Ignoring Commander Durne, Linsha turned her head and looked directly at the lord governor’s profile. She wondered what was going on inside his head.

“Much and little,” he said, so softly only she could hear.

She started and stared at him, astonished. Had he understood her thoughts? No, that was impossible… she hoped. He cocked his head slightly, one eyebrow raised. “First it’s pirates and volcanoes, then it’s the Dark Knights at the back door, the Legion at the front door, the Solamnics at the side door, and the black dragon next door. Then it’s taxes, clean water, farmland, refuse disposal, just laws, security, shipping rights, and refugees. Now it’s a plague. What next-the return of the gods? You know,” he said to Linsha as if he was about to impart a long-kept secret, “it’s not easy being lord governor.”

And by Paladine, if he didn’t wink at her!

In spite.of the tension and the seriousness of the situation, Linsha wanted to laugh. That, she thought, was one of the things she liked about him, the self-confident rascal in him that could not take things too seriously because he was convinced he could handle any crisis, no matter how small or large.

Linsha lifted her chin a little and said in her most serious tone of voice, “Aye, Lord. But you’re so good at it.”

“Yes,” he said, grinning at her. The glint of humor was still in his eyes when he turned back to the puzzled council and resumed his pacing. “This plague,” he said, raising his voice so they all could hear, “is threatening to destroy everything we have built here.” He took three long strides back to the table and banged his fist on the wood. “We have put too much into this city to let this plague rip it out of our grasp. We will find a solution no matter what it takes or how bitter it is to swallow. That means,” he added with a meaningful look at Lutran and Chan Dar, “that we will have to work together, without the usual bickering. I expect total cooperation from everyone here.”

Chan Dar rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Does that mean from the volcano, too?”

The others stared at him to see if he was serious. The farmer was usually so pessimistic and humorless they never expected him to try a joke.

“Absolutely,” Lord Bight replied, deadpan. “Thunder-horn has already agreed not to blow his dome until this crisis has passed.”

The farmer nodded. “That’s a relief.”

Asharian burst out laughing and the others followed suit. The image of a volcano promising to be agreeable was ludicrous, but they had all seen enough of Lord Bight’s power to know anything was possible when he put his mind to it, and that thought was reassuring.

Lord Bight sat down in his chair, poured some wine, and lifted his goblet in a silent toast to the farmer. Chan Dar’s lips lifted in a slight smile and he returned the gesture.

The tension broken, the council immersed itself in the business of helping its city. It took several hours of discussion, of poring over lists and examining different ideas, but by late afternoon, the governor was satisfied that his council was prepared to handle the crisis. The most difficult part, they all knew, would be convincing the people that some of these emergency plans had to be enforced for their own good. Supplies had to be hoarded, water had to be stored and rationed. The work on the aqueducts would have to be pushed ahead, at the expense of other projects. The sick needed care, and the dead had to be cremated as soon as possible. Normal commerce would continue as long as the health of the city allowed.

However, for the sake of incoming vessels with cargo to unload, the new harbormaster suggested isolating the end of the long southern pier. Ships could moor there, unload their cargoes, and leave without endangering their crews. It would slow work considerably, but he reasoned, it would reassure ships’ captains and help prevent the spread of this strange malady outside Sanction.

Priestess Asharia straightened up at that. “How do we know the disease hasn’t struck somewhere else? Where did the crew of the galley pick it up?”

“I’ve read the ship’s log,” Mica said, sounding irritated. “There is no indication of what happened. Everything was normal up to four days before they reached Sanction. After that, the log is blank. Listen.” He yanked a leather-bound logbook out of his pile and opened to a page marked with a scrap of fabric. “ ‘Fourth day of Fierswelt’-that’s twelve days ago,” he added with a slightly patronizing tilt of his nose. “ ‘Two days out of Haligoth. Brisk winds. Clear skies. Logged twenty miles by midwatch. Lookout reported seeing a blue dragon, but no one else confirmed.’ ” He laid the book down. “That is the last entry.”

The harbormaster waved a hand toward the harbor. “But where were they?”

“Somewhere in the Newsea,” the dwarf said.

“That’s helpful. The Newsea is rather large,” Lutran grumbled.

The priestess laid a firm hand on Mica’s arm before the dwarf said something rude. “That still doesn’t answer my question,” she pressed. “Has the disease struck somewhere else? Perhaps someone has found a cure for this.”

Vanduran rubbed his hand down his gray beard. “Our merchants haven’t heard of a plague anywhere else this summer. And with their nose for profits, they would be some of the first to know.”

Linsha listened thoughtfully and pondered how much of this tangled mystery was truth and how much was evasion. Any of these people could be misleading the council for reasons of his own and using the citizens of Sanction as pawns in a deadly game of power. Even the Clandestine Circle told her they knew nothing about the plague, but she knew all too well they didn’t disclose information when it suited their purposes. Perhaps they were aware of other outbreaks and concealed it from her.

“Check with your contacts again, Guildman Vanduran,” Lord Bight suggested. “We must examine all possibilities, no matter how vague.”

“There is another contingency we should discuss before we end the meeting.” Commander Durne leaned forward in his chair, his features set in a grim expression. “What if the plague spreads out of control in the outer city? Do we bar the gates to protect the inner city?”

“No,” said Vanduran forcefully.

“Yes,” said Lutran and the treasurer together.

The others looked at their nails or at the tapestries on the walls.

Lord Bight tapped his fingers on the table. “That is an option we will discuss later. Such an act could overly alarm the population and cause more harm than good. The city should not be divided. It needs to work as a whole to halt this plague now, before it spreads out of our control.”

One after another, the council members nodded and made their assurances, and the meeting came to an end. Armed with plans and the support of the other advisers, they bade farewell to the governor and went out the door talking among themselves. At last only Lord Bight, Commander Durne, and the silent guards were left in the large hall. Late afternoon sunlight slanted through the tall windows and splashed on the sea-green floor. A breeze, strong from the west and the open waters of the Newsea, blew through the open windows and made the tapestries ripple like living ribbons of color.

Lord Bight rose slowly to his feet, his gaze lost in some inner contemplation. “I will be gone for two days, Commander. Do not alert anyone. I leave you in charge.”

Concealing his surprise, Commander Durne stood, too. “May I ask where you are going? I will arrange a unit of guards to go with you.”

“You may ask,” Lord Bight responded lightly. His eyes snapped back to the present. He picked up his goblet, drained the last of the wine, and waved to his servants to approach and clear off the table. When he was ready he said, “I am going to contact one of my sources. I will not need guards.”

“Your Excellency,” Durne said, looking alarmed, “you shouldn’t be gone at a time like this without some protection.”