Once upstairs in the hall, Folc turned to Selen. “What was in our mugs?”
“It reeked of poppy,” Selen said. “They wanted to drug us.”
“Whatever they tried to do, if we pretend we are asleep, we could catch them red-handed,” Louis said to Lissandro.
“Let’s do that.” Lissandro returned to his room with Kilda, Eliot, and Ahanu, while Louis entered his followed by Selen and Folc.
Askjell sat on one of the beds, writing in his notebook and holding a wet cloth against his cheek. The squire lowered his eyes and stayed silent. Louis and Selen drew their swords from their scabbards. Folc made a sign to Askjell to lie down under the sheets and hid in the corner next to the door, his dagger in his hand and the lantern by his side.
“Wait until they come close enough, Folc,” Louis said, lying down in the bed next to Selen. “Try not to kill them directly. I would like to interrogate them.” Folc nodded and blew out the candle.
In silence, they waited. His belly filled and his head resting on the pillow, it was hard for Louis not to fall asleep. In front of him, Selen’s body radiated heat. The wait was long. The sword slipped from his hand. He grabbed it again. Though he struggled, his eyelids closed.
A blow in his ribs woke him up. “Someone,” Selen whispered.
A creak came from the hall. The door opened. Louis hardened his grip on the cold hilt. His heart beat faster. Slow, heavy footsteps approached them. Selen twitched his arm. One more step. Now.
Bolt upright, they sat on their bed, swords pointed upwards. With a maul raised over his head, the hunchback loomed over them. The man froze.
“Drop the maul,” Folc said, coming from behind.
The maul fell from the hunchback’s hands and hit the floor with a deep thud. Askjell picked it up and struck the hunchback on the back of his skull. Louis heard a crack as the sound blow hit the neck. The man stumbled on the bed, unconscious or dead.
“Let’s catch the rest of the band,” Folc said and hurried back to the door. They followed him and glanced through the doorway. It was dark and empty. They stepped out.
In the hall, Louis heard voices come from downstairs and headed in their direction.
“They are drugged and fed like pigs. Trust our boy, he has the knack for that,” Borin said.
“We want the king alive, and your boy is a dimwit,” a man’s grating voice answered.
“As long as I have their belongings, you can take who you want,” Borin said. “I want my share in that.”
They know who I am, Louis thought. The hall downstairs resounded with metal clatters. Louis dragged Selen and Folc to Lissandro’s room. He pushed the door open.
“It’s us!” Folc exclaimed at the sight of the shiny swords welcoming them. They walked in. “Through the window. Hurry!”
“But it’s just the innkeeper and his family,” Lissandro said, lowering his sword.
“No. They are more,” Selen said. “We need to get out of here.”
Askjell rushed inside the room with their bags. Eliot, who had opened the window, grabbed all their belongings and tossed them outside before snaking his way through the window. Refusing to leave their companions, the others, weapons in hand, prepared themselves for a melee. Though Louis valued their bravery, he had to admit that the cowardly monk was right.
“We don’t know how many they are. We may be trapped here if we stay longer. Follow the monk,” Louis said.
Kilda closed the door and locked it. “It will give us a few seconds.” She went to the window. “If I pass, everyone can do it.” She stripped off her coat and tossed it out first. Then, she wiggled between the stiles and fell. Ahanu and Askjell were next to go and made it too. Selen was pushing a reluctant Folc headfirst when a key turned inside the bolt. Folc yelped as he fell. Selen swiveled. Louis caught his eyes and nodded. Selen disappeared through the window. Louis turned to Lissandro and motioned towards one of the beds. With the help of Lissandro, Louis hauled the bed and blocked the door.
“Leave, Louis. I’ll go last,” Lissandro said as he pushed with all his weight against the footboard.
“I made that mistake once,” Louis said, dragging Lissandro. “Not twice.”
He passed his legs through the window and, pulling Lissandro down with him by the arms, flung himself backwards. He landed in a heap of snow. Lissandro came down on top of him, crushing his chest. Louis groaned with pain. Through Lissandro’s locks of hair, he looked up and saw Borin’s raging face in the corner of the window. Too fat to pass, Louis thought with a snicker. Lissandro moved away. Hands grasped him.
“Up! To the horses!” Folc shouted while pulling him up.
Selen handed him his coat. Louis slipped it on. They ran after Selen and Folc to the back of the barn where their companions were busy saddling their mounts.
“Forget the saddles! Take all you can. Let’s go!” Lissandro shouted.
Louis grasped his horse’s bridle from the hook, shoved the bit into the animal’s mouth, and fixed the straps. Among the stampede, he led his horse outside and jumped on its back.
While their agitated mounts piaffed in every direction, from behind the corner of the inn, an armed group of ghastly men strode towards them, torches in hand. Their faces were a display of scars, tousled beards, ruddy noses, and pimples. Some wore parts of armor, basinets, and kettle hats. Others had brigandines or, at least, leather protections. None wore colors or blazon. A haphazard company. Écorcheurs or bandits. If they were caught, every one of their group not worth a juicy ransom would be nastily abused and put to death in ways these crooks would find the most diverting.
“Here they are! Catch them alive!” their leader yelled. Dressed in a ruby doublet under a grey cape, he waved a bastard sword forth. Half of his hair was braided, and he had a scar on one eye and down to his pointy goatee.
“Hey, Colten!” Lissandro shouted, spinning his horse around. “Answer to that!” Lissandro raised his middle finger towards the bandit.
Louis would not wait to know if the dénommé Colten had archers in his gang. His thighs clamped around his horse and, bolting ahead, he urged it into a gallop towards what he hoped to be south. As the shouts fainted behind him, he plunged into the heart of darkness.
27
The main gallery had never been so crowded. Everyone rich enough to afford the protection of the Crown against the pestilence had packed goods, women, and children and made themselves at home in the south aisle.
“The Crown,” Josselin mumbled between his teeth.
Though he had had a conversation with Mauger, he was sure Louis would never have agreed to such a thing. Fortunately, the minister had had the decency to keep the inner garden closed, preserving the royal apartments from the crowd of curious. He hastened his pace. Every two steps, heavy furs and velvet coats blocked his way. The smell of their pomanders was obnoxious. Children ran in every direction. One of the brats bumped against his legs. Restricted in his furs, the child looked like a fat capon. A hand pulled him abruptly over to the side.
“Can’t you pay attention to where you’re going?” a woman in a large blue gown wearing ostentatious jewelry and an imposing escoffion on her head scolded him.
Avoiding her matronal gaze, Josselin lowered his head and was struck with disgust. In the middle of her low neckline dangled a dead, dry toad. Pondering upon where she could shove the unfortunate batrachian to get a better preventive effect against the plague, Josselin carried on towards the exit. He crossed the inner courtyard, passed in front of the stables, and entered the prison tower.
Unlike the rest of the palace, the tower was humid and cold. The fact that it was situated in the palace, and thus could detain persons of high ranks, made its accommodations slightly better than common jails. If they paid the price, the prisoners could be provided with candles, a blanket, and even a chamber pot. Josselin hurried up the stairs to the fifth floor and reached Pembroke’s cell.
Lit by the faint glow of a torch, the minister sat on his straw-filled
mattress, curled on himself. Though he had been arrested with warm clothes on, Pembroke blew on the shivering tips of his fingers poking out of his sleeves. Josselin felt pity for him. He hoped that, as a minister himself, he would be able to bring the man a second blanket or a warm fur. Pembroke turned his head and smiled with relief.
“Yours is the first friendly face I’ve seen since they threw me in,” Pembroke mumbled. “If indeed you come here as a friend.”
Josselin crouched down near the man. “Of course, I am. I told you before. I do not believe in your guilt in this.”
Pembroke stared at him. “It was Mauger. I don’t have the proof, but the man made it clear to me. I still can’t understand why.” Pembroke grabbed the iron bars. “You have to get me out of here.”
The revelation took Josselin aback. He couldn’t understand either why the keeper of seals would do such a thing. The man had been loyal to their cause from the start. “I can’t get you out. I don’t have authority on Mauger. I am alone here.” Moreover, with Mauger having his hand on the justice courts, a trial would be a lost cause. “We need to wait for Louis’s return.”
Pembroke snorted. “I won’t survive that long. If he ever returns.” Small ice crystals already stuck in his beard.
“I will try to bring you all I can. At least you don’t risk catching the plague up here.”
“Why did he arrest me? How does it look like down there?”
“Mauger opened the palace to the nobles and merchants. The place is crowded with people. Louis would make a carnage if he saw that,” Josselin chuckled. “It doesn’t make any sense. Mauger has never been fond of the nobles.”
“Did he break the quarantine?”
“No. No one can leave.”
Pembroke sat back on his moldy straw. “There must be more to it that we don’t see.” Pembroke went silent for a moment. “My role in the palace was to keep the city running. Without me, it will be chaos.”
Why would the man wish for more chaos? With a quarantine and the improbability of Louis’s journey, it was only a question of weeks until the population was eradicated. Did Mauger really mean to save the nobles?
“I will do my best to avoid such a situation. I am still a minister here,” Josselin said.
“You can’t do my charge, or you will end in one of these cells. But you can work in the city. How does it look in the hospital?”
“The situation is catastrophic. They lose as many doctors as patients. Anyone who still stands up is hired as an assistant. It’s not a hospital anymore. It’s a laboratory of experiments and a morgue.”
“Go down there. Do your best. We have no choice.”
Josselin rose. “I will get you what I can to make you hold in there.” He walked away.
“Good luck,” Pembroke said behind him.
Josselin walked out of the tower and onto the esplanade to return to the city. On his way down the slope, he met a man who dragged a reluctant donkey behind him. The man’s eyes crossed his gaze as if he had something to ask. Curious, Josselin drew nearer.
“Can I help you?” Josselin asked.
“I am on my way to the palace. Can you tell me if the doors are closed?” the man replied.
Dressed in a simple cotehardie, the man couldn’t have been invited to sojourn in the south aisle. “It depends. Do you have business to do in there?”
“Yes. I sell medicine against the plague. Maybe my lord is interested?” the man said, showing his white teeth in his best peddler’s smile.
Josselin sighed. “And what is your medicine?”
“The best of all, my lord. Guaranteed success!” The man groped inside one of his bags and took out a small pouch. “This, my lord, holds the only cure against the plague. I bought it from a merchant who came from across the sea, beyond the Crysas Peninsula. This, my lord, is unicorn powder,” the man uttered with reverence as if expecting whispers of awe from Josselin.
Josselin lowered his eyelids with consternation. “Unicorn powder?” The man nodded with enthusiasm. “I fear I already have some at home,” Josselin said to put an end to the conversation.
The peddler seemed disappointed. “Ah?” He hurried to put away the pouch with a slight grimace of embarrassment.
“But I’m sure you will have many customers in the palace,” Josselin added. It seemed the nobles had nothing better to do with their money anyway.
The man’s smile returned to his face. “Oh. Thank you, my lord! I’m going right away!” Pulling on his donkey’s bridle, the man carried on up the slope.
Finally, Josselin reached the first houses. It took time to walk, but he had abandoned the idea of travelling with his horse. With the shops closing one after the other, the food became scarce. He had seen people fight for a piece of bread. To ride through the streets was equivalent to sauntering with a priceless amount of meat. After what had happened, he decided to have a conversation with Urian.
The streets were empty and looked like a war zone. Windows and doors of private properties and shops had been nailed shut. Some had been forced open by looters. Traces of broken ceramic lay in front of the façades. Scared that they had been poisoned, the people didn’t use the wells anymore, leaving the lids open. By now, the water probably had been contaminated by rubbish, or small animals might have fallen and drowned in it. Even Millhaven under the merciless control of the orcs had never looked so frightful. Josselin put a cloth over his nose. The streets reeked, but now it was more than piss and garbage. It reeked of death. The houses which had been condemned from the outside released the sweet stench of decaying bodies.
Josselin reached the corner of a street and saw movement on his right. A man crouched over a person leaning against the wall. With the layers of clothes, he didn’t know if the man was trying to help the other. He turned in their direction.
“Hey, you! What are you doing?” he asked loudly.
The man jerked his head in his direction before he got up and ran away into the labyrinth of alleys. Josselin approached the person against the wall. He saw at once by the woman’s face that she had been dead for a while now. The blood on her gown showed that it wasn’t the plague that had ended her life. Her pockets had been turned inside out, probably by someone in search of food. Money had no worth anymore. Noises drew his attention.
With a few steps in the direction of the hubbub, he distinguished songs and cheerful laughs. He stopped in front of a lane passing under a porch. The noises came from a fully lit town house. He remembered it to be the one of the Tremen. The lords had probably fled to the palace, leaving their house unattended. Or their household had simply stopped caring. What Josselin knew was that the company strolling in the garden were no lordship. It made no doubt that they had found the Tremen’s cave and intended to empty it before the end of days. To accompany the wine, they were having their way with wenches dressed in the lady-of-the-house’s outfits. Though they displayed a breast or a thigh, the women could have been commoners, judging by their fresh skin. Onto the threshold, a fat man in a frock staggered.
“When I drink, I piss. And when I piss, I drink till my belly is full,” he bawled more than he sang, fidgeting with rows of heavy, golden necklaces he wore around his neck. He turned around and addressed someone inside. “And I drink without thirst and the honey from the goddesses’ cunts… Leave me some tripes, or I’ll wind my horn on your face!” He tumbled inside.
From the second floor, two young men pissed through a window, aiming at a couple flirting under. The woman jiggled and rolled away while her lover grabbed her petticoats.
Josselin thought about his own town house. There was no property anymore. Everything left abandoned belonged to anyone. And why should they care? As soon as one of them would fall, his body ridden with buboes, the rest of his companions would move into another house and carry on their orgy, until the last man stood, alone, facing reality or too drunk to notice. Yet, euphoria was not the last stage. No. When the last stage would come, Josselin would seal the gates of his town ho
use and pray for his salvation. But there was no time for this. Not yet. He resumed his walk towards the gatehouse.
Arriving in sight of the city gate, Josselin was surprised to see children wandering around, searching through the waste piles, or sleeping against a wall, between casks. The soldiers bustled to their tasks without taking heed of them. Josselin spotted Urian’s shining armor. Stern and straight, the commander was giving orders to a party. The soldiers left and marched into an alley before Josselin reached the group. Urian pivoted around and nodded in his direction. His dark skin was paler than usual. His drawn features showed that it was more the result of exhaustion than sickness.
“Josselin. Can I dare expect good news?”
“Unfortunately, no. Pembroke has been arrested under Mauger’s orders,” Josselin answered. Urian opened his eyes wide with astoundment, and his nostrils flared. Josselin waved his hand aside to mark that it was nothing they could do about. “It is related to the Bartels’ case. Yet, now that Pembroke has been dismissed from his duties, the rich and nobles have invaded the palace.”
Urian frowned. His large cheekbones protruded. “This decision goes against the new principles. At least those rich won’t nag on my back anymore. I have enough problems to take care of than to secure their houses and prevent their departure.”
“Talking about problems—” Josselin glanced behind him “—what are these children doing here? Shouldn’t they be at school?”
Urian crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the children. “I know. I asked them. They said the school sent them home once they started to cough. Only when they returned home, thinking the kids carried the disease, their parents refused to nurse them and chased them away. When they realized that the overcrowded hospital wouldn’t shelter them either, they wandered through the streets.”
“But why did they end up here?”
“I can punish isolated crimes, but the new laws forbid me to use force against the population. The people know it. Therefore, riots burst everywhere, some leading to extreme behaviors that make the streets unsafe. You probably saw the corpses. Though they don’t show any symptoms, these children are considered sick by most. They came here for protection. I find it hard to believe anyone would lynch them, although I know a few leaders in the slums who do not bother with such scruples. Thus I don’t have the heart to send them away. Some of my men give them food once in a while, and I leave the tower door open.”
Light from Aphelion 2 - Tears of Winter Page 27
