The woman’s face screwed up in bewilderment. “No, I…

Let’s see. I was looking for a bottle of cherry cordial I had hidden somewhere. I was thirsty. There’s not much to drink.”

“Elenor, when was the last time you fetched water?”

“Just before you left,” she replied. “You told me not to go out until you came back.”

Linsha shook her head in disbelief at her old friend’s confusion. “That’s not what I said. Elenor, I asked you not to go back to the Dancing Bear or down to the waterfront. I didn’t mean you had to lock yourself in the house.”

“Oh,” said the old woman weakly.

“Who knows? Maybe it saved her life,” Mica put in.

The two women looked at him in surprise. Linsha hastily introduced him. “Elenor, this is Mica, the governor’s healer.” Then, to him, she asked, “What do you mean?”

He lifted his shoulders slightly. “If she didn’t leave, she probably wasn’t exposed to the disease. I believe it spreads through some kind of contact. Perhaps skin to skin.”

Linsha thought about that. It made sense. Such a reason could explain why she had not yet caught the disease, for even though she had been on the ships and around the harbor district, she had not touched anyone that was ill at the time.

Elenor nodded. “He’s right.”

The dwarf crossed his arms and looked away, obviously dismissing the old woman.

Linsha gave her a glass of water to sip and said, “Why do you think so?”

Much of Elenor’s spirit was returning, for she leaned across the bed and lightly poked the dwarf in the stomach. “I may be old, but I am not entirely befuddled. I remember an epidemic like this. So many years ago. My grandfather and grandmother died of it.”

Mica’s attention returned with a snap. “When was this? Where?”

Elenor’s hand fluttered. “Nigh on sixty years ago, I’m thinking. I was just a little thing.”

Mica looked skeptical. “Then how do you know it’s the same thing, if you were young then and you’ve locked yourself in now?”

“The Kellen boy came to help me for a day or two. He brought me news and fetched water and helped me in the garden. But…” Her face screwed up in worry. “I haven’t seen him for a few days. I hope he’s all right.”

“So do I,” Linsha said soothingly. “We’ll look for him when you’re feeling better. Now, please, Elenor. Tell Mica about the plague.”

“It happened around Kalaman.”

“That territory was controlled by the Dark Knights during the war,” Mica observed.

“I know that! Now, do you want to hear or not?”

To Linsha’s surprise, Mica bowed politely and sat on the corner at the foot of Elenor’s bed, his mouth shut.

“The plague came out of nowhere,” Elenor went on. “It nearly wiped out our village and several more besides. I remember my grandma was so sick. Same symptoms, if Kellen was right. Fever. Dark red blotches. Running bowels. Terrible dreams. My grandma died in two days. Even the healers couldn’t cure her. They were horrified.” Her voice faded away, and she stared into the distance of old memories.

“Do you remember how the disease was stopped?” Linsha quietly prompted.

Elenor lifted her hands in an apologetic shrug. “I don’t know. It left the valley as quickly and mysteriously as it came. Our priest of Mishakal blamed it on evil magic, but he died before he could learn the truth of it.”

Mica made an inarticulate sound and bounced to his feet. “Fine. Thank you for your tale,” he said to Elenor, then he spoke to Linsha. “Please finish here, squire. We still have our task to finish. Today.” And he stamped out of the room.

“Stiff-necked, insufferable old stick-in-the-mud,” muttered Linsha.

Elenor laughed softly and patted her arm. “Don’t take him seriously. He’s not as stuffy as he acts.”

“How do you know?”

“Look at his eyes. They aren’t hard and cold and shifty. He’s being careful about something, but he cares more than he reveals.”

Linsha exhaled in a snort. “If you say so.”

Since Elenor felt stronger and able to cope, she convinced Linsha that she was well enough to be left alone. Linsha brought her some tea and filled every pitcher, bowl, and bucket in the house with water. She promised to return as soon as she could and left Elenor sitting comfortably in bed with her tea, some oat cakes, and a ewer of water close at hand.

Linsha finally came outside where the horses were tethered in the shade and Mica stood, tapping his foot impatiently.

She held up a finger to forestall any complaint. “Thank you very much for helping my friend. Whether or not you care, it means a great deal to me.”

The dwarf hesitated and glared at Linsha, who kept her expression benign. “You’re welcome.”

Linsha remembered Sable’s scrap of news about a past plague and wondered if there was any connection to Elenor’s story. Perhaps Mica knew, since Lord Bight had told him what the dragon said. Thoughtfully she asked, “Did Elenor’s story mean anything to you?”

Mica snorted through his large nose. “The ravings of a sick old woman. Now, unless you have any more old friends to visit, let’s go.”

Linsha decided not to waste her time by responding to his bad temper. She swung into the saddle and led the healer through several more streets to Watermark Street., The road was an old one, one of the originals from Sanction’s early days. The buildings were of old weathered timber, darkened stone, and crumbling brick. Shops, houses, and workplaces crowded haphazardly on both sides of the road and along narrow alleys. Usually, this time of day, the street would be lively with pedestrians and conveyances alike, but on this day, the area was nearly deserted, except for a few people clustered in the shade of an outdoor patio beside a tavern and a few carts and wagons in the street. A cat, perched on a low stone wall, watched Linsha and Mica ride by.

They walked their horses several blocks north until Linsha came to a halt in front of a small group of shops bisected by an alley. There she dismounted and, after tying Windcatcher to a hitching post by the board sidewalk, waved at Mica to follow. The shop she wanted was in the alley. She turned into the side street and nearly walked into a nondescript work horse facing out toward the street. The horse was hitched to a wagon that sat parked close to the left side of the alley.

Linsha’s suspicious were not aroused until she glanced in the wagon bed. Then her eyes narrowed and her hand automatically loosened the strap on her sword sheath. The wagon had been loaded carelessly with a variety of things: clothes, furs, bolts of cloth, bags of salt and spices, boxes, personal items, weapons, a money box, and half a dozen new pairs of boots.

Wordlessly she held up her hand to Mica to stay back, and she glided like a cat toward the scribe’s shop. A wooden sign decorated with a relief carving of a quill pen and a scroll hung above the shop door. The door stood wide open. She pressed back against the wall and slid a look around the corner. The front room was a wreck of torn maps, spilled ink, and scattered parchment. Inside, she could hear muffled voices-two, she guessed-and a mix of cracks, thuds, breaking glass, and slammed doors.

Suddenly a short muscular man came hurrying into the front of the shop carrying an armload of blankets, hangings, and woven rugs. Grinning, he hauled his load out the door and came face-to-face with Linsha’s steel.