Secrets of the Night Special Edition (66 page)

"Then why did you?"

"Thought I could keep an eye on him. Thought if I had him under my thumb, it would keep him out of mischief." He shook his head again. "How wrong I was." Clutching the shears at his side, he stared off in the distance. "I had so many hopes for the kingdom. I still have hopes for my country--restore it to its former glory, conquer the rest of the continent, spread the benefits of our more advanced civilization to the other countries. Yet now I find myself occupied with catching criminals, traitors to the kingdom! I'd like to see a world where--"

"I'd like to see a world where no one dares to challenge us, where no one revolts against our rule. Let's concentrate on these goals for now, my dear, and worry about glory later." She smiled primly. "Midac, you must learn priorities. Besides, you worry too much."

"I don't worry at all, madam, and the last thing I need is a lecture from you." He glared at her. "Suppose you let me handle the problems of the kingdom and you attend to running the palace, such as instructing the head cook--whatever the dunce's name is–on how to saute trout.

Demoness! That trout last night wasn't fit to eat."

Resolved to change tactics, she smiled again. She lowered her eyelashes in mock submission. "Of course, Midac. You are absolutely right. From now on, I'll let you govern the country as you think best--"

"Well, thank you!"

"--and I'll supervise the servants."

He gave her a curt nod. "See that you do."

"Goodbye for now, Midac." With a smile pasted on her face, she turned and left him, shoulders held stiffly as she stalked back to the palace. She had hoped she and Midac would have a joint reign, but now she found herself relegated to the role of a glorified housekeeper.

That evening, when Midac crawled into bed beside her, she lay on her side away from him, feigning sleep. His scoldings from earlier in the day still riled her, but more than that, his lovemaking often bordered on the sadistic. A little rough foreplay appealed to her; indeed, the roughness added a bit of spice to their lovemaking. But Midac overdid it. She had enough black and blue marks on her breasts, arms, and legs to prove his cruelty.

Grabbing her arm, he pulled her toward him. "I know you're not asleep, so no use pretending."

"Well, of course, I'm not asleep
now
. You woke me up," she snapped.

He eased her nightgown up, his fingers tracing a path along her legs. "I can think of better things to do now. You can sleep later."

"No, Midac!" Demoness! She wanted to scratch his eyes out. "It is not the time."

Midac squeezed her breasts so hard, she knew she'd have another bruise. "You told me that two weeks ago. You think I can't count, you stupid bitch!"

She gritted her teeth. "I'm tired. I've had a busy day."

"Have it your way." He turned over on his side, away from her. "But don't complain if I look elsewhere for comfort."

As if she cared!

* * *

Deep in a drug-induced trance, Radegunda stared into a bowl of clear water, her calloused hands embracing the bowl as she waited for a vision to appear. Silence enfolded her in the bedroom, everyone else visiting on this Sacredday. In her more lucid moments, she scolded herself for forgetting Keriam's handkerchief back at the store, an oversight that had denied her a means of keeping track of the princess. Now, after one nineday of practice and much diligent concentration, she'd learned to discern the princess's movements by gazing into the bowl of water. Too bad crystal balls were outlawed in the kingdom. She knew such a contrivance would achieve much better results than the bowl of water.

First, she'd achieved a trance state by drinking a poppy infusion, but she hoped to eventually dispense with that drug and obtain the necessary stupor through sheer application of her senses. She
would
dispense with that drug, she vowed, fearing addiction. In time, she hoped to discover not only the princess's activities, but those of other people, as well.

After several moments, images swirled in the water, at first so unfocused she couldn't detect a definite picture. Moments later, the visions coalesced, forming a distinct picture of Princess Keriam inside a goldsmith's shop.

Radegunda set the basin on the table and slumped back on her bed. How much longer would the princess's luck hold out, before someone learned of her identity and turned her in? Radegunda had heard of the reward for the princess's capture, an inducement that would surely increase her chances of seizure.

Another fear jolted her. What if some drifter ravished the princess, or worse still, murdered her? At least she had the dagger, but how much protection would that be against a determined criminal?

And if Princess Keriam continued with her plan to warn the merchants of the plague--and advised them to have the sacred squirrels killed--it was only a matter of time before she'd be arrested for blasphemy and brought before a druidic tribunal. Her royal rank wouldn’t save her. Blasphemy alone could earn her the death sentence, most likely by garroting. But if it was also discovered that she was the escaped princess--and it would be; how could she deny it?--then surely she would suffer a horrible fate.

The plague, if indeed it did afflict Moytura, was a problem Radegunda knew she must eventually deal with. Ridding the city of this epidemic would demand a very powerful spell, and at present, she lacked the skill to perform such a feat. She must practice late at night, while everyone else on her brother's farm slept.

For now, only the princess seemed concerned about the possibility of the black fever striking the city. But what if she was right?

* * *

"Sir, what must I say to convince you that the black fever may well strike the city? If enough people die from this plague--a tragedy in itself--you might lose so much business that you'll have to close the store for good." Keriam hoped to appeal to the goldsmith's mercenary inclinations, if not his humanitarian spirit. She ignored the fine bracelets, pins, and necklaces in their showcases, her only aim to convince him of the coming affliction. She thought of last night she'd spent in an alley, a cloth bag for a pillow, her dagger close at hand. Precious little sleep she'd had!

The gold merchant frowned at her across the wooden counter. "Listen, madam, I don't know your name and I don't care. But let me tell you one thing. If you persist in your argument that a plague will strike the city--an event no one else foresees--you will only bring trouble on yourself. And you tell me we should kill the squirrels! Madam, are you out of your mind? Don't you know these are sacred animals, protected by--"

"I know that, sir."

"Don't interrupt me, young lady. There are thousands of squirrels in the city, protected by royal decree. How do you propose that we kill them?"

"Enlist the help of the city sentries, or even all the vagrants that roam the city. Either club the animals to death or set poison in the trees." Seeing him about to protest, she spoke quickly. "I realize both means of killing them sounds cruel. But it would be worse if thousands of people died from the black fever. If we can prevent this epidemic--"

"Madam, I will give you this one warning," he said, wagging a finger at her. "Cease your senseless talk of a plague, one that nobody will take seriously. Find some useful employment--as a seamstress, perhaps?--because it's obvious you have too much time on your hands."

"That's not true! Sir, I'm only trying--"

"I'm not interested in your motives. I am telling you to stop this blasphemy. You will only bring trouble on yourself. Now good-day to you, madam."

Keriam turned and left the store, stifling her discouragement. Figol Murchadh was the first merchant she'd visited, but there were many more in the city. She would not give up. Returning to the place in the meadow she’d claimed as her new home, she was flooded with recollections of her former life at the palace before Balor had usurped the throne. Memories of her father sent a shaft of pain to her heart, as if an arrow had felled her. She could still smell the lavender-scented sheets in her bedchamber, could see the profusion of flowers in the palace garden, the little knick-knacks in her room and the lovely view from her window. The servants she’d befriended came to mind, the only family she’d known since losing her beloved father. And Roric, always Roric, whom she would never forget. A tear trickled down her cheek, but she brushed it away, refusing to accept any weakness.

* * *

Edan Kane moaned in bed as a fierce headache and backache wracked his body. He raised his hand to touch his forehead, finding his skin hot and dry, the sweat-drenched sheet proof of his fever. If only sleep would come, he might feel better, but how could he sleep with his throbbing head? Although it was mid-afternoon, he lay in semi-darkness, his wife having drawn the heavy draperies earlier in the morning. Today was his second day of illness, and if his condition didn't improve by tomorrow, he'd ask his wife to fetch one of the druid physicians from the city hospital.

Recollections of that crazed woman who'd visited his store only a few days ago, warning of the black fever, heightened his worry and drove him to despair. Did he suffer from the black fever now? If he
did
suffer from that plague--and oh! Talmora, don't let it be so--had that woman cast a spell on him? She must be a witch, he agonized, wondering why she'd chosen him to practice her evil magic on. May the Goddess punish her for her sins!

He moved his legs, a sudden pain jolting him. Gingerly, he touched his groin and--no! A thick cyst! When had that happened? He closed his eyes and prayed.
Please, Goddess, don't let it be the plague.
But what else could it be?

His wife entered the room, a cup in her hand. She set the cup on the bedside table, then returned shortly with a pan of water. Smiling, she sat on the bed and placed the pan on the floor. "How do you feel, dearest? Any better?" She smoothed her hand across his forehead, brushing a lock of hair away.

"The same," he croaked. "No, worse!"

"Ah, Talmora!" She pressed her hand to her heart, then dropped it to her side. "You
will
get better; I'll see to it. I made you some willow bark tea," she said, reaching for the cup. "Here, I'll help raise you." She raised him to a sitting position, then handed him the cup. "It's not too hot. You can drink it all now."

After he finished the tea, she retrieved the pan from the floor and dipped a cloth into the water, then wrung the cloth out. She sponged his face and neck, all the while murmuring words meant to comfort. "Darling, you are bound to get better soon. Perhaps you suffer from working too hard. Haven't I said you should rest more, not work in the store such long hours?" Her outspread arm indicated the spacious bedroom with its rich furnishings. "The Goddess knows we don't need the money. Only look at how you've prospered within these last few years. A wife could not want a more industrious husband. But the children and I need you at home more." She smiled. "I fear we'll forget what you look like." After easing his sheet back, she sponged his arms and lower legs, then set the pan on the floor and raised the sheet up again.

He grasped her hand. "Gilda, if I'm no better by tomorrow, you must fetch a physician from the hospital. I . . . possibly it's more than just working too hard. Why should I have a fever now?" he asked, his voice rising. He swallowed, his throat raw and sore. "A woman came into my store the other day, warned me about the plague. I swear she put a spell on me."

"No!"

He nodded, the movement sending a shaft of pain through his head. "Even told me the squirrels in the kingdom must all be killed. Did you ever hear of such a ridiculous--no, blasphemous--thing?"

"But fleas can bring the plague," she reasoned. "We all know that."

"Yes," he rasped, "but how did she know this would happen now? Not even the learned druids foresaw this disease, if that's what it is. No doubt she cast an evil spell and thus spread fleas on the squirrels." He closed his eyes for a moment, exhausted after this short discourse. "We've had droughts before, and yes, fleas, too. So what has made it different now?"

Gilda shook her head. She had no answer.

"One thing I want you to do for me." He shifted position, grimacing with the pain. "The merchants guild holds its meeting one nineday from today. If I'm no better--"

"Oh, but you will be!"

He lifted his hand. "If I'm no better, I want you to go in my stead, warn the merchants about this witch. From what she said, I gather she's spoken to others before me." He focused his gaze on her. "Promise me you'll warn them!"

Tears filled her eyes. "Yes, of course, dear husband. But you'll be better by then, I just know you will. You can attend the meeting, warn them about this witch."

Edan raised himself up on his elbows, a fresh agony torturing his back. "If I have something contagious, I fear you and the children will get it. Ah, Gilda! That you and the children should suffer!"

She bent low to kiss him on the cheek. "You worry needlessly, sweetheart," she said, her tears belying her hopeful words. "Surely you'll be back to normal by tomorrow."

"Let us pray so." He sighed. "And one more thing--I want you to sleep in another room tonight, for fear of contagion. You shouldn’t even be here now, much as I appreciate it.”