Songs of the Earth (52 page)

‘Well, gentlemen,’ Danilar said, ‘what can I do for you?’

‘We have come to see the Preceptor,’ Goran began, without preamble. ‘We have been concerned about the state of his health. He has been ill for some time; perhaps he ought to relinquish some of his administrative duties and concentrate on his recovery. After all, we have not seen him in the Rede Hall for more than a month.’

And so we come down to it
. Danilar let a small frown crease his brow. ‘So you want to reassure yourselves that he is still fit to hold the reins of power in our Order? I see. Well, I can assure you, gentlemen, that the Preceptor has been in no way inconvenienced by his recent illness in the day-to-day administration of this House.’

‘Thank you, Chaplain, but we would prefer to see this for ourselves.’

‘You have some doubts?’

‘Yes, we have doubts!’ Goran’s colour heightened. ‘We have seen not a hair of his head for five weeks – he could be cold in his grave, for all we know.’

‘But Elder, he is most definitely not. You have read the edicts he has signed. They are all sealed and witnessed, in accordance with the law.’ Danilar kept his voice even, his tone bland.

‘These edicts,’ Goran declared, pulling a sheaf of documents from his sleeve and brandishing them, ‘could have been written by a pot-boy and signed by the Preceptor’s pet monkey. What proof is there in these that his faculties are intact?’

‘Ah.’ Danilar folded his arms. ‘Now we come to the heart of it. You are not concerned about his health at all. What you are
concerned about is the state of his mind – to be blunt, whether our beloved Lord Preceptor has bats in the attic.’

Goran harrumphed, embarrassed. ‘I would not have put it quite so crudely, Chaplain, but he is an old man, after all.’

‘Not that old,’ Danilar cut in. ‘His wits are as sharp as ever, as is his temper. Ask his secretary, if you doubt me.’

‘Secondhand evidence is not what we want, Chaplain,’ said a new voice. A lean, fox-faced Dremenirian made his way to the front of the group. He touched Goran’s elbow and the portly Elder melted back into the crowd.

‘Ceinan,’ Danilar said.
No surprise that you’re the real leader of this deputation
. ‘How kind of you to drop by to extend your good wishes.’

‘Danilar,’ Ceinan returned easily. ‘As you can see, we are not plotting insurrection. We have come in good faith, to have our minds put at rest. That is all. We have no desire to call the Rede and move that Ansel be put aside.’

‘So what exactly do you want to do?’

‘Just to see him.’ Ceinan spread his hands. ‘Just to assure ourselves that all is well and that our Order is in safe hands.’

‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to take my word for it, for now. No one can be admitted to the Preceptor’s presence until all risk of contagion is over.’

A flicker of irritation showed in Ceinan’s pale blue eyes.

‘Contagion?’ Goran echoed, round-eyed.

‘Why yes, Elder Goran,’ Danilar said, ‘black-lung fever is highly contagious.’

‘Black-lung fever?’ Colour drained from the Elder’s face.

‘Indeed. We’d hardly want that spreading through the Rede, would we? Elders dropping in droves – it would be a disaster.’

‘But you come and go as you please, Danilar,’ Ceinan put in.

‘I have had the fever before,’ he said. It astonished him how easy lying became when necessity cracked the whip. ‘Many years
ago, in the desert. Hengfors tells me a man cannot contract it twice.’

Goran fumbled for a handkerchief. ‘You are sure the Preceptor has this?’

‘The symptoms are very specific, I’m afraid. We cannot take any chances that it might spread further into the Order, or into the population at large. It can be deadly. Until such time as we are sure there is no risk of infection, the Preceptor must remain in isolation, although he is carrying out his duties as normal.’

‘Why were we not told of this sooner?’ one of the other Elders interjected. ‘We should have been informed as soon as the Preceptor was diagnosed.’

‘We saw no need to alarm you.’ Danilar tucked his hands in his sleeves. ‘Once the Preceptor is recovered, he will be back in the Rede Hall. In the meantime I shall convey your kind wishes to him. I’m sure he will be touched that so many of you are so concerned. Good day to you.’

Muttering, the deputation drifted towards the door. Goran mopped his face and peered back over his shoulder as if he expected to see the spectre of disease come slavering after him.

Only Ceinan lingered. ‘He is still alive, isn’t he, Danilar?’ the Dremenirian asked. ‘You know as well as I that his secretary can forge his signature, and it is an open secret where the Great Seal is kept.’

‘Oh, he is alive, I can assure you, and feisty as ever. Ask Hengfors’ staff, who have to nurse him.’

Ceinan smiled thinly. ‘I may just do that. I know your friendship with the Preceptor goes back many years – you were novices together, were you not? How far does your loyalty go, Danilar? Would you lie to protect him, or conspire with him to prevent a fair election?’

‘Who says there’s going to be an election?’

Ceinan looked wounded. ‘My dear Chaplain, we both know he’s dying. Your little fiction about the black-lung fever was very
neat, I must say. It certainly fooled them.’ A jerk of his sleek brown head indicated the departed Elders.

‘I wasn’t trying to fool anyone, Ceinan,’ Danilar told him. ‘The Preceptor was not prepared to infect the whole Rede just to satisfy you that he’s still right-minded and fit to tend his daily affairs. It would be foolish, to say nothing of extremely uncomfortable for anyone who contracted the disease. It’s not very pleasant, believe me; it fills the lungs with reeking black mucus.’

‘Hence the name, I know. I’m still not entirely convinced, Danilar. I think Ansel should come before us so that we can see for ourselves how well or unwell he is. If he is unfit to hold office, consistorial law provides our clear remedy.’

Anxiety slid another knife into Danilar’s side. It was not good that Ceinan was so involved. Not good at all.

‘Ceinan, I appreciate your concern,’ he said. ‘It is only right and proper that you should be so keen to ensure the wellbeing of the Order, but I can assure you that your concern, however well founded, is entirely misplaced. We are in very safe hands.’

‘But for how much longer?’

‘No one can see that far ahead. Only the Goddess knows.’

‘And She’s not saying, I suppose?’

‘That’s perilously close to blasphemy, Elder Ceinan,’ Danilar warned him. ‘She does not vouchsafe me Her innermost mind, but I do know how She feels about being invoked in such terms. Now I suggest that we leave Ansel to his rest. If you still want to see him, make an appointment when he is better.’

Ceinan treated him to a tight little smile and a shallow bow before gliding away.

Danilar closed the door after him with a sigh of relief. Back in Ansel’s bedchamber, the old man was waiting, weak but alert.

‘Well?’

‘I think we may soon have a coup on our hands.’

‘Nothing new. I’ve been expecting it. Ceinan?’

‘Ceinan.’

‘He’s a subtle one, Danilar,’ Ansel said. ‘We must tread carefully with him.’

‘I know. I had to perpetuate that story about the black-lung fever for the benefit of the others, but he made it quite plain that he wasn’t taken in by it.’

‘I heard. You left the door ajar.’ Ansel chuckled. ‘You lie well, for a Churchman.’

‘Thank you, although I’m not sure that’s an achievement to be proud of.’

‘How many were there?’

‘Nine or ten, but you can guarantee that wasn’t all of them. Ceinan implied that they would have a quorum, if they called the Rede – or at least close enough to a quorum for us to be concerned.’

‘His faction seems to have grown of late,’ Ansel mused. ‘I think perhaps we lost a friend or two when we let the Leahn go.’

‘If they would have preferred to see him burn then I’m not sure I’d want to count them as friends.’

‘You may be right, at that. Still, Ceinan’s the one we have to watch, not his hangers-on. Does he know much?’

‘I couldn’t say. He implied that he knew there was something afoot, but not what.’

‘As long as it stays that way, we’ve got as much as we could hope for. When he finds out exactly what has been going on under his nose, I want it to come as a surprise.’ He tossed Danilar a little ball of paper. Traces of blue wax clung to the folds. ‘Burn it.’

Gair opened his eyes. He had to blink several times before the smeary shapes resolved themselves into the shadows of trees on a whitewashed wall, dancing in the breeze. Apart from the bed he lay in, the only furniture was a single narrow closet and a wash-stand, both of plain dark wood. He didn’t recognise the room.

‘Hello.’

A woman’s voice, with a lilting accent. He turned his head towards it. Sitting on a stool next to him was a golden-skinned woman with copper hair, waves and waves of it, loose round the shoulders of her green mantle. Tired shadows bruised her tawny, tilted eyes.

‘I know you.’ Gair’s mouth felt stuffed with wool, thick and dry.

She smiled. ‘I’m Tanith, one of the Healers here at Chapterhouse.’

‘I remember. You look tired.’ He took the beaker of water she held out to him and sipped at it. ‘Am I in the infirmary?’

‘Yes. Do you remember your name?’

‘Gair,’ he said. Why would he not remember his own name?

‘And your family name?’

‘I don’t have one.’ He drained the cup and she refilled it for him.

‘What colour are your eyes?’

‘Grey. What’s happened to me, Tanith?’

‘Don’t worry about that just yet. You’re safe now.’ She laid the back of her hand on his face. Feeling for a fever?

‘Have I been sick?’

‘In a way. You were attacked, and some of your memories were damaged. I wasn’t sure how far the damage extended, but it seems to be confined to your most recent past. You can remember your name, for instance, but you didn’t know mine.’

‘Attacked? By whom?’

‘Saaron will be able to tell you more. He wanted to see you when you woke up. I’ll fetch him.’ She stood up to leave.

Gair put out a hand to stop her and saw a freshly healed wound seaming his right forearm. ‘What happened to me, Tanith? I know I was up in the bell-tower, looking at the sea-elf ship. Did I fall out?’
No. That wound is a straight slash, made with a blade, or something sharp
.

‘Not exactly.’ Slender fingers curled round his hand, held it between hers. ‘You’ve suffered something called a reiving. Your memory has been ransacked, left all tangled up like a goodwife’s rag-bag. I’ve shielded you from the worst of it, but it will take time for all your memories to come back.’

‘But they will come back.’

‘Oh, yes. With more healing, you’ll be fine, don’t worry about that.’

‘And this?’ Gair nodded at his arm.

‘The attack was physical as well as mental, I’m afraid.’

Gair lifted the sheet. Days-old bruises mottled his side, his legs, slashed with puckered, angry scar tissue.
Saints and angels, what happened to me? How much time have I lost?
Healing could repair in hours what would take the body days or weeks by itself, but still. He let the sheet drop.

‘How long have I been here?’

Tanith squeezed his shoulder. ‘Let me fetch Saaron.’

After she’d gone, he stared at the ceiling and tried to remember
what had happened after climbing the stairs to the tower. Nothing came back to him but a vague disquiet which squatted on his mind, heavy as a storm-cloud. Memories grumbled and flickered in its depths, too brief to catch. Was that Tanith’s shield?

The door opened again to admit a scarecrow-haired man in Healer’s green, gaunt but grinning. ‘So you’ve come back to us at last,’ he said, plopping down on the stool beside the bed.

‘Saaron?’

‘One and the same. How do you feel?’

‘Considering I look like a butcher’s block? Tired, mostly.’

‘That’s the Healing. A few days’ rest and some good food and you won’t know you’ve been hurt. Even the scars will have faded in that time, unless you want to keep one or two to impress the girls? Although from what I hear, some of them don’t need any impressing.’ Saaron dropped a heavy wink.