Lord Bight swiped his hand to one side. “I think you’ll find this one is different. Take her with you. She knows that area better than you do.”

“But she’s human. If she’s exposed to-”

The lord governor cut him off. “She’s been exposed indirectly several times. She may be immune to it by now.”

“Immune? I doubt it!” grumbled the dwarf. “If she isn’t, then it’s on your head.”

The lady Knight jerked her chin up in a knowing nod. So that’s why Lord Bight gave her the dragon scale-to send her out into the plague-ridden city. How kind. Still, the scale beneath her tunic lay warm against her skin and took away the worst of her inner dread.

With a salute to the governor, she joined Mica by the table. She smiled sweetly at him and said, “Meow.”

The dwarf had no sense of humor. He stood and glowered at her. “Come on. Let’s get this done,” he said with poor grace.

Chapter

For the fourth or fifth time since they left the palace, Linsha swatted away a swarm of flies from her face and glanced at the silent dwarf walking his horse beside hers. He hadn’t said a word as they traversed the length of the road into the city. His deep-set brown eyes stared straight ahead; his bearded face registered no emotion. She noticed he was as fastidious about his appearance as ever, for his hair was combed, his clothes were immaculate, and his heavy boots were new. He carried no weapons, only a leather pouch filled with things that left lumps and bulges. She wondered if he had trained at the Citadel of Light with Goldmoon or at one of her mission schools. She wondered what had brought him to Sanction. His stony silence discouraged conversation, and his brooding gaze seemed far away.

They took the Shipmaker’s Road and passed easily through the city. Wheeled traffic was very light and few pedestrians were out. The Souk Bazaar was almost deserted.

At the West Gate, City Guards held a strong presence.

A sergeant Linsha didn’t know halted them and requested to know their business. Mica told him gruffly, and because he was well known to the guards and Linsha wore the uniform of the governor’s bodyguards, they were quickly passed through.

“Sorry,” the sergeant apologized. “The gates maybe open, but we’re trying to restrict traffic to only what is necessary. Most people are cooperating.”

At that moment a heavily loaded freight wagon rumbled through without stopping. The two drivers merely waved.

Linsha pointed at the tarp-covered load. “Why didn’t you stop them?”

“They’ve been by here twice today. That’s the dead wagon, carrying bodies to the lava moat.”

Mica shrugged at her expression. “You had to ask.”

They left the gates and hurried on into the outer city.

“Where do you need to go?” Linsha inquired.

“Watermark Street. The man is a scribe and has a shop there,” Mica said.

“Then we need to turn left here.”

“No, we don’t. Watermark Street parallels the harbor. We’ll just go straight and meet it,” he growled.

“If you go straight along this road, expecting to find Watermark, you’ll end up in the harbor. Watermark dead ends in a fish market a block before Shipmaker’s Road. Besides, I know the shop you want. He’s the only scribe on that street and his shop is in a tiny alley.”

“Fine,” he said in annoyance. “You lead the way.”

Linsha was pleased to do just that. She trotted Windcatcher ahead of the grouchy dwarf and let him worry about keeping pace with her. She relaxed into her saddle, glad to be back on familiar streets in the daylight, to see favorite landmarks and old scenery. The problem was that, while the streets and buildings looked unchanged, the atmosphere was radically different. The bustling energy and verve she was so used to feeling in the streets were gone. The harbor district seemed virtually empty. Only a few people were outdoors, mostly dwarves or kender or those without human blood, and they hurried by with tough expressions, as if driven by some grim purpose. Houses were boarded shut; taverns were closed. Here and there a few stores were open for business, while others were locked and shuttered. Some had even been looted. Abandoned dogs roamed about, looking for food.

The stench of death Linsha had noticed two nights ago was still present and even stronger in the heat of day. She noticed also many of the houses they passed had yellow paint splashed on the doors.

When she asked Mica about the paint, he unbent enough to answer. “The paint is to mark homes where all the inhabitants have died.” Linsha fell silent. Worry for Elenor preyed on her mind, and she wondered if she could talk the dwarf into taking a small detour to Elenor’s little house to check on the old lady. She glanced back at the dwarfs stony face and decided probably not. But maybe she could confuse him in these back streets enough to lead him by Elenor’s house. It wasn’t that far from Watermark Street.

Casually she pushed Windcatcher into a faster walk and turned the corner at the public water pump, where a few children played in the trickle of water that still flowed. Mica duly followed, making no comment. Linsha led him on past empty inns and gaming houses, where desultory music echoed into the streets to lure customers inside. She took several more side streets and turns and soon came to the street she knew so well.

Mica rolled his eyes. “Either you have no idea where you are going, or you are deliberately trying to mislead me.”

Linsha turned in her saddle and said, straight-faced, “I’m deliberately misleading you so I may check on an old friend. We aren’t far from Watermark. I’ll have you there in five minutes.”

“You didn’t need to sneak around like this,” he sniffed. “All you had to do was ask.”

“Oh, sure,” she muttered. And give him the satisfaction of saying no?

They passed a small grove of sycamores drooping in the heat, several silent houses, and a small bakery before reaching Elenor’s house. Linsha noticed the ladder still leaned against the chimney and a few windows were open to the slight breeze blowing in from the harbor. There was no yellow paint on the door.

Before Mica could protest, Linsha leaped off Windcatcher and flew to the door. “Elenor?” she shouted. She shoved open the door and dashed inside.

“Oh, by Reorx’s Beard,” Mica grumbled. After dismounting, he tied both horses in the shade of a nearby tree and stamped into the house after the infuriating woman. He found her in the back of the house, in a small kitchen, bent over the still form of an old woman sprawled on the floor.

Linsha raised a tear-streaked face. “She isn’t dead yet. Please help me, Mica.”

The dwarf laid a gentle finger against the woman’s jugular. Her pulse still beat steadily and there was no sign of the tell-tale blotches, but her skin felt hot and dry.

Together they lifted Elenor and carried her to the bed in her small room. Linsha went to fetch water while Mica examined Elenor. It took a while for Linsha to find a bowl, a pitcher, cloths, and water, so by the time she returned to the room, Mica was already finished.

“She doesn’t have the plague yet,” he announced. “She’s dehydrated and there’s a lump on her head. She must have fainted and struck her head on the floor.”

“I’m not surprised about the dehydration. There’s no water in the house. I had to get some outside.”

Using the cloths, Linsha bathed Elenor’s face in the tepid water and trickled water down her throat. Mica found the lump on her head and, using his power of healing, repaired the bruising and strengthened her diminished system.

Elenor’s eyes fluttered open. She saw Linsha first, and a smile shone on her withered face. “You’re back!”

“Hello, Elenor. I came to visit and what do I find? You flat on the floor. What were you doing, chasing ants?”