranger things. As it is, though, I have no choice but to tell Prince Korathan.” He mopped his brow. “I can’t say I’m looking forward to it, though.”
“Well, he is a good deal easier to deal with than his sister,” Seregil pointed out with a smile. “But the Rhíminee merchants and the nobles who back them won’t like losing custom to smaller ports up the coast, or beyond the Cirna Canal if he decides to close the Lower City, especially on account of an illness that strikes down only those in the most wretched wards.”
“Which is why the vicegerent relies on me and not them to judge such things.”
“Maybe whatever it is will pass when the heat breaks,” said Alec.
“Perhaps,” said Valerius, but he didn’t sound particularly hopeful. “I think it might be best if you two come with me to speak with Korathan, since you’ve seen more of it than I.” He cast a baleful look in the direction of the priest. “I should send him, so he can explain why he kept all this secret, but I see no point in wasting the prince’s time.”
The prince’s formal audience hours had not yet begun in the great hall. A servant led them instead through the royal household to the queen’s garden, where Korathan was taking breakfast alone and reading a tall stack of correspondence as he did so. Seregil hid a smile at the prince’s look of surprise as he and the others bowed.
Korathan rose and took Valerius’s hand, then raised an eyebrow at Seregil and Alec. “You two again? This is unexpected.”
“Please forgive the early intrusion, but we bring word of a matter of the utmost importance,” the drysian replied. “A new sickness has appeared in the Lower City and over a hundred people have died.”
The prince’s pale eyes narrowed dangerously at that. “And this is the first I’m hearing of it?”
“I only heard of it this morning, and from these two,” Valerius explained.
Korathan glanced at Seregil. “You certainly are busy fellows.”
The drysian went on. “The priests and healers down there have been trying to study it and manage it themselves, but it continues to spread. Last night Alec found a man in the Upper City, who’d apparently come up through the Harbor Way.”
Korathan sat down and waved them to the other chairs. “Bilairy’s Balls! As if we needed anything else this summer. Tell me more.”
“Seregil and Alec have seen more of it than I have.”
The two of them told the prince of the people they’d found, and the temple drysians’ reactions.
“You handled the bodies and yet you come here?” Korathan asked incredulously.
“Yes, and as you can see, Your Highness, we haven’t caught whatever it is,” Alec replied.
“How it is passed is a mystery so far,” Valerius explained. “But it doesn’t seem to be through physical contact. I mean to look into this personally.”
“Very good. See that you keep me apprised of your progress. Of all the damnable luck!”
“With all this heat, I’m surprised we haven’t seen more sickness,” said Valerius. “Hopefully this one will run its course quickly.”
“I’ll issue the edict of quarantine immediately.” With that Korathan returned to his breakfast and the papers he’d been studying.
Parting ways with Valerius at the front gate, Seregil and Alec headed for Wheel Street.
“There, that’s handled,” Seregil remarked as they rode down Silvermoon. “Are you satisfied?”
Alec shrugged. “Quarantine isn’t going to help the people who are already sick.”
“It’s in Valerius’s hands, now, talí. There’s nothing more we can do. Come on, let’s see Thero, then it’s home for a nap for me.”
SEREGIL had his answer about the attempted assassination the following afternoon when Runcer appeared at the library door. “My lord, there’s an urchin asking for you.”
“The usual urchin?” Seregil asked, setting his book aside.
“No, my lord. A new one.”
The boy in question had been left waiting on the front doorstep. He wasn’t much older than Kepi, and had the same capable, starved look about him. He hopped to his feet as soon as Seregil stepped out.
“Message for you, m’lord,” he said, making a sort of bow.
“Yes?”
“Just one word, m’lord. ‘Laneus.’ ”
Seregil felt a cold sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, although he’d expected something like this. He gave the child a silver penny and went back inside.
Alec came in from the kitchen and found Seregil staring at the murals, absently rubbing at the thin scab on his throat.
“What’s wrong?”
“Laneus didn’t waste any time. He set the assassins on us. I doubt they’ll stop at just one attempt.”
“Time to pay him a visit, don’t you think?” asked Alec.
“Per
“Why can’t I do the housebreaking? You’re better at entertaining the nobles.”
“You’ll be fine.” Seregil leaned forward and kissed him on the tip of his nose. “Besides, it’s my turn.”
“We’re taking turns now? If that’s the case, then you’re wrong. You burgled Malthus, and Reltheus,” Alec countered, undeterred by the kiss. His expression darkened ominously. “This is the second time you’ve tried to keep me from going out alone. Is this about that night I broke into Kyrin’s house without you?”
“No, talí, I just—” Seregil broke off with a sigh. He’d sworn long ago not to lie to his talímenios. “Well, maybe a bit.”
“I’m going,” Alec said in a tone that he seldom used with Seregil, or anyone else, for that matter. “Either you trust me, or you don’t.”
“It’s not a matter of trust.”
“Yes, it is.” Alec took him firmly by the shoulders and looked him square in the eye. “You’re going with Laneus. Because you are much better at charming the nobles than I am, and always will be. I’ll be fine—and careful. I promise.”
A muscle twitched in Seregil’s jaw as he clenched his teeth against all the arguments he wanted to make. It was true; he hated the thought of Alec doing the job alone, in a large and unfamiliar villa. But Alec was also right about their individual skills. His young partner had taken to nightrunning and swordplay far more naturally than he had to the delicate thrust and parry of social subterfuge.
Caught in the strong current of that earnest blue gaze, Seregil gave in. “All right. You do the housebreaking.”
Alec grinned. “And I won’t set anything on fire.”
Dressing for the evening, Seregil was careful to leave the lacings of his shirt loose, so that the garrote mark showed. It would be interesting to see how Laneus reacted to the sight of it.
The sharp thud of an arrow striking a wooden target drifted in through the open bedroom window. Seregil shrugged into one of his more elaborate coats and wandered over to watch Alec send another shaft to the center of the painted bull’s-eye. The setting sun cast a mellow light over the garden and picked out glints of pure gold in his lover’s hair as he smoothly nocked an arrow and raised the bow again, speeding a third arrow to split one of the first two. It was a neat trick, if hard on arrows, and one that never ceased to impress people. Alec made it look as easy as picking a single ward lock.
As he lingered there at the window, however, another image came to him: Yhakobin’s villa in Plenimar, and the day he’d stood at a barred window, seeing Alec alive in another garden, walking with Ilar.
Stop it, Seregil told himself, willing the painful image away. The past was past and Alec was right about his unreasoning fears.
He stood a moment longer, admiring the strong lines of Alec’s slim body, and the lean, corded muscles in the younger man’s bare forearms as he pulled the bowstring to his ear again. Seregil had long since come to appreciate that archery was far more to Alec than a mere skill; it was a kind of meditation, a way he sometimes focused that fearless mind of his.
Alec let fly, then looked up and smiled at him, as if he’d known he was there all along. Seregil smiled back and went to find his boots.
Alec saw Seregil off that evening, then stole off to the Stag and Otter to pass the evening until it was time to go. Settling by an open window in the sitting room with a book Thero had lent him on dragon lore, Alec tried to read, but soon found himself scanning the same page over again. He set it aside and gazed out over the neighboring rooftops as the shadows lengthened across the city. Seregil had always been concerned for him, he knew, and in the early days of his apprenticeship that concern had been warranted. He wasn’t sure when it had begun to irk him, but it did now.
When it was full dark he went to one of the clothes chests in the bedroom and put on a plain dark coat and trousers, then tucked a square of black silk and his tool roll inside his shirt. The cool weight of the tools against his bare skin was familiar and comforting, as was the dagger at his belt. After a moment’s thought, he buckled on his sword belt and threw on a light cloak to cover it, in case of assassins or footpads, though the latter were less likely in that quarter.
He blew out the lamp and went back to the sitting room and one of the chests there. Inside, he found the muslin bag he was looking for and selected an owl feather. He held it a moment, sending up a silent prayer to Illior Lightbearer, patron of thieves—and nightrunners, presumably—then singed the tip of it over the remaining candle and tucked it behind his ear for luck. Gathering the rest of the night’s equipment, he blew out the candle and set off.
Laneus’s handsome three-story villa in Ruby Lane had plenty of tempting balconies and lots of trees. Alec skulked down an alleyway to the tradesmen’s lane that ran behind it. The wall here was higher than most. Seregil had joked that the higher a noble’s rank and the greater their fortune, the more they walled themselves in.
He checked the lane, then took the rope and muffled grapple from under his cloak. Checking the cloth wrappings that would mute the sound of the metal on stone, he swung it up and grinned when it caught on the first try. Tugging it to make certain it was securely seated, he climbed up to the top and peered over. Metal spikes that had once protected the house had been sacrificed to the war here, too.
The garden was large and laid out in a formal pattern, with traditional crushed-shell paths that showed pale in the starlight between the beds of flowers and herbs. Balanced there, Alec appraised his route in. On this side of the house there were no trees or convenient drainpipes close enough to the balconies to be of any use. However, the ground floor was lined with tall glass doors overlooking a terrace and an ornamental fishpond. He’d have preferred a kitchen or pantry window, but the sides of the house were walled off. There was no choice but to take the risky way in across the terrace into the lower level, where it was more likely that some servants could still be underfoot.
But he wasn’t about to give up the job he’d had to fight for.
There was no sign of a watchman, but there could be a dog. Or dogs.
He took out the bit of sausage he’d found in Ema’s pantry and tossed it toward the house. It was an idea he’d had the last time a dog surprised them, and it worked. There was a single bark, then a huge brindle hound ambled from the shadows and went for the sausage. Alec whistled softly and when the hound looked his way Alec raised his left hand, first and little fingers extended, and made the turning motion of the thief’s cantrip, whispering, “Soora thasáli.” He wasn’t certain the charm would work at this distance, but the dog didn’t bark.
Alec shifted the rope and climbed down into the garden. The dog trotted over for a scratch behind the ears, then disappeared into the shadows again. Avoiding the shell paths, Alec made his way to the terrace and sidled up to one of the tall glass doors. All was dark inside, but the faint moonlight spilled across a patterned carpet and the slender curved legs of what looked like a dining table. It was unlikely that servants would be sleeping there, so he picked the lock and slipped inside.
At the far end of the room a set of double doors was outlined in some faint illumination, probably a night lamp. Alec waited to be certain the light was not moving—a lantern carried by some watchman—then stepped out into a long corridor. To his left he could see part of a receiving hall, the source of the light, and a corridor continuing on from there. The place was huge, and he sent up a silent plea to the Lightbringer that whatever there was to find was down here somewhere. This was a two-man job, though he wasn’t about to admit it to Seregil later. He didn’t have to prove himself again, he knew. He just had to prove to Seregil that he could let Alec out of his sight and not lose him
The back of the house was taken up with the dining room, several sitting rooms decorated in different styles—none of which contained any sort of secret hiding place that he could find—a larger dining room, two garderobes, and the kitchen. From there a plain stairway led up to what was most likely the servants’ quarters. The corridor past the receiving hall led to a lavish ballroom.
In the receiving hall, a marble staircase led up to the part of the house he next needed to explore. He judged he’d already been at it for nearly an hour, and wondered fleetingly how Seregil was doing keeping Laneus and the others occupied.
Night lamps burned along the upstairs corridors, as well. Shoes set out for cleaning along the upper corridor showed him which rooms were occupied—five in all. Avoiding those rooms, he discovered a huge library and a large, mostly empty room that served for sword practice, judging by the various styles of blades in racks on the walls.
At the far end of the corridor he at last found what appeared to be a man’s study. It was rather small and by far the coziest room yet, with a pretty fireplace and a jumble of books, scrolls, and male bric-a-brac on the shelves that lined the room. It was tempting to take some small item as a present for Seregil, but he didn’t want to chance leaving the slightest sign of his visit.
The writing desk under the window overlooked the top of the garden wall and the side of the neighboring house. He took out his lightstone and fitted a leather cone around it to shield it from anyone happening in. Rifling the locked correspondence box first, he found a half-finished letter. As he read it his eyebrows arched in dismay.
There was no signature, but comparing it with other letters in the box, it appeared to be in Laneus’s hand. He debated taking it, then decided against it and instead copied the letter out. His script was far less elegant and clear than Seregil’s and he blotted a few places in his haste, but it was soon finished. There was also a sealed letter addressed to General Sarien.
Alec carefully pried the seal loose. The letter was wrapped in the sheet with the general’s name on it. The letter itself had no date or salutation, just a few lines in Laneus’s bold script.