The Plague Diaries

by Ronlyn Domingue

  Harmyn escorted me through the parlors, where people sat reading, in conversation, or playing games. She greeted the guard at Nikolas’s door. I noticed a blue sash tied at his waist.

  She knocked with a pattern, which seemed meant to identify her. I buried the memory of a certain rap-rap, rap-rap. Nikolas called her in. Still dressed in his coat and trousers, he sat in his chair near the fireplace, with documents piled on the floor. He smiled when he stood to greet us.

  “I guessed you wouldn’t mind a visitor,” she said.

  Nikolas tousled her hair with affection. “How long do we have?”

  “As long as you want. Secret, when you’re ready, you’ll sleep again without my help. Good night.” Harmyn closed the door behind her.

  Nikolas gave me a quick kiss. “You’ll catch cold with that wet hair.” He stood me against the fire. I sunk into his protective embrace.

  At last, I said, “Harmyn told me what day it is. I imagine you’re missing them terribly.”

  “I am, even though with all that’s happened, it seems so long ago. Harmyn came this morning to see how I was. What I can hide from everyone else, I can’t from her.” Nikolas dropped his arms and pushed another chair close to his. He reached for my hand once I sat down. “I’ve missed you.”

  “Had I not been unconscious, I believe I’d have missed you, too,” I said.

  He grinned. “Almost six weeks until the spring equinox and this is over. I’ve talked to several children about what the sleep is like. The blur of dreams and memories, sorting themselves out, with time to rest between them. It seems far less brutal than what Harmyn put me through.”

  “Do you wish you hadn’t?”

  “No, the choice was evident. I didn’t want to wake to any surprises. Matters are difficult enough as it is. The war—never mind, it’s no better or much worse. The plague—we’ve had representatives from eight towns come to see how we’re managing. Everyone is worried what will happen if, when, there’s a greater spread. I couldn’t reassure them. We don’t know where the plague will strike next.”

  “If any bird messengers have come to tell me, I wouldn’t know. Did you ask Harmyn?”

  “She said she doesn’t know. Seeing the future isn’t one of her abilities, she claims.”

  A stricken look must have crossed my face.

  “Has she told you differently?” he asked.

  “No, that’s not it. I believe that was my mother’s gift. Had she been here instead of Harmyn, she might have known,” I said.

  He stared at my bruise, then looked into my eyes. “Secret, what’s happened while you’ve been asleep?”

  “Precisely what the children told you—a blur of dreams and memories, wonderful and horrifying.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Whatever you think I’ve suffered, it’s worse than you imagine. My mother—I can’t talk about this now.” I withdrew my hand from his and paused through a deep breath. There was much I hadn’t told him yet, not of my loneliness and isolation, what I learned about my blue brothers, or the memory which returned to me the night the unborn bled away. Soon enough, the whole truth would tear its way out. “The first night Harmyn took you into the shadows, I couldn’t comprehend what your father did to you. That you lived with those memories, that pain. But in spite of it, you’re able to take his chamber as your own and miss him on the anniversary of his death.”

  “My love for him weighs heavier in the balance,” he said.

  “Good that it can,” I said.

  “And for yours?” he asked.

  “I’d say the same. Failings with me aside, and whatever he’s done to others through his work—I didn’t ask what he’d done to get that blood on his hands—still, I never thought him to be a cruel man.”

  “He’s never seemed so, not as I knew him in an official way, skillful at angling for a diplomatic compromise between Ailliath and business interests, and not as I see him now.”

  “How so?”

  “When he wakes, he doesn’t like to be alone. The caregivers talk with him or bring children to him. This I’ve seen for myself when I’ve stopped in to see about you. There he was, tucked into a chair with a group of little ones at his feet, telling stories. They all seemed under a spell,” he said.

  A wistful grin softened my face. “He’s quite the bard.”

  “Sometimes when he’s awake, he joins me and Harmyn for a conversation. He has a far better grasp of history than most of my advisers,” he said.

  I smirked then, wondering if my father was positioning himself in Nikolas’s favor. Father had to realize by now whatever Fewmany Incorporated had been, it wouldn’t be again.

  “He and Harmyn are very fond of each other. It’s good to see her laugh as she does with him,” Nikolas said.

  “Harmyn is the closest my father will ever get to having a grandchild, so he might as well enjoy the semblance of it,” I said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll never marry or have children.”

  There was no mistaking the alarm in his eyes. “Those are your shadows coming out, tricking you. You don’t mean that.”

  “You’ve known me for so long, you don’t see me clearly, and you don’t know me as I know myself. I’m not fit for either. Not meant for either.”

  “Why would you say such a thing? What, then, of us?”

  I closed my eyes, bracing for the inevitable conversation. “What happened between us, I don’t regret at all. Months ago, you said you were willing to see where your feelings led, but I had no hopes attached.”

  “I wasn’t entirely sure what I meant when I said that,” he said.

  “I entered these feelings unprepared myself, more so than you. I don’t think either of us anticipated the depth of how we came to feel about each other. I assure you, I had no illusions. We both know what’s expected of you.”

  His expression betrayed no emotion. He paused for so long, I was tempted to say something else, but had nothing to add.

  “I wasn’t going to speak of this now, but as it’s come up, I want you to sleep with this in mind,” Nikolas said.

  I felt every movement within me become still, breath, pulse, thought.

  “I love you—” he said.

  “I love you, too.”

  “That is why I ask you to consider marrying me.”

  My heart surged, then twisted and sent a leaden ache straight to my feet.

  “You’re right. We both know what’s expected of me,” he said. “The goodwill visits, that was a matter of politics, of course, but the diplomacy wasn’t limited to war, peace, and trade. There were introductions and renewed acquaintances. The women I met flaunted the refinement bred into them. Some were even charming, or intelligent, or good-hearted. When the time came, there would have been a culling to select those I found suitable, who thought the same of me. But there was no question our happiness mattered far less than how strategic the union would be. Then my parents died, and the plague struck, and in between, as well as before, there was you.”

  He clutched my arm with both hands. “You are more to me than my best friend. My mother told me I’d one day find a wife and grow to love her because we’d be from the same world and desire the same things. My father counseled me to look for a good disposition, beauty that would age with grace, and the fortitude to manage a proper house. Affection was a matter of familiarity, he said, and in time, especially after she bore me a son, I would be fond of her.”

  “Well, I wasn’t raised in a noble family,” I said. “I have no understanding of a courtly life and what rules and duties that entails. I am unsuitable.” Unsuitable for far greater reasons than that, I thought. My fists clenched to hold the ache pouring from my heart.

  “Didn’t you hear what was behind my words? I speak of love, Secret, not lineage. But to address your protest, you are resourceful beyond measure. I hate to invoke his name, but Fewmany saw that quiet but fierce resolve in you. This resolve is how you found the strength
to translate the manuscript and go alone on a quest with nothing tangible to guide you, and speak before the Council, and—frankly—to take in a child most people would fear or misunderstand too much to love. Now tell me you couldn’t learn a few rules and customs.”

  “I’m not meant for what you ask of me,” I said.

  “I know you’d die of misery if you were denied what you cherish. Time alone, the woods, your intellectual curiosity, your books. I would never ask you to sacrifice any of it.”

  To none of that had I alluded. I didn’t have the energy to discuss the true reasons, so instead I smiled and said, “You do have your moments of rhetorical flourish.”

  He laughed, a release of the golden boy of light I loved in him, always. How could he love me as he did, the dark girl full of shadows? I couldn’t tell him no right then, not when he looked at me with such adoration. “I will think about what you asked,” I said.

  “At least you didn’t refuse me outright. I would feel used and tawdry if you did.” Nikolas moved from his chair, knelt next to me, and lay his head in my lap. As I slipped my fingers into his hair, sighing from the pleasure of it, a trough of grief returned to take me into the swirling dark hole inside.

  WEEK 34

  Rothwyke Services Log, Excerpt

  7/2.

  Reports of minor tremors with “murmur” and “low groaning” in Area 11 most notably around Fewmany Incorporated building. Last activity reported in September. No new discernible damage to structures or streets. Will monitor.

  8/2.

  Water leak behind Old New Wheel in former Alley J. Tremors throughout day, no greater severity, sounds still reported.

  9/2.

  Leak source undetermined at present. Tremors, same.

  10/2.

  King issued order to evacuate persons within 10-block area of plaza. Aid volunteers working through night. Attempted to convince king’s representatives action unnecessary but king’s order stands.

  11/2.

  Four minor tremors today.

  12/2.

  Major tremor throughout Rothwyke. Roaring sound reported as far as The Manses.

  13/2.

  Profound structural damage to Fewmany Incorporated and buildings within two blocks. Interim mayor ordered structures and area as condemned.

  From the Plague of Silences Recollection Project Archives, Selected Excerpts

  Diary No. 6. Male, 32, municipal clerk

  Time to get another bottle from the sleight market because this one won’t last the duration. Adult deaths, thus far, 1,523. Today, 111 messages arrived to request a registrar to record the latest deaths. Yesterday, 67. Days before, 59, 55, 61. As there’s only myself, Diggby, and Potts, I need to ask for more volunteers to help. At least it’s cold and we have the textile warehouse near the steamwheeler station to store the bodies until the new mass graves are ready. More diggers arriving tomorrow. I estimate 4,500 to 5,000 dead come mid-March for ones we can account in Rothwyke. Some who fled town are dying, too, but we haven’t confirmed numbers.

  Diary No. 415. Lord Humphrey Sullyard

  Such a harsh winter, bringing not so much peace as immobility. Yet another week with reports of no significant advances or retreats in Giphia, Kirsau, or Ilsace because of the snow. Prev’s troops, with Thrigin’s, are in Uldiland now to help drive out Haaud. Speculation that Prev will press east and fight Emmok, if Emmok doesn’t relent. Given our relations with Emmok, we are in a quandary. To aid Emmok would be a boon to Haaud, the benefit to us in some ways negligible; better we back Giphia, since our borders loom with threat. But still the king sends our envoys abroad for talks, more talks! and continues to stall. He says he understands the risks here, but I cannot determine if he’s indecisive or naïve. If we’re invaded, he will have no choice any longer.

  Regarding the king, in anticipation the phases will keep to the predictable regularity, a date at last has been set for the coronation. This coming 1 May.

  Diary No. 224. Female, 12

  We crept out after our gaurdians were asleep. It was a long walk in a light snow. They called me a spooky goose when I said maybe we should turn back. What if it wasn’t true he went away for the plauge and was still in the house? R— said that was stupid because he’d be asleep like everyone else. I said maybe he had people taking care of him and they’d catch us. A— said we weren’t going to steal anything, only look, and if I was that afraid, I could wait outside.

  We were all afraid once we got there. The manor was much larger than we thought it would be. All of those dark windows in the front, sixty-four long shut eyes. We decided to try to get in from the back. G— was about to smash the glass of one big door but R— saw a key in the lock of another. It was very strange to see it that way. Someone else had been there, or was still there. We found some lamps in the kitchen, and matches, so we took those.

  I’d never been inside a house so grand, never will again I’m sure. We went into several rooms and a big library, the door and some things inside of that were burned, but the rooms were empty. I expected to see beautiful furniture, and vases and candelobras, and wardrobes full of elegant clothes. Everything was gone.

  From the outside we saw the manor had a very long first floor, which we wanted to see. A— was the one who found a door hidden behind heavy drapes that went to a hall. We dared him to go in the pitch black, and he did. He was gone so long, we were afraid something happened, so we went to find him. The hall turned on itself and we walked calling his name. Then we heard footsteps and saw a light and we screamed. I thought Mr. Fewmany was coming after us, but it was only A—. He said we had to see something. The look on his face, I knew it would be awful but I had no idea how awful.

  There in one room, piled on the floor—skeletons with old flesh on them, and clothing, and hair and teeth fallen around! We couldn’t talk we were so shocked. We agreed we can’t tell anyone. We weren’t supposed to be there, but oh I wonder what happened and who did that terrible thing.

  Interview No. 98. Male; age during plague, 8; current occupation, carpenter

  The third phase, like everyone, I dreamed, but I had none of the terrors I know others had. My dreams were fanciful, lovely, and when I dreamed of myself grown, I liked the man I saw and what would become of him. I liked, too, what I saw of Ailliath, like a promise kept.

  When Momma and Poppa took to the sleep, my sister and brother and I missed them, but we knew they would be well in the end. We remember our time as plague orphans—you have heard that before, what we children called ourselves—yes, that time with happiness. No gruel, bedbugs, and rags for us wardrats! No, our guardians took good care of us, twenty or so in that one walk-up. We had the warmest clothes we’d ever had and plenty of food—the whole of the plague, never to know that hollow hunger again—and comfortable beds, each with a stuffed toy to hold. I had a little dog, gray with a brown eye patch. We had small chores, what we could do at our ages. The older ones helped the younger ones with washing up and dressing. When we quarreled, as children do, our guardians were so patient and kind, but many of our friends seemed confused, standing in a crouch as if they expected to get a cuff or shout.

  In the mornings, after breakfast and chores, Raisa and Ben would have us in school, but not as we’d known it. They made games of it. We’d eat together—there was no kitchen, our meals were always brought in, always hot—but we’d wash our own bowls and spoons and cups.

  After that, we’d put on our coats and our guardians would take us to see our families. They were asleep, but we got to sit with them and see they were all right. M— didn’t like going, or his brother, so Henley—he was a guardian—always sat with them as a friend.

  Then in the afternoons into the evenings, we’d play with orphans from other houses. We laughed and had such fun. None of us had ever been so carefree, I believe, not we children from Elwip. The plague had given us this gift.

  At night, we’d have our dinner, then we’d go to the top floor for entertainment. Gert had a sweet voice.
She’d lead us in sing-alongs as Ben played the mandolin. There were times we children put on a play that the older ones wrote, and we all made costumes and acted. Our guardians enjoyed our antics. I know they were fond of us and we were of them.

  Oh, there was the one night Harmyn came. We knew who he—no, she—well, the clothing did confuse us. Yes, everyone knew of her, although some of us had never seen her. There was a guard with her who wore a blue coat with gold braid. I remember this because he let one of the boys try it on. She said she’d lived in our ward and wanted to see for herself we were being cared for as treasures. Treasures, she said. Some of my housemates started to cry, but not out of sadness but because they were moved. We did feel like treasures.

  I’m sorry. I didn’t expect to be overcome. We had each other and our guardians. We wanted for nothing, not food, warmth, safety or, I say this sincerely, or love. Every plague orphan I’ve ever met recalls this sense of being precious.

  Here is the beauty. Why so much is different now. As we felt this for ourselves, we felt it, too, of our friends. Those of us who awakened from the sleep, after the dreams we had and the way we lived with our guardians, we couldn’t go back to how things were before.

  Under Fig Tree, I leaned against her sturdy trunk,

  eating her fruit, telling her of my first year in high academy,

  of the things I’d learned, of the interesting people I’d met,

  but there came a strange smell,

  intrusive, hot, spicy, a hint of jasmine . . .

  I FELT MYSELF FLOAT AWAY, the scent becoming stronger, until I discovered I was awake. I cursed the breach into my alternate Then. Between my bed and Father’s stood a woman with a lamp.

  “There, there, Mr. Riven,” she said.