The farmer snorted. “Not that it makes much difference. The heat and the lack of rain are shriveling our crops as surely as a volcano’s eruption,” he replied, his long face morose.
The portly elder took his seat across from the farmer. He did not make a reply while his boy poured wine and fetched cakes and arranged the cushions just so. When at last he was comfortable and the scribe had settled himself on a bench nearby, Lutran clucked his tongue. “What about your new irrigation system you pushed through council last year? Is it not finished yet?”
Chan Dar steepled his fingers and cast a withering glance at his colleague. “You know well it is not. Not after your ploys delayed the money to pay the wages of the laborers. Thanks to your petty interference, the canals weren’t finished in time to catch the spring runoff.”
“My petty interference?” Lutran looked shocked that anyone would think such a thing. “If I remember correctly, it was one of your farmers who brought up the land dispute and your engineers who bickered over the layout of the canals.”
“Problems that were quickly settled, but the laborers-”
“Are you two worrying that same bone again?” said an unfamiliar voice from the door.
Linsha turned her head just enough to see a woman enter the hall. She recognized her immediately-Asharia, the priestess of the Temple of the Heart. Although Linsha had never had the opportunity or need to meet Asharia, she knew the middle-aged priestess by reputation. Not one to be content to stay in her temple, Asharia organized the refugee camp north of the city, ran a small temple school for those who wished to study the mystic arts, kept a regular schedule of healers available to help the citizens of the city, and served on the City Council. She admitted forthrightly that she was not an exceptional healer, but any lack she had was more than compensated by her organizational skills and her enthusiasm. Linsha suspected the lord governor had her on his council to act as a buffer between the bickering elders.
Asharia walked sedately to a chair beside Elder Lutran and smoothed her long gown before she sat down. The men glowered at each other but let their argument slide away. The priestess was known to have a sharp wit and a scorching tongue.
As soon as Asharia seated herself, the rest of the Governor’s Advisory Council arrived. Mica the dwarf, with an armful of scrolls, parchments, and books, stamped to the table and dumped his burden on the polished surface. He straightened his garments and flicked off some lint from his sleeve before he- sat beside the priestess. Vanduran Lor, head of Sanction’s powerful Merchants’ Guild, came with the chief magistrate for the city. The new harbormaster, looking young and ill at ease, walked in next, followed by Lord Bight’s treasurer, the governor’s scribe, and last of all Ian Durne, Commander of the City Guard.
They took their places around the table while servants brought more wine and finger foods and served the refreshments. Only Lord Bight’s chair remained empty. The company made small talk in hushed tones among themselves while they waited. Even Lutran stopped annoying Chan Dar and concentrated on his wine and cakes.
Linsha tried not to fidget, but she was hot in the new uniform and unaccustomed to standing still for so long. Sweat trickled down her lower back and itched maddeningly around her waist. When she shifted slightly to scratch it, she caught Commander Durne’s warning eye on her and froze in place.
Bootsteps echoed in the hall, drawing her attention, and Lord Bight entered from a separate doorway. The council members rose to their feet and bowed as one. Linsha studied Lord Bight appreciatively as he strode to the large chair at the head of the table. The governor had put aside the simple clothing he preferred to wear and was dressed in a formal robe of the finest linen and silk, dyed a rich golden brown. Thick gold threads embroidered the hem of the robe and its sleeves, and a gold belt hugged his waist. He wore a heavy collar of gold, studded with tiger’s eyes and topaz, and a simple gold circlet in his thick blond hair.
The governor inclined his head to the council and asked them to sit. He remained standing at the head of the table and leaned forward, his hands resting lightly on the wood. “I’ve called this special session of the Governor’s Council to discuss the disaster that is building in the harbor district. For those of you who do not know all the details, Mica will tell us about the contagion and how it is spreading.”
The dwarf pushed aside a pile of papers and scrolls and drew out a list. “From the reports I received this morning, there are now thirty-five people stricken with the disease at the sick house, and there are rumors that the disease is starting to break out in the Street of the Courtesans and the northern neighborhoods. Besides the entire crew of the death ship, there have been nineteen deaths that we know of. That includes most of the crew of the Whydah, the harbormaster and his wife, and the serving girl from the tavern where the last sailor died. Worst of all, there doesn’t seem to be any protection from it. Once a person becomes ill, he or she usually dies within two days.”
“Two days!” repeated Chan Dar in dismay. The farmer had been busy outside the city in the farms of the vale and had not, until today, learned of the virulence of the disease. “What is this plague?”
Mica tossed his list down and leaned back in his chair. “I don’t know. I have found no records of anything like it. We have had agues that are similar and plagues of buboes that are as deadly, but I’ve never seen a sickness with this combination of symptoms. The skin discolorations are very unusual. For lack of a better name, we have been calling it the Sailors’ Scourge.”
Lutran had been nervously sipping his wine while Mica spoke, and he gestured to his boy to pour some more. “But what about the healers?” he asked as the boy splashed the light white wine into his goblet.
Asharian answered for Mica. “Our healers are doing what they can. Unfortunately, this disease drains a great deal of energy to bring it under control. I have sent more healers to the sick house, but… even healers are not immune. Already two of our healers have died.”
“Are there any persons who have had contact with the death ship or the sick crew who have not become ill?” Chan Dar wanted to know.
Mica nodded. His broad fingers drummed on the table as he thought. “Apparently some kender shared an ale with one of the Whydah’s crew. They reported to the sick house but have not become ill. They’re driving the healers crazy trying to help. And two full-blooded dwarves. It could be that human blood is the most susceptible to this sickness. Interestingly, only two of the minotaur crew that repaired the Whydah are sick.”
Lutran groaned. “Human blood. That’s most of our population.”
“Lord Governor,” Vanduran spoke up. He shifted in his chair to face Lord Bight. “I, too, have heard the rumors that the disease is spreading into other areas. Not everyone is obeying the law of quarantine. The merchants are getting worried, not only for their own safety, but for the health of Sanction’s economy. Already we’ve had several ships turn away before they loaded their cargoes. Other shipments are sitting on the wharves and rotting. Half of the dockhands did not come to work today. They are terrified of catching this plague. What can we do to stem this disease before the news leaks out to the rest of Ansalon and we are ruined?”
Lord Bight stood and paced slowly back and forth. The council watched him quietly, for he appeared to be deep in thought and no one wanted to interrupt him. To Linsha’s surprise, he walked over to her window and stood beside her, looking out, yet his mind was far away, and his golden eyes looked deep into visions only he could see.