Dragon Ultimate (10 page)

Besita favored the child with a weary smile.

"My dear, there are always a few who will stoop to any depths to make a profit. You will see. There will be great pressure for a while on this issue." Besita knew about pressure. It came all the time when you were queen. Every interest wanting something, often something they should not have. "But we will stand firm. The merchants will be paid in full, but only the price they would have got before the plague struck."

"That is fair enough, Your Majesty."

She chuckled. "Oh yes, we think so, but not everyone will agree."

"How quickly can fresh stocks be obtained?"

"I think very quickly. Minuend is the chief commercial producer of pyrethrins. Even as we speak we can rest assured that an enormous effort is being made down there to send out shipments of all they can find."

Besita rose to her feet.

"Come, Lagdalen, walk with me and tell me of your family. I will have some tea sent up. And you should eat something, of course." Besita rang again, and a servant took her request. She turned back to Lagdalen.

"Now, how is your father, that wonderful man, Tommaso Tarcho?"

Lagdalen dutifully accompanied the queen in a leisurely stroll down the belvedere to the far end, where they went down the steps and into the exquisitely complex flower garden that lay below.

Yellow spikes of foxglove rose above pink towers of lupines, while carnivolva and bellusa threw clouds of white and yellow florets across the ground. Stabs of purple from juice lilies broke through the dark green foliage of the esmerelda.

Lagdalen barely noticed this wild summer display, so concerned was she about getting back to the city as swiftly as possible. Every minute might mean the saving of lives. Also there was the matter of a fresh horse. Beety was worn out from riding so hard from the city.

To her surprise she found that Besita was also thinking about these things.

"I have a good horse for you, very fast and very strong. His name is Hero, I will have him prepared for you."

"I thank you, Your Majesty, as does Marneri."

"If only I could do more in this time of need. I feel cut off from everything out here."

Lagdalen knew that the queen had insisted on leaving the city when she heard that plague had broken out. She made no mention of this, however. Besita's pride was a delicate thing.

Tea was brought to them at the edge of the lawn. Servants brought chairs, a table, tea, and a slice of hunt pie for Lagdalen. Eagerly she accepted both. The pie was good, freshly made and rich with meat and onions.

While she ate, the queen talked about more pleasant things: the gardens, her horses, and her plans for the future. Lagdalen was encouraged by the queen's display of fortitude. It seemed she had given up her habit of drinking to excess whenever she was faced with a crisis.

Soon the young aide came running up. The horse was ready. Lagdalen bade the queen of Marneri farewell.

Hero was an immense animal, black and ferocious. Lagdalen's heart quailed a bit at the sight of him. He looked strong, but he might be a handful to control.

Hero eyed her and snorted loudly then shook his head vigorously as if to assert that he would not be an easy ride. Lagdalen stood there a moment considering him.

"Is he going to give me trouble?"

"Oh, no, Lady, Hero's a happy horse. He'll run for you, won't you, Hero?"

Hero flared his nostrils and whinnied. Lagdalen was not reassured, but when the boy gave her a leg up and she swung into the saddle the horse responded perfectly.

"Go light on the reins, Lady, he won't give you any trouble."

She flicked him with the crop and they were through the stable gates and out on the city road. Hero soon showed his mettle and settled into a steady swift canter that ate up the miles. As they drew closer to the city Lagdalen tried to keep the dread out of her heart. The charnel wagons were still in motion, still bringing out the dead. The bell atop the distant tower of the temple seemed to ring out the dying of the white city.

At the gate the guards were muffled in tight clothing, another precaution against fleas bearing disease. They stayed clear of any wagons coming out of the gate. Not very many people were going into the city on this day.

Lagdalen rode in with just a nod and a hail. They recognized her at once.

At the inner gate to the barbican she was hailed once more and given a cursory inspection. The guards there were also wrapped tightly in puttees, with long gloves.

She found her way immediately to Lessis's chamber, arriving a little out of breath with the scroll from the queen.

She found Lessis hard at work with the Birrak and the tomes on spellsay as she practiced the Flea Spell. Fleas were unusually difficult creatures to control.

Four young witches were hunched over their Birraks, reciting and memorizing. Lessis left them and came to Lagdalen.

"My dear. You were very swift. I thank you."

"Is there anything else, Lady?"

"Not now. Rest."

Lagdalen left Lessis's chambers and went down several floors of the great tower to the Tarcho apartments, where she found Hollein waiting for her. She collapsed in his arms with a glad sigh.

The men and women of the Ennead cities continued the struggle against the plague, volunteering despite the knowledge that most of the first wave of workers had succumbed to the plague and nearly all had died.

The forest elves, with their mysterious origins in their sacred groves, were much less at risk from the plague. Many came out of their workshops with trained ferrets, joined with gangs of men who brought their dogs, and together they began an intensified assault on the rat population in the crowded alleys of Fish Hill and dockside.

This was where the gates of hell were wide-open. Where vomit coated the streets and the stench of death hung over everything. There were still bodies in there; some of the older tenements were warrens of small rooms and cubbyholes, where poor folk lived crowded sometimes two or three to a room. Death had swept through their number like a scythe through the corn. Now the stench of the bodies rose in the hot air. The ratters checked their cuffs and seams and tightened their collars even more. One bite from a tiny flea could be a mortal wound.

The wagons rumbled through the streets, bearing away the dead. The bell of the temple rang gloomily as funeral ceremonies were held for one notable after another. The charnel pits began to fill.

In the wake of the rat-killing teams came the cleaners, men and women, armed with brooms, mops, shovels, and scrapers. They brought with them a stench of soap and bleach.

Every four hours the funerals stopped and the bell of the temple rang for service, summoning the faithful to prayer. But for many it sounded like the hollow tocsin of death, ringing over an increasingly empty city.

Still the plague continued to find new victims, and the frantic struggle went on.

Soon fires were set in every possible grate, and thick smoke was made by adding piles of damp leaves. Among the leaves were burned chrysanthemum flowers and the smoke was bitter and acrid and filled the city with its stench. But, as was often remarked, at least it helped to cover the more noisome stink of putrefaction.

Wielding brooms and shovels, brushes and fans, the people attacked the old tenements, cleaning out filth and dirt wherever it lay. To stop the plague in its tracks you had to annihilate the flea population, and that was where it bred.

Day and night there burned great piles of bedding and clothing, carpets and rubbish. Through the hellish flickering light, by lantern and torchlight, the teams worked on, raising the dust of decades and digging out every rattery in the city.

Dragonboys, of course, knew about rat killing and they knew about fleas and that you could get fleabit real bad when you killed out a nest of rats. So they went in wearing tight clothing, gloves and grease on their faces. This had kept casualties among them to one, a youngster named Arnol. Curf was now managing his dragon, Wout.

The great wyverns were employed for digging the charnel pits and a certain amount of demolition work on Fish Hill, where they pulled down old warehouses. Beyond that there was not much call upon them. Mostly they stayed in barracks, aware that disaster was in the air and restless as a result. Of course, the dragonboys were exhausted at the end of their shifts with the ratkillers and had little energy to spend on dragons.

Relkin had become one of the smoke men. He lit fires in the downstairs fireplaces and stoves, getting them hot with kindling, then he damped them down to make them smoke furiously. Then they threw on dried chrysanthemum flowers and sent up a toxic cloud of smoke that permeated through the rooms above.

When the building was smoked out, then the cleanup crews would go in.

Relkin had made more than a hundred fires and smoked at least half of the houses afterward when he had to give up and take a rest. His lungs were hurting from the smoke, and his eyes were weeping and red. He reported to the sergeant in command of the smoke team, who gave him leave to recover.

He turned his weary legs up the hill. The tower loomed there at the top, normally a symbol of the strength of the great city. Now it seemed diminished, shrunken somehow, despite its bulk. A new kind of weapon had bypassed it in the night. For all its high walls and defensive engineering, it had been helpless.

Passing shuttered shops, he came up the street to the intersection with Foluran Hill, and paused while two heavy carts rolled around the corner from Tower Street. The plague had found its way here that very day. Now, the families of the Hill were sending all their clothing and bedding out for burning, just like everyone else. Teams of privately hired cleaners were at work in most of the big houses.

He crossed the road and as he stepped back on the pavement he was accosted by a woman with staring eyes and long gray hair gone wild around her head. She wore an expensive robe and silvery shoes.

"Please, young sir, you must help me. For the love of the Mother, you must help me."

"What's the problem, Lady?"

"It is my mother. She is terribly ill."

"You want the doctors then, Lady. I'm just a dragonboy."

"No, you don't understand. It is her mind that is unwell. She's up on the roof, and she's threatening to kill herself. She listens to no one." The woman broke into sobs, but put out a hand to him. "The poor lady is unhinged. It is most piteous to see."

Relkin chewed his lip.

"Oh, please, kind sir, help me in this most desperate hour."

He sighed. "What do you expect me to do?"

"Speak to her, plead with her."

"Why would she listen to me?"

"I think she will. Please just come quickly."

She led him up Foluran Hill to a tall house on the north side of the street. Within the house they met a frightened servant woman, wringing her hands as she dried them on her white apron.

"She is still up there, madame, still talking."

"Thank you." The woman looked at Relkin, then looked up the staircase.

"On the roof, you said?"

"Yes, young sir. I'm sorry, I completely forgot to ask your name."

"Relkin, Lady, of the 109th Marneri."

An expression of shock spread over her face. She stepped back and put her hand up to her mouth. Relkin hesitated, taken aback.

"Are you all right, Lady?" Receiving no response, Relkin headed up the stairs. There were six floors to climb. The first three staircases were broad and made of stone. The upper three were narrower and entirely of wood. By the sixth flight Relkin was really feeling his exhaustion.

The door to the roof was open. A stream of words flowed on and on, from which he caught occasional phrases repeated over and over again, like snatches of prayer.

Relkin stepped out. The wind had died, and the air above had darkened with the smoke of countless fumigations. Over all hung the stench.

A woman with a regal pose and long white hair braided with golden thread was standing by the gutter. Her hands were pressed together beneath her chin and she looked fixedly out into space. Below was a drop of six floors to the cobbles of Foluran Hill.

The houses on the far side of the street looked back in stony indifference. A few people had gathered down below, but tragedies were too common now for most people to take the time to stop and gawk.

Relkin took a breath, slid down the roof tiles, and got a footing on the outer course of bricks before the gutter.

The white-haired woman suddenly turned and looked at him.

"Who are you?" she said sharply.

Relkin kept his tone as even as possible. Being so tired that he was close to falling asleep on his feet helped a lot. "They asked me to help you. That's all, Lady." He approached her very slowly and held out a hand.

She pulled back and turned to the drop.

"The city is dying, and they don't know why."

"I'm just here to help," he said, and lowered his hand. She put up her hands as if to deny it.