Moon's Artifice (35 page)

‘Master Nyl, I have a task for you.’

The man bowed as the door closed behind Synter, her guide withdrawing without waiting for instructions.

‘I live to serve the Order,’ Nyl said. ‘May I offer you anything ?’

Synter shook her head. It was a strange sensation for her, a woman not used to this sort of goshe. Like all of the half-dozen others she’d met today, Nyl could function perfectly well without guidance, lead his small flock and maintain the Shure without any input from the leaders of the goshe. Except when presented with the Blessings of Command they were as free-thinking as Synter’s Detenii, skilled leaders and teachers, yet unblinking in their obedience.

Synter was more used to her Detenii teams, fighters not bound by anything more than loyalty and unity, or the slaved goshe they used as expendable agents – ones that hadn’t taken to the poison so well and were little more than mindless drones.

‘Nothing, thank you,’ she said awkwardly.

Nyl indicated for her to take a seat in an armchair and she did so, the nobleman settling easily on the other side while he waited for his instructions. After a moment’s pause Synter caught up with herself and pulled a small leather-wrapped flask from her coat pocket. Earlier there had been seven sitting there, but this was her last stop before she went to interrogate the prisoner they’d taken that morning.

‘You have a water-butt here, or something similar ?’

‘For drinking from ?’ He nodded. ‘Downstairs, by the kitchen.’

‘Pour this into it then assemble all of your goshe open to
command.’
She spoke carefully, ensuring the word was accompanied by another flash of light in her eyes. ‘Have them take a flask each home and drink it with their families. Tell them it is blessed by the priesthood of Lady Healer. They should not be wearing goshe clothing.’

‘I understand. There is talk of plague in the city ; some say the wells have been poisoned by demons.’

She nodded. ‘Those already open to command will be less affected, it will take longer for them to succumb if they do at all – giving them time to fetch help and ensure their plight is known.’

‘And once they are ill ?’

‘Wait for the morning. The city will be gripped with fear of plague, a suggestion will be made that the victims are removed from the city to contain it. You will order your remaining goshe to assist in the evacuation, tell them the Order has been shamed in the eyes of the Emperor and this is the price of our penitence. They will assist the city’s doctors, Lawbringers and anyone else involved in the evacuation of the sick.’

‘Where are they being taken ?’

‘Confessor’s Island,’ she replied, ‘our sanatorium there. It’s a short boat-ride away and the only sensible place to contain such numbers.’

‘How many ?’

‘Several thousand, we believe. The goshe must all travel to the island, but we must avoid any connection between the Order and the plague where possible – aside from our doctors being the best ones to treat it.’

Master Nyl bowed and took the flask. ‘I shall do as you command.’

*

Out in the pale afternoon sun, Enchei checked the inn environs. He shrugged his shoulders, strangely discomforted by the feel of armour around his body again. The weight was no problem, the slight constriction on his movements negligible, but with it came memories that proved far less comfortable. The armour seemed willing to accommodate the changes almost two decades had imposed – as he knew it would – but as he’d fitted the overlapping plates onto his body Enchei had felt a profound sadness settle over him.

The armour came in two distinct parts ; a flexible one-piece suit as durable as a wyvern’s scaled hide with separate pieces of plate that locked into place over it. It had been made specifically for Enchei, almost forty years ago now by Astaren mage-priests, and would outlast him despite the changes they had wrought on his body at the same time.

The suit remained strong enough to resist the crossbows of the goshe, as it had proved early that morning, but the plates would survive far greater impacts and Enchei suspected he’d need all that protection if he was to rescue Narin alone. Crucially for him though, it was all far thinner than regular armour and under normal clothes would just make him look bulky – until he put the helmet on.

I’d hoped never to do this again,
Enchei thought sadly as he started off down the street.
I’d hoped all this was behind me.

The memories kept on coming. Focusing on the task at hand did nothing more than quieten them ; they were too strong to deny entirely.

The coldest corners of the city – nothing a demon likes better than to be cryptic and dramatic at the same time. So now I have to trawl dead-end streets and graveyards, while Narin’s time grows shorter.

In his mind he heard voices ; the death-cries of comrades, the rage of ancient Gods. He saw the sky burn, a palace larger than the Emperor’s own collapse in on itself, and mountains fall.

All I’ve seen ; all I’ve done and still death isn’t done with me. It’s a wager you never win, my teachers said that often enough, but somehow it doesn’t seem to matter.

He walked on, a shapeless cloth bag slung over one shoulder and his leather coat clutched tight in his hands despite the mild weather. The inn was located on a side-street connecting two larger ones. As he reached the corner, Enchei shook himself from his thoughts and checked his path ahead. The sight was enough to stop him in his tracks – knots of people standing in the middle of the street, many carrying weapons while others lay on the ground, in the street and open doorways.

Paint adorned the white lime-plaster walls of many of the buildings, hasty scrawls in red and black that conveyed their message easily enough. The circular symbols of Lady Healer and Lady Pity, below them the gibbet-like motif of Lady Magistrate – three Gods together whose devices spelled only one thing : plague.

Enchei cast his gaze up and down the street. Four houses on this one alone ; two next door to each other, the other two a short distance away. Quickly he moved up to be within earshot of the nearest group and discovered those on the ground were not dead, but in the grip of some sort of fever.

‘How long they been sick ?’ he asked the nearest of the group, a fleshy man with pox-scars on his cheeks and thinning hair.

The man jumped at the sound of Enchei’s voice, half-raising the cleaver he clutched.

‘Half the morning,’ the man replied eventually, the fear evident in his voice. ‘People been just dropping in the street ’cross half the city, they say. All these damn foreigners, bringing their diseases to the city,’ he added in a quieter voice, apparently assuming Enchei was a local.

Enchei scowled and nodded, keen to make a friend in anyone willing to pass on gossip.

‘Half across the city ?’ he said in an awed voice, ‘and all today ? Pity preserve us.’

‘There’s talk o’ demons too – up in the north districts,’ the man continued. ‘Folk saying it’s demons what brought it. There’s word the Lawbringers are going to shut the city down, impose a curfew until they can hunt ’em down.’

Before Enchei could reply there was a shriek from across the street. They all turned, instinctively recoiling, only to see a woman in a white servant-caste scarf stagger as she walked. She reached out for those around her, looking for a steadying arm, but her hand was slapped away and she was driven sideways by the desperate blow. She wavered for a moment while all those around her retreated, clearing a space for her to stumble another few ungainly steps, then folded to the floor with a thump.

No one moved for a long moment, they all just stared aghast at the limp body on the ground until a woman’s voice broke the quiet.

‘Cowards ! Fools !’

A slender young woman pushed her way forward through the fearful crowd that watched as though waiting for the woman to rise a demon.

‘Help her,’ the young woman called to no avail. She reached the woman’s side and knelt, gently tilting her head to check for injury. Satisfied she was not badly hurt the younger woman lifted the invalid’s head and eased an arm under her shoulders.

She looked up and glared around at the onlookers. Little more than twenty years old and unmarried from the way she was dressed, Enchei realised she would have been strikingly attractive if it hadn’t been for the tear-streaked dirt on her cheeks and red-rimmed eyes.

‘Help me, one of you !’ she demanded, but no one moved.

Enchei wavered, glancing down at the bag he carried – well aware he had a mission to complete, but transfixed by the determination in her voice. She was obviously of local blood, with light brown hair and deep blue eyes, yet there was something to the set of her jaw that snagged him. In an instant his thoughts were back at the day on which he had left his home, almost two decades past ; all too aware he’d never return.

Gods of the high peaks,
he thought as a mournful ache appeared in his chest.

From nowhere the scents of lavender and mountain pine filled his nose and the ache intensified – the laughter and shouts of children briefly drowning out the hush of the city street.

Unable to bear it any longer, Enchei slung the long strap of his bag over his head and stepped forward, tugging his own white scarf loose from around his neck. No one spoke as he advanced towards the woman, tying the scarf across his mouth so that his face was obscured from those watching.

‘You don’t need to cover your mouth,’ the young woman said, in a gentler voice than she’d used before. ‘I’ve been with my family all morning without getting sick ; it’s nothing in the air causing this fever.’

‘All the same,’ Enchei said gruffly. He knelt beside the ill woman and slipped his arms underneath her, lifting her easily and following the young woman to the nearest open doorway.

‘Bring her in here,’ she instructed, pointing to a blanket lying on the floor on the far side of the small room. Through another doorway Enchei glimpsed three figures lying side by side on a mattress, faces slicked with sweat but as still as the dead.

‘You’ve been with them all day ?’ he asked.

She nodded. ‘I don’t know what’s causing the illness, but I feel fine. I’ve been tending the neighbours too, since I’m the only one not scared to go near them.’

‘How long have they been ill ?’

‘Since early morning. I was last up, at work until past midnight.’

Enchei looked down at the woman on the cracked tile floor. He didn’t want to investigate her body too carefully for signs of plague or other disease, but from what he could see it seemed more like a severe fever than anything else. That in itself was easily enough to kill, but the speed at which people were being taken ill made it unlike any fever he’d seen before.

‘I have to go.’

‘Go ?’ the statement seemed to take her by surprise. ‘Well, of course. Thank you for helping me,’ she added gruffly.

‘Keep them drinking,’ he advised, looking her straight in the eye for the first time. ‘Good luck.’

He turned his back before she could say anything, not trusting himself not to linger if she asked.

Foolish old man,
he chided himself.
Narin needs you, nothing else matters – certainly not your misplaced guilt.

Careful to avoid the looks he received outside, Enchei left and headed towards the public thoroughfare. Out on that bustling avenue he tugged the scarf down and uncovered his mouth, needing to avoid attention more than he needed to hide his face now he was among the crowds of day.

Enchei walked with his head low, ignoring as much of the confusion and fear he saw as possible. Clearly the rumours were correct ; this fever was widespread and indiscriminate. At one point a curtained litter hurried past, its bearers almost running in their haste. The herald clearing the path for them was barely about to keep ahead of his charges.

He didn’t see who was within it, but the markings declared it a House Wolf nobleman. If the nobility was getting sick too, the problem was a greater one than anyone could have expected, but more likely they were just keen to be off the streets – away from the unwashed masses most susceptible to disease.

The coldest corners.

The former Astaren focused on those words, let his thoughts circle them as a point of reference. The effort dampened his memories of years past, quietened the voices enough to let him decide where he was going. There was an underground market just across the canal in the Cas Tere Warrant, some sort of ancient cellar network that had survived long after the great building above it had fallen. It was the best and nearest option he could think of aside from Coldcliffs, and Enchei had no desire to try there unless he’d run out of options.

I could head west instead,
Enchei thought as he walked briskly east along the thoroughfare, towards the Fett Canal.
The House Dragon vault cemeteries ? They’re cold and lonely, a good place to be unobserved.

He shook his head, dismissing the idea. Demons were certainly not afraid of sanctified ground, but the cemeteries were of the Gods ; demons would not use them by choice.
The cliffs of Eagle ? The wind gets channelled down those rocks ; there are streets that spend half the year frost-rimed in those parts.

Enchei paused as the thoroughfare opened up ahead and he was afforded a sight of the Fett Canal. Traffic on the canal itself was as busy as ever, but there were fewer pedestrians on the towpaths than he’d have expected. It was the experience of that morning’s flight that stopped him. Somehow the fugitive group had picked up additional pursuers as they travelled along this canal. Enchei wasn’t sure how it had happened, but had to assume the goshe had kept a lookout stationed somewhere nearby for whatever reason.

Just to be safe he cut into the alleys on his left, winding his way through narrow, rubbish-strewn streets until he came out on the canal again. This time he faced not the wide, stone-built Spinner’s Bridge that spanned it for the public thoroughfare, but the Poor Man’s Bridge. It was an aging, wooden affair, the Poor Man, with slimy boards and space only for two men to pass, but as such any lookout was unlikely to be stationed so close to it.