All Fall Down

by Christine Pope

  Setting the bottles down on the floor, I kneeled once more and pressed two fingers against the artery in Dorus’ throat. I felt nothing, and so shifted my fingers slightly. Still nothing, and I knew then that he was dead.

  I wished I could have felt something. Surely I should have been horrified at what I had done—my whole being was focused on saving lives, not taking them—but sadly, I could not find the nobility in myself to care. He had attacked me, after all, I who had only come here to offer assistance. Why should I mourn the departure from this world of a man who clearly would have taken my own life without a second thought?

  Moving slowly, I stood once more, torn muscles and bruised flesh protesting even as I did so. I gathered up the bottles of spirits and made my way back up into the kitchen.

  One look at me was apparently enough to cause Brit to cry out, “Mistress Merys? What happened?”

  “Your steward and I had a difference of opinion.”

  “My steward—you mean, Master Dorus was down there?”

  “Was,” indeed, I thought, but I only nodded. Then I added, “He was fevered—taken by the plague. He’s dead.”

  I wasn’t sure what Brit’s reaction would be, but I hadn’t thought it would be what came next. His mouth tightened a bit, and then he only said briefly, “Good.”

  Oh, Brit, not you as well? I knew there was nothing I could say. Still, I had to admit I was glad Dorus was dead. I would have preferred the plague had taken him before I ever reached this place, but if the gods desired that my hand be the means for retribution, so be it. All I knew now was that I wished to be quit of this cursed house as soon as possible.

  Brit gave my broken lantern an askance look, but he forbore asking any further questions. I uncorked one bottle of spirits, spilled some on the wooden table, and dropped the lantern upon it.

  The flames that rose up immediately were almost frightening in their intensity, hungry yellow and orange with a blue-white heat at their center.

  “Go, quickly!” I called to Brit, who hurried after me as I ran from the kitchen and back outside.

  Perhaps the fire in the kitchen would have been enough. But I needed to be sure—I needed to know that Lord Arnad and all those who had died around him would not be left to rot with no more care afforded them than an animal that had died on the side of the road. So I ran back into the great hall, where I spilled more spirits on the center table there.

  “Now, Brit!” I commanded, and he tossed the lantern on the table. Again the fire took hold quickly, and I stayed just long enough to see the flames lick their way down the table legs and then catch in the wood flooring.

  I hoped that would be enough. We both hastened to the door and stood outside in the courtyard, waiting to see the results of our handiwork. For a few long moments, it seemed as if nothing had changed. Then I heard a sudden whooshing noise, like the sound of a suddenly indrawn breath, and a great gout of flame rushed up out of the main chimney. Flames began to show through the windows, and suddenly the glass shattered, bursting outward like the shards of a thousand dying suns.

  We turned and ran for the stables, which apparently had been unoccupied except for some very worried and half-starved horses. I wasn’t sure what to do with them, but I knew we couldn’t leave them here. So we hurried to clumsily tie them together in a long train, and then both Brit and I remounted, hastening our horses out of the stables—not that they needed much urging, as the smell of smoke was already making them restive and difficult to control.

  Turning our backs on the devastated estate, we departed down the broad, flat avenue that led up to the main house. Only once did I turn to look over my shoulder, just in time to see the western part of the main wing collapse entirely, the fire having just swallowed up the roof.

  No one came to see what had happened. Brit and I might have been alone in the world, save for the ragged line of horses following behind us and a few crows that circled lazily overhead, ominous black shapes in the hard blue sky.

  Our horses were weary, and I knew that the short hour we had stopped would not be enough to rest them sufficiently to carry on all the way back to Lord Shaine’s manor. But I was also afraid to beg lodging at a strange house or inn, for I did not yet know how widespread the plague was in this area. To be sure, it had devastated Lord Arnad’s estate, but Brit had said the disease had been carried there by a group of traders from Purth. It all depended on how many other places those traders had stopped, and whom they might also have infected along the way.

  In the end we found a deserted shack a few hundred yards off the road. Nose and mouth still swaddled in my protective linen, I looked inside to see if anyone was there. But the building appeared to have been abandoned for some time, long before the plague was even a whisper of fear. Weary from the sleepless night and the horrors we had just experienced, we got the horses into the shelter of a dilapidated barn even more ramshackle than the little house itself. There was not much grain to go around, but we were able to feed and water each of them and give their necks a reassuring rub before Brit and I finally collapsed on the brushed dirt floor of the shack.

  It was in a brooding quiet that I handed him some of the road rations I had brought along with me: strips of the same highly spiced dried meat I had eaten during my journey to Lord Shaine’s estate, a tasty mix of dried tanisberries and nuts that Merime had made up specially for the holiday, a loaf of heavy-grained bread that cried out for butter and honey, though we had none. I poured some spring water for Brit and drank deeply myself. Although the mask over my nose and mouth had kept the worst of the smoke from my lungs, still my throat felt raw and tight. But perhaps that had more to do with my dark thoughts.

  I knew that there was nothing I could have done. Even if Brit had come to us a day earlier, I could not have saved at least half those people. Perhaps Lord Arnad; he had not been as far gone as the others. But even that was questionable. The feeling of impotence rose up in me again, and I felt hot tears start to my eyes, though I blinked them angrily away. Weeping would not save the dead. Tears would not change the fact that I was helpless in the face of the greatest pestilence the world had ever known.

  Oddly, I felt nothing for Dorus. The man was dead, and by my hand, and yet my only reaction to his death was a sort of relieved numbness. At least he could no longer prey on the innocent, could no longer leave a trail of ruined lives behind him. That I had sworn an oath never to hurt another and to devote my life to healing seemed strangely immaterial. If nothing else, I had acted in self-defense. I had tried to help him, attempted to ascertain the state of his health. He had replied by striking out at me. I had had no choice but to react. Perhaps I had overreacted, but I challenge anyone else in my place to have done anything differently.

  These thoughts ran through my head as if I had already been brought in front of a tribunal. I knew logically that no one need ever find out what had transpired at Lord Arnad’s estate. Certainly Brit would say nothing. Dorus’ death was only a source of relief to him, as no doubt it would be to many others. And Brit had not seen me actually strike Dorus. Only I knew for sure the manner of his passing.

  Brit seemed as little inclined to conversation as I. By tacit consent we remained silent, and after we had eaten we wrapped ourselves in the blankets we had brought along with us and curled up to sleep. By necessity we slept back to back, sharing each other’s warmth, but there was no intimacy in our closeness. We might have been a hundred miles apart.

  As always I found it difficult to sleep, but I forced myself to lie quietly so as not to disturb the young man who lay beside me. After a while the weariness of the preceding day and night finally overtook me, and I slid down into darkness.

  Dreams haunted my sleep, dreams in which I wandered through the kitchens at Lord Shaine’s estate and desperately looked for something of vital importance. What it was never became clear, even though my actions grew more and more frenzied. I went out behind the kitchens, into the area where Merime and the kitchen staff disposed of r
efuse. In my dream I sank to my knees, digging through the midden as I tossed aside bones and the tops of carrots and all other sorts of organic waste.

  “Why isn’t it here?” I cried. “What has she done with it?”

  And with those despairing words ringing through my head, I awoke, eyes wide open in the unfamiliar darkness. For a few seconds I could not think of where I was, but then I heard Brit’s calm breathing beside me and remembered the shack where we had taken refuge. Luckily my own unrest had not disturbed him, and I settled back down against the bundled cloak I had substituted for a pillow, willing the deep, cleansing breaths back into my lungs. A nightmare, but one that seemed oddly compelling while at the same time vague. What on earth could have been so important that I would dig through the garbage heap to find it? And why those images, after all the death and despair I had just seen? It could have been much, much worse, after all.

  And with that thought in mind, I closed my eyes once again, and this time fell into oblivion untroubled by any fragments of the daytime world.

  We awoke early, before the sun had even begun to lift beyond the horizon. The dirt floor was cold and hard, and both Brit and I had slept long enough that we knew we had the strength to continue our journey. If we made good time, we could be back at Lord Shaine’s estate by late afternoon. Although I knew quarantine awaited both of us once there, at least we would be in familiar surroundings.

  During the afternoon and night we had slept, the sky had darkened once more, with low clouds blowing in from the northwest. They promised more snow, and I hoped it would hold off long enough for us to reach our destination. Otherwise, we would be hard put to cover the remaining miles before nightfall. But our luck held somehow. Although the day grew grayer and grayer, and a biting wind sent its searching fingers even through our heavy cloaks, the road remained dry and hard, untouched by snow.

  At some point in the mid-afternoon we finally saw the gray towers of the keep rise up in the distance. Brit and I urged the horses to a faster pace, now that we were certain the end of our journey was at hand. In less than an hour we had reached the front gates, and I heard Graf call down to us, “Mistress Merys! What news?”

  I had dreaded this moment, but my reply was firm enough. “All gone, Graf. We came too late.”

  His first response was a muttered oath, but then he asked, “And you? Are you well?”

  “Neither of us has any sign of the disease so far,” I replied. “But it does not always show immediately. Has Lord Shaine set up quarantine quarters for us?”

  “Yes, mistress. We emptied the smaller of the two dye huts for you.” And after he made that reply I heard him call out to the other guards to open the gates.

  He met us as we dismounted, but I noticed he took care to stand some distance away, and he had wrapped a strip of linen over the lower half of his face, as I had instructed. But I saw his eyes widen in surprise as he took in the additional horses we had brought back with us.

  “I didn’t know what else to do with them,” I said. “I didn’t want to leave them there, although we set loose as many others of the livestock as we could. I thought they would be worth something.”

  “Indeed, mistress,” he agreed. “It would have been a waste of good horseflesh, and we’ll see that they’re well tended to.” He signaled two of the other guards, and they took hold of the horses and led them off in the direction of the stables.

  Brit and I then followed him to the smaller of the two dye huts, which had been made as comfortable as possible with the addition of two camp beds, a low table, and a considerable amount of warm bedding. The only source of heat was an open fire pit, and there was a smoke hole that unfortunately let in a good deal of freezing air, but if we kept the fire stoked sufficiently, we should be able to manage well enough.

  “I’ll have Merime send over something warm,” he said, speaking to us through the open doorway as Brit and I disposed of our packs and other belongings.

  “Thank you, Graf,” I said. “Make sure it’s left outside—we’ll claim it after the person who brings it is safely gone.”

  “I know his lordship will wish to speak to you as well,” he went on. “But perhaps it would be better if you ate first.”

  I thanked him again, and he disappeared around the corner. Shutting the door, I turned to see Brit already occupied with building up the fire. He looked up at me, dark eyes somewhat nervous.

  “How long do we have to stay in here, mistress?” he asked.

  Well could I understand his worry. The thought of being trapped in here for days with little occupation did not appeal to me, either, but there was no help for it. I simply could not run the risk of exposing the rest of Lord Shaine’s household to the plague while there was even the remotest chance we might have carried it back with us.

  “At least four days, Brit,” I replied, somewhat wearily. It somehow sounded even worse when said aloud.

  He winced but had the good grace not to make any complaints. At least we were both still alive—no thanks to the plague, or Dorus, for that matter. When we arrived here, I’d had a heavy knitted scarf wound around my neck to keep out the cold, so the bruises I felt there but hadn’t yet seen were safely hidden.

  As promised, the food arrived—heavenly game pie and a complicated sweet made with cake and nuts and swirls of honey. We both made short work of it, and I had to smile at my own lack of table manners. My mother, I’m sure, would have been appalled.

  Accompanying the food had been a jug of water newly drawn from the well, along with a flagon of hard cider. Replete, Brit and I drank slowly, savoring the moment. At least now we were both warm and well-fed, as comfortable as our situation could make us. And I felt well enough. Now that my feet had unthawed and my stomach had stopped protesting its empty state, I could assess the rest of my well-being and ascertain that, so far, I could detect no symptoms of any illness.

  I was about to ask Brit how he fared when a knock at the door forestalled me. Brushing the crumbs from my breeches, I went to the door but did not open it. Instead, I put my face up to the crack and asked, “Who is it?”

  “Lord Shaine.”

  A flush rose to my cheeks, and I was suddenly glad that the door stood between us. “My lord.”

  “Graf told me what you encountered.”

  Oh, but I had only told him the barest bones of the story. I had seen no need to fill his head with horrors—and I saw no reason to do that with Lord Shaine here and now. “Yes, my lord. We were too late. All we could do was get out of there as quickly as we could in the hope of avoiding contagion.”

  A silence from the other side of the door. It was hard for me to gauge his reaction without being able to see his face.

  “And so you left everything as you found it?”

  I swallowed. At the time what I had done had seemed the most logical course, but now I wondered what Lord Shaine would think when I told him I had fired the house and everything—everyone—in it. “Alas, no,” I replied slowly. “There was no way Brit and I could have given everyone a proper burial—and the state of the house, the contagion—” I sighed, and said in a rush, “We burned the place to the ground, my lord. I could not leave them there to rot, and I could see no other way.”

  This time the stillness that resulted from my words stretched out for so long I began to wonder whether he planned to reply at all.

  “You did what you thought best,” he said finally, and I heard the weariness in his voice even though I could not see his face. “Perhaps, when this is all over, you may have some angry distant relatives to answer to, but—”

  I hadn’t even thought of that. Still, I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to live in that house after fifty some-odd corpses rotted away in it. At least the land was still valuable—or would be if enough people could be found to work it. That, however, was none of my concern. I said as much, to which Lord Shaine replied,

  “You may be right. And of course I will defend your actions in the event anyone challenges them. But
enough of that.” He paused, then asked, with a subtle shift in tone, “And how goes it with you?”

  One hand went to my bruised throat, and again I was thankful for the heavy wooden door that separated us. “I am well enough, my lord. Both Brit and I so far are not showing any symptoms. But of course I won’t know for sure for several days.”

  “Of course,” he repeated. “Is there anything you need, while you wait?”

  I longed for books, for a piece of half-finished embroidery—anything that might fill the empty hours. But to handle something was to risk infecting it, and I knew I could not take that chance.

  “No, my lord,” I said at last. “We will have to be patient. I don’t want to—to touch anything until I know for sure.”

  A silence in which he might have nodded. I had no way of knowing for sure. “We will keep constant watch on you, Merys.”

  His words had the air of a farewell about them, and I fought the disappointment I felt rising in my breast. Of course I could not expect him to stand here and talk with me all day. He had his own concerns and duties to attend to.

  So I said merely, “Thank you, Lord Shaine.” And I pressed one hand up against the lintel of the door, wishing I could see his face just for one moment.

  But I did not get that longed-for glimpse, of course. He said, “We will talk again,” and after that came such a prolonged silence that I knew he had gone, and that Brit and I had been left here to ourselves once more.

  I will not recount those days here. They were wearisome enough to live through the first time. Suffice it to say that Brit and I told each other tales of our respective lands, dozed a good bit, spent long hours staring at the fire, dragged out our meal times so they would fill as much space as possible. But in between were the empty hours and minutes where we did little but sit and wait, wondering when and if our bodies would betray us.