Across the Long Sea (19 page)

 

Chapter Sixteen

A
VANI
STEPPED
AROUND
Deval. She scowled as she examined the gate. Someone had obviously tried to brick the passageway closed, and not recently. Rectangular graystone bricks rose up the cavern wall, ten rows of seven. The mortar was dried thin and crumbling, evidence a sprinkle of lime and gravel on the carpet beneath. The bricks might have eventually fallen away naturally, made infirm by time or the library's dry air, but that was no longer a worry, because something had already punched through the man-­made wall. The top row of bricks had been removed and piled in a neat stack to one side.

“From the passageway into the library,” Russel said, running a practiced eye over the break. “With some force. Would have been messy. Someone cleaned up.”

Deval smiled. “The library spells filtered away the dust, which is likely why the breach was missed for so long. I came upon it by accident. The dislodged bricks fit back into place without trouble, and the trespass is hidden away.”

Avani stretched, peering past bricks into the gap. She'd seen the flash of scrollwork already in the warm light off the cavern walls. The gate was larger than any she'd seen beneath the Downs, tall as a man, set into the rock with great metal brads as thick as her arm.

“It's locked,” she guessed.

Deval's dark eyes were sober. “Difficult to tell for sure, unless the wall is pulled down. For the nonce His Majesty has expressed a desire leave it be, in fear of drawing unwanted attention.”

“The theists have no idea their temple's been compromised,” Russel guessed. She tapped the hilt of her sword, visibly vacillating between surprise and approval. “Is that wise?”

“It's in the hands of the Goddess.” Deval shrugged. “And His Majesty. To whom this old man has sworn liege and loyalty.”

Avani knew she was gaping like a landed fish. Deval's smile grew dry.

“We all line our nests in this world, child,” he said. “Whether it's atop desolate Downs or amid a wealthy city. When I stumbled upon this intrusion two springs ago, I knew it was time.”

Russel started filling the gap in the wall with dislodged bricks, gloved hands steady. It went quickly and in no time at all the bricked-­up passage appeared whole. A person would have to look very closely to notice the threads of missing mortar.

“Why were you spending time down here in the first place, uncle?” Avani demanded.

Deval shrugged. “Knowledge is all things,” he said, and then the corners of his mouth turned up in faint amusement. “Also the Masterhealer asked a favor. As one of the last of our ­people, I have knowledge of my own to add to the temple stores. I've been scribing, in my free moments, recording island wisdom before my memory fades with age.”

“
Ai
.” Avani regarded her friend narrowly. “And making coin at both ends, I'm guessing.”

Deval shrugged, unrepentant. “A man does what he must. Trade has been slow, what with war brewing in the north and east.”

“Good as new,” Russel interrupted, brushing dust from her hands. The faint puff rolled in the air, then disappeared. “Or so it would appear to the casual observer. I'd feel better knowing it was locked.”

The key on its chain around Avani's throat felt suddenly heavy.

“Two springs ago, you said. They came up this way,” Avani hazarded, sorrow heavy as a stone in her gut. “Into the city, into the gardens, where they came upon Lady Katherine.”

“It's possible.” Deval studied the bricks. “I've said the prayers, and given offering, and they've not come since. But my time down here is nearly done, and His Majesty wishes you to spell it closed.”

Russel held up a hand in warning. “Hsst,” she warned. “They come. We're out of time.”

Quick steps echoed through the stacks. Avani picked out three different treads; two in heavy boot soles, one a brushing of temple slippers across stone.

“Stall them,” Deval said, low. “We need but a minute more.”

Russel nodded. She took off between the cases, disappearing quickly from sight. Avani heard voices lifted in sudden query and alarm.

“A minute more?” she hissed, equally alarmed. “I don't
know
how to spell it closed.”

“Malachi knows.”

Avani was angry enough to stand on Deval's toes, nose thrust against nose. “Mal's lost with Liam. Surely you've heard, in your new role as His Majesty's spy. I've tried finding him”—­she tapped her skull with a shaking finger—­“it's no use.”

“You're going about it the wrong way.”

“You're wasting time with nonsense.” She made to nudge him aside, determined to stare through the brick wall in search of answers, but he gripped her shoulder, hard.

“Where's Jacob?” he murmured. “Where's your
jhi?”

Avani was angry enough to spit. Instead she ground her teeth and bowed her head to her elder.

“With Mal, I imagine. Or so he was, last I knew. Must you continue to remark upon the bird's absence? I've fallen out of favor, why must you rub salt in the wound?”

The spring of tears to her lashes surprised Avani. She wiped them angrily away.

“Disfavor? No.” She could barely hear Deval beneath the escalating sound of conflict on the other side of the library. “Don't second-­guess the Goddess, daughter. She's given you a gift and you've looked past it. If Jacob is indeed with Malachi, it's as I said, and you needs but
try a different way.”

For a moment Avani stood near frozen, blinking and gaping in dismay. Then, just as the struggle beyond the bookcases diminished to groans and whimpers, she understood.

“Oh!” She bounced on her toes, kissed Deval lightly on each cheek. “Of course. Of course! What a fool I've been, uncle!”

“No,” Deval said. “Only young. Hurry, now. I'm the last distraction you have.” He squared his shoulders, and went to face the Masterhealer.

R
USSEL
SPORTED
A
swelling eye and a bloodied lip. She stood rigid between two fellow kingsmen, her arms bent at an awkward angle behind her back, bound in the length of braided leather rope Avani knew His Majesty's soldiers carried for emergencies. Russel stared at Avani, silently daring her to say a word. It was apparent the soldier had put up a fine struggle; of the two kingsmen, one was nursing a purpling nose, and the second held his right wrist close against his side.

“My lady.” The Masterhealer flicked a glance at Avani as she stepped from the stacks. “Your pardon, but the libraries are closed. Friend Deval is gracious enough to offer see you safely home.”

Deval lingered at the Masterhealer's side, expression blank. When he saw Avani's faltering step, he moved forward, cupping a wiry arm about her waist.

“My lady is weary,” he said. “Come, daughter, back to the palace.” His fingers squeezed gently against Avani's ribs, as much a warning as Russel's mutinous stare. He nudged Avani past the Masterhealer and the soldiers, through the library door.

The Masterhealer followed, robes whispering against the stairs. Russel cursed volubly as the kingsmen shoved her after, then relented and climbed in silence. Avani leaned into Deval, grateful for his support. He turned his head, murmured into her ear.

“
Theek hai?
” he said in the island language, breath warm against her cheek. “Are you well?”

Avani nodded.

Deval paused beneath the upper arch to let Avani catch her breath, brow furrowed in concern. Avani waved his worry away, even as she pressed against graystone walls to let the Masterhealer pass.

“Forgive me,” he said, without looking around. “But we're expected before His Majesty at once.”

“Of course,” Deval replied. He stood aside as the kingsmen walked Russel through the arch and into the temple. Russel kept her head lowered. Blood dripped in a string of tiny rubies from her mouth onto her livery, disappearing into the grain of her tunic. Avani didn't miss the pink staining the other soldiers' cheeks above their carefully fastened masks. Neither kingsman, she thought, was happy with his immediate lot in life.

“Well?” Deval demanded as he and Avani stared after the morose group. “Is it done?”

“It's done.” Avani pressed knuckles into her aching eyes, trying to push the temple back into focus. “And solidly.” She bit back a sigh. “What will happen to Russel?”

Deval shrugged. “The Goddess wills,” he said. He looked past Avani into the temple. “The night's no longer young, and I've work to do. Go and rest, daughter, until that headache eases.”

Avani squared her jaw. “It's easing already.” She realized as she spoke the words that they were true. “It's obvious the theists are shorthanded. Let me help.”

Deval started to argue. Avani cut him off.

“
Children
, uncle,” she said, even as she looked again toward the huddle of too-­still bodies in the straw. “I'm not afraid. Let me help.”

The older man relented. “Come and cleanse your hands, then.”

The astringent mix of witch hazel and alcohol stung Avani's hands. She blotted her fingers dry on a clean, soft piece of flannel set aside for the purpose. Deval handed her a bundle of bandages and a pot of ointment reminiscent of her own beloved salve.

“The bandages soil quickly as the blisters burst,” Deval cautioned. “Cleanse your hands often and between every patient.”

Avani quickly learned that the island man spoke true. Deval nudged her firmly toward a corner near the front of the building. There the rushes were deeper, more recently changed, but the first child she knelt alongside was shivering in his sleep, the strips of linens wrapped around his stick-­thin arms soaked yellow and red and sticking to his flesh. The stench of infection was strong enough to make Avani almost wish for cloying incense.

The lad stirred and muttered when she began to peel sticky bandages from his forearm, but didn't wake. His curls were sweat-­damp and smelled heavily of lye. She wondered if he'd been washed before or after he'd been drugged into sleep, and hoped it was after. She was well familiar with lye as a wool wash, but had never thought to see harsh solution used on tender human skin.

The bandages came away from the lad's arm, threatening to pull. Avani worked slowly for fear of pulling open any blisters beneath the linen, but when she had the first bandage finally free she saw she needn't have worried. The pustules had burst long before, and the child's arm was a welter of raw, bone-­deep ulceration.

“Oh.” She meant to beg her Goddess for courage and nerve, but surprised herself instead with Mal's favorite heartfelt curse. “Balls.”

A rotund theist working several patients over glanced up in surprise, met Avani's horrified inquiry. He nodded once without speaking, then turned away, eloquent in despair.

Avani steeled herself and examined the open wound. She noted the small, reddened goose pimples around the edge of the ulceration and wondered if the bumps were the beginnings of fresh blisters. The red “worms” from which the plague got its name were readily apparent: thin, hairy protrusions tangled in the wound and drilling into exposed bone.

The lad sighed in his sleep, eyelids twitching. The sigh sounded wet and weak, and Avani could hear the falter in his lungs. She reached for the pot of ointment, unscrewed the little jar to find nothing more potent than a cream of boiled aloe and flatland heather. She smeared a careful layer of the salve onto fresh bandages, and began to rebind the child's arm.

As she did so, one of the miniscule red filaments at the center of the ulcer moved, the languid roll of sea kelp breaking from an organic tangle.

She might have dropped her roll of bandages if not for the rotund theist's heavy hand atop her head.

“The rushes are just changed,” he said. She thought he meant to be kind. “If you're going to loose your dinner, my lady, mayhap this isn't the place for you.”

Avani bit back both an angry retort and honest nausea. The priest curled over her shoulder, stretching down to brush curls from the lad's forehead, pat the cloth doll cuddled close to the child's hip.

“He's not long with us,” the theist said. Avani's anger faded when she heard the deep sorrow the man's voice. “His sister went into the ground yesterday. Their parents fled the city days past.”

“Wilhaiim's gates are closed,” Avani said absently. She couldn't quite draw her gaze from the boy's arm, and as she squinted in disbelief, she saw the red worm undulate again.

“There are ways,” the priest said.

Avani hummed low in her throat, almost a growl. The child's lids had stilled, his lungs gone from labor to fitful gasps. The bandages would do him no good, now. Sorrow lurked at the back of her own throat. Sorrow, and disbelief.

“It's a parasite, surely,” Avani said.

How, she wondered, had Mal missed something so obvious?

“Nay. It's only coagulation of the humors, and fluids. An illusion. Both the Masterhealer and Lord Malachi determined it was but a trick of the eye.”

“Impossible.” Avani reached into her hair, pulled forth one of the sharp silver pins meant to keep her hair in some order. She closed one eye for better aim, then struck, a infinitesimal plunge of the needle into that tangle of red.

The rotund priest squeaked loudly.

The hairpin was hardly sword or fishing hook, but Avani was deft, and she managed to drag several red strands from the ulcer on her first attempt. They came readily enough, eyelash thin and without weight but strong enough to withstand displacement.

The theist was swallowing shallow gasps of air, brown sleeve pressed over nose and mouth.

“Contagion,” he protested, but without much vehemence. Then, resigned: “It's as I said, coagulation of the blood.”