Clandestine Circle

Chapter Five

Linsha reported for duty at the West Gate just before sunset, about eight o’clock by the new clock in the mercantile building by the harbor. The headquarters building, built flush against the city wall and the northern tower, was busy with patrols reporting in, the night guards forming for evening duty, and throngs of traffic passing in and out as the city came back to life. The day’s heat loosened its paralyzing grip on the city, and the population was making up for lost time.

The night passed as usual, with only the normal drunks and bar fights to liven the patrol. In the harbor, the runaway ship sat at anchor not far from the Abanasian freighter. Both ships had been temporarily patched and left in place for further repairs and investigation. Linsha’s patrol checked them several times on its beat, and each time the guards stared at them, rocking silently in the moonlight. They needn’t have worried. No one went near the death ship.

At dawn the following day, Manegol, an elderly healer sent by the city council, came to examine the death ship. He had started the day before and wished to finish the examination before the heat, and the smell, became unbearable. A few complaints from nearby boats had already reached the harbormaster. Quickly the healer completed his examination of each body and made his notes. By noon, he reported to the harbormaster to give his conclusions.

Shaking his gray head, he said, “Everyone on board suffered the same symptoms, and I have no idea what disease killed them. The combination is something totally unfamiliar to me.”

The harbormaster had a scribe make a copy of the report and sent it to the palace. Then he ordered the City Guards to burn the ship.

Linsha wasn’t on duty when the merchantman was towed out into the harbor and set alight, but she watched the smoke of its burning rise slowly from the harbor and ride the afternoon breeze over Sanction. Eventually the trail of smoke mingled with the fumes and steams of Mount Thunderhorn and slowly came to an end as the ship sank below the waters of Sanction Bay. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief and hoped that would be the end of it.

The elders of Sanction went back to worrying about the volcanic dome, and Lord Bight supervised the strengthening of the lava dikes. The Whydah unloaded its cargo of sheep and cows, took on a load of ballast, and made preparations to leave Sanction as soon as the crew had finished a few days of shore leave.

Three nights after the runaway vanished below the water, Rolfe, the Whydah’s first mate, woke to a terrible thirst. He stumbled to the barrel nearby and ladled out a cup of water, then another and another. He drank until he felt bloated, and still the thirst raged in his mouth and throat. It was then the cramps struck-terrible, piercing, racking cramps that drove him doubled over to the head. By the time Rolfe was drained, he was so weak he could barely stagger back to his hammock.

A sailor found him a few hours later, raving and burning with a high fever. Vivid red blotches covered his weathered face. Appalled, the sailor ran to find the captain. The captain worriedly ordered a search of the ship and discovered three more men in the crew’s quarters who were ill, all of them feverish and complaining of a raging thirst and all of them men who worked the same watches with Rolfe and had boarded the death ship with him.

The Whydah’s captain was stunned. He took a mental head count. Most of his crew was on shore leave, and of those, at least six had also gone on board the galley. The remaining crewmen gathered around him, looking grim and scared.

“Send word to the harbormaster and the healer,” he ordered. “I want the rest of you to find the others on shore leave. Look everywhere you can think of. Find them and bring them back here. But be quiet about it! We don’t want to start a panic!”

The sailors hurried to obey. By morning’s light, two sailors had been found in nearby taverns by the Whydah’s crew and two appeared on their own, helping each other along the dock and singing bawdy songs. Those four seemed well enough, but to be safe, the captain quarantined them on the ship until the healer arrived.

The healer came soon after, and everyone realized with a pang of dread that this healer wasn’t the same one who had examined the dead days before. This one was a woman, lean and sinewy and kindly. She introduced herself as Kelian and confirmed their worst fears.

“The healer, Manegol, is suffering from intestinal cramps, high fever, and dehydration,” she told the captain, her concern obvious on her thin face. “The harbormaster is also ill. Whatever this illness is, it is starting to spread.”

Swiftly she examined Rolfe, the most ill of the sick sailors, then checked the others. Her expression grew pale. “Keep them comfortable as best you can,” she ordered. “Give them water for now. I will bring something to help ease the pain and fever.” She shook her head. “I must get help from the healers at the temple. Meanwhile, keep the others on the ship.”

The captain groaned. “We still have five men on leave. Part of my crew is looking for them.”

The healer’s eyes automatically turned to scan the busy piers, and her thoughts filled with dread. “Get them back here and keep them here, Captain. I will send word to Lord Bight.” She nodded her thanks for his cooperation and hurried down the plank to the pier.

The captain watched her stride away through the piles of crates and bags, the crowds of busy sailors, dockhands, and merchants, and the general throng and clutter of a prosperous harbor. He would not blame her at all if she did not come back.

Linsha had already been relieved of duty and was about to walk to the stable to check on Windcatcher when Sergeant Amwold caught up with her. His grizzled face looked more strained than usual and he barely acknowledged her salute.

“We’ve been recalled. Form up by the gateway,” he ordered and hurried away to find the others before she could ask questions.

Linsha grumbled under her breath at this change of plan. She was tired from her long night, and she was looking forward to a morning of rest. Rest was the last thing she got.

As soon as Sergeant Amwold rounded up his puzzled patrol, he told them about their new orders.

“The Whydah’s captain is missing five members of his crew. We have been ordered to search the taverns, pleasure houses, and gaming halls to find them. They are to be returned to their ship immediately. I have a list of their names. We will begin at the Street of the Courtesans and work our way south to Snapfinger’s Alley.”

While the others grumbled, Linsha felt her instincts come alert. This was unusual. The City Guard did not normally go on searches for lost crew members unless there was a crime involved or some type of emergency. She glanced around the gateway and noticed that all of the night and day patrols were forming up and marching down into the harbor district. Her eyes narrowed as she put two and two together.

“Does this have anything to do with the illness on board the runaway?” she asked.

The sergeant rolled his eyes. He plainly wished no one had asked him that question. “We have only been told that the men could be sick and that they need to be returned to their ship. That is all.”

Without another word, he led the five guards back to their patrol route among the back street taverns and alehouses along the southern rim of the harbor district. They searched for hours without success until noon, when Sergeant Amwold found a young man matching the name of a Whydah sailor happily drunk in the gutter behind an alehouse. The sailor seemed healthy to the patrol, but Amwold took no chances. He ordered a litter brought and had the giggling man tightly bound in a blanket and pushed onto the Utter with a pole. Then he sent two guardsmen to carry the sailor to the Whydah, with the added injunction not to touch him and to return immediately. With luck, the other sailors had been located and the patrol could knock off for the day.

The guardsmen came back shortly with an empty Utter and frightening news. The harbormaster had died, the first mate of the ship was near death, and seven of the Whydah’s sailors were ill. Only three of the five missing crewmen had been found.

The guards exchanged uneasy glances and went back to their search. Through the long, hot, miserable day, they went from alley to tavern to inn to house, searching every room, kitchen, shop, common house, and privy for the last two sailors. News of the search and of the harbormaster’s death spread like locust on the wind, so by midafternoon, half the population of the harbor district was out looking for the two men. The other half offered advice and criticism but preferred to stay indoors, away from possible contagion.

Sergeant Amwold would have preferred the criticism to the help. More often than not, the citizen volunteers attacked their self-appointed task with too much enthusiasm and ended up antagonizing the owner of a house or tavern. The patrol spent as much time soothing angry feelings and settling arguments as conducting a search. By late afternoon, they were exhausted, hot, and thirsty, and their patience was wearing thin.

Twice Sergeant Amwold sent messengers to the West Gate to check on the progress of the search, and both times they returned with bad news and orders to keep looking.

It was four in the afternoon, by the mercantile clock, when a runner caught up with the patrol and told Sergeant Amwold to stand down. The harbor-wide search had produced all but one sailor, and the night patrols were being recalled to get what rest they could before dark. Drooping with exhaustion, the five men and Linsha trudged back to the West Gate to report in to the day commander. The patrol waited in the shade of the city wall while their sergeant made his report. He came back shortly, carrying a large pitcher brimming with beer. They hastily dug out their horn cups.

“Compliments of Lord Bight,” he said with a tired grin. “Be back here at sunset.”

They gratefully filled their cups and drank to the governor’s—and their own—health. They turned to leave, when the sergeant suddenly added. “Oh, except you, Lynn. There’s a messenger here for you. He’s been waiting for several hours.”

Linsha was too tired to wonder or to catch the fleeting look of puzzlement in the sergeant’s eyes. She had no thought of who could have sent a messenger to her, only a desire to be left alone so she could soak her aching feet and sleep. So it was with real surprise that she walked into the shadowed hall of the Guard Headquarters and saw a powerfully built young man dressed in the scarlet uniform trimmed in black that denoted the Governor’s Guards.

He bounced to his feet in relief and hurried to meet her. “Finally!” he exclaimed. “I thought they’d keep you out there all afternoon.”

The lady Knight felt an immediate warmth for this young man whose sincerity flashed in his ready grin and open countenance. Some of her irritation changed to curiosity. “So did I,” she replied. “It’s been a very long day.”

“Well, come with me. His Excellency wants to see you. Your day is about to get longer.”

Linsha looked down at her dirty, sweat-stained uniform in dismay. The rest of her wasn’t any cleaner. “Do I have time to change my uniform or clean up a little?”

He twitched his head in a negative reply. “Better not. He sent his orders nearly two hours ago, and the governor doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

He led her outdoors, and together they walked rapidly up the Shipmaker’s Road toward the inner city and the intersection of the major north-south road. In this part of the city, the news of the sickness in the harbor district had not yet disturbed the peace, and the citizens remained quietly indoors, away from the fierce heat.

“Odd business, that ship sailing in here,” the guard said as he made a left turn onto Temple Hill Way. “His Excellency is very upset about the harbormaster’s death. They were good friends.”

“If this is a plague of some sort, the harbormaster won’t be the only one who dies,” Linsha said quietly.

“Paladine forbid!” muttered the guard.

In silence, they wended their way past the homes of wealthy merchants and government officials, past the governor’s old residence, to the stone-paved road that wound up the hill to Lord Bight’s new palace. Many years ago, the low line of hills had been blasted by the volcanic activity of its neighbor, Mount Grishnor, and later stripped bare by the slaves and armies of the Dark Queen. Soon after Hogan Bight diverted the ash and lava, however, he chose the highest hill for the site of his new lavish palace and began a replanting project to stop the severe erosion, take advantage of the fertile volcanic soil, and to add some beauty to the austere hills. The result was an artist’s blend of flowering shrubs for color, tall pines for shade, and groves of silver beech for delicate contrast. Other native plants and trees quickly filled in the gaps and spread from hill to hill. The mystics from the Citadel of Light on the next hill took the planting one step further and added exquisite gardens on the grounds of their temple. In the spring, the hills were a tapestry of color and life and one of the most popular places to take a stroll.

The shade trees continued about three-fourths of the way up the hill, then came to an abrupt end. Groves of pine and beech gave way to short-cropped grass that flowed in an open, gently sweeping slope up to the high walls surrounding the governor’s palace. Lord Bight’s appreciation for trees lasted only so far when it came to the defense of his house.

Linsha stepped out of the trees and into the brassy heat of late afternoon. With a gasp she stopped in her tracks and stared up the huge palace. She had always admired the edifice from afar but never as close as this.

The young guard grinned at her astonishment. “Beautiful, isn’t it? His Excellency designed it himself, they say, and brought in a colony of dwarves to build it. They haven’t finished it yet They’re still working on some of the outbuildings.”

“It’s so big,” she breathed.

“And built like a fortress. Don’t let the size or the beauty fool you. The place is a castle in disguise. We have a full company of the City Guards stationed there, plus the Governor’s Guards and the dwarves who stayed to handle the siege weapons. About the only thing that might flatten that house is one of the great dragons.”

Linsha studied the massive white stone walls of the palace and asked curiously, “Have any tried?”

The guard gestured toward the house. “Not yet.”

They continued up the road to a towering pylon gateway that marked the entrance onto the palace grounds. The governor’s red flag flew from the gate, and seven City Guards stood watch at the opening. They merely saluted the Governor’s Guard and motioned the two in through the gate.

Linsha lagged behind, drinking in her fill of the magnificent palace. Its main building stood four stories high and was roofed with silvery gray slate. Five huge towers stood, one at each corner and one in the center, where a tall, broad staircase climbed up to the main doorway on the second floor. She noticed there were no windows on the ground floor and only narrow ones on the second. The only visible entrance was the one in the front tower, and that was probably heavily guarded. Looking closer, she saw the glint of weapons in the sun along the roof line and in the tower battlements. More guards patrolled the grounds outside. This place was a fortress indeed.

Feeling impressed and a little overwhelmed, Linsha followed the guard up the stairs and through two tower doors. The doors were massive slabs of polished oak, strengthened with iron fittings, and as she guessed, very well guarded. They passed into a wide hall where more men stood guard at strategic locations. Narrow bars of bright light shone from the western windows and formed golden rectangles on the pale green marble floor. Brilliantly colored tapestries in blues and greens hung on the walls, and a row of alabaster columns marched in single file down the center of the hall. The big room was cool after the heat of the road and strangely empty.

“This is Lord Bight’s audience chamber for public officials and petitioners, but he has sent everyone away today. Come this way. He will be in his private office.” The guard led her to a set of stairs against the far wall and up to the third floor. From there, she became totally lost. Corridor after corridor that branched away in every direction. Numerous small hallways and countless rooms formed a maze that Linsha guessed was all part of the palace’s defenses. She followed the guard and tried to keep track of the left turns and the right turns and the number of doorways, but all too soon she was thoroughly confused and simply hurried to keep pace with his swift stride. The only detail she remembered with clarity was the fact that the upper floor was as richly and beautifully decorated as the audience hall.

Finally he came to a set of broad double doors of polished cedar, ornately carved with tree designs. He knocked twice, and the door was pulled open from within.

Linsha noticed two heavily armed guards at the door, several officers in scarlet uniforms inside the room, and Lord Bight sitting a huge table before the messenger pulled her beside him and snapped a salute.

Lutran Debone, the head of the city council, stood by the table, thumping his pudgy fist on the polished top. “Your Excellency must agree that this crisis is growing by the minute. What are your plans for the inner city? What if this plague breaks out within the walls? You must do something to contain it.”

Lord Bight lifted his eyes to the man’s face with a cold stare. His patient tolerance was obviously at an end. “Thank you for wasting my time, Elder Lutran. I have already set plans in motion to contain this disease. When they begin to concern you, I will let you know. Come back when you have something more constructive to say.”

Lutran opened his mouth to say more, then thought better of it. His hands fluttered in a disconcerted farewell, and he left the room, pulling the tatters of his dignity behind him.

“Now, Commander Durne,” Lord Bight went on. He stood up, pulled a rolled map from a pile on his table, and flattened it. The commander and his aide, Dewald, moved close to see it. The three men bent over the parchment while Linsha and the guard quietly waited at attention.

“Latest reports tell us the sailor from the Whydah is still missing. It could be that he is too ill to move or is already dead. The first mate died this afternoon.” Lord Bight stabbed a finger at a place on the parchment. “There is a warehouse here, not far from the southern pier, that is nearly empty at the moment. I want it totally emptied. My authority. We will make a hospital out it, and the entire crew of the Whydah is to be placed there, as well as any man, woman, or child who shows the slightest symptom of this disease. I want them placed in total quarantine. The healers from the temple have already offered to help. We will need supplies, water, blankets, whatever medicines the healers need, and guards. No one will go in or out without the healers’ agreement and permission from the officer of the watch.

“Next, I want all the bodies of the dead placed on the Whydah. Tow the ship out into the bay and burn it as well. If the captain argues, charge him with malicious conduct.”

“What about the harbormaster? His family is making plans for his burial,” Commander Durne pointed out.

A fleeting glimpse of sadness crossed Hogan Bight’s face. “His body will have to be burned, too. We cannot let this sickness get out of control.”

With a startling change of subject, the governor looked past the two officers and said, “Morgan, what took you so long? I sent you after her hours ago.”

Linsha lifted her eyebrows, wondering if she should say something, but the guard beside her replied, “She was on patrol, Your Excellency, in search of the sailor.”

“I see.” Lord Bight came around from behind the table and stood in front of Linsha. His eyes sized her up carefully, from dusty boots to sweat-damp hair. “Do you still wish to serve my government?”

Linsha tilted her chin and unconsciously stood a little straighter. So the Clandestine Circle was right. But what did he have in mind? She met his gaze with a level stare of her own and answered, “Of course, Lord Governor.”

“Good. I would like to offer you a position on the Governor’s Guards. Will you accept?”

Linsha rocked back on her heels. The Governor’s Guards! She hadn’t expected that. The governor’s bodyguards were the elite. They had to go through intensive training and were expected to serve Lord Bight with unswerving loyalty and obedience.

She paused a moment to savor his question. Yes, she wished it; she wished it very much. Entering Lord Bight’s private circle was something she had been striving for a long while, not only because of her duty to the Solamnic Knights but because she had come to respect this man and his abilities. And therein lay her dilemma. How could she serve both the Solamnics and Lord Bight with honor when her presence here was a lie, when her leaders ordered her to accept this commission solely to deceive and possibly discredit him? How could she give him her oath of fidelity when her first loyalty was to the Oath and Measure?

Of course, this was the only chance she would ever have to be close to him and perhaps learn his secrets. If she turned the opportunity down now, she would never be given another chance. She would have to go back to the City Guards and spend the rest of her days in Sanction patrolling the harbor alleys and taverns, and she would have to go back to the Clandestine Circle and tell them she had failed. Which rankled more? Deception or failure?

“Yes, Your Excellency. It would be an honor.”

Linsha’s fate was sealed.