Clandestine circle

With a clatter of hooves and the rattle of armor, the governor and his escort trotted down the hill into the city. A bronze dusk was falling over Sanction. There was no wind to stir the dust on the roads or the smoke from a thousand dying oven fires. The smell of dung and refuse was strong. Steam and smoke from the smoldering volcano hung over the peak like brooding storm clouds and glowed in the setting sun with a fiery patina of copper.

The streets were busy with evening traffic. Although the crowds quickly made way for the governor’s entourage, many people stopped and gawked at the squads passing by, for Governor Bight didn’t usually travel about the city with so many soldiers. Rumors and gossip were already spreading through the city about the strange ship and its deadly cargo, and this new development only added leaven to the rising speculation.

As soon as the riders left the city gate behind, Lord Bight motioned Linsha forward. “You know the fastest way to this inn, young woman. Take us there.”

After years in Sanction and a year in the City Guard, Linsha knew the streets of the outer city like her own bedroom at home. In short order, she led the squads to the Dancing Bear just as the stableboy was lighting the lamps by the entrance. Swiftly the guards moved to block the front door, the back door, and the small stable yard where the innkeeper kept a few horses for rent.

The door was wide open on such a sultry night, and sounds of merrymaking spilled out with the light. A few patrons came to the door to see what was going on. They took one look at Lord Bight and the soldiers and ducked back inside, yelling for the host.

Cobb came on their heels. His face was pale, and he wiped his hands on his apron and forced a wan smile. “My lord governor, how-”

“You had a sick sailor here this morning,” Lord Bight said without preamble. “Where is he now?”

The innkeeper visibly blanched. “He went back to his ship, my lord.”

“Which ship?”

“The, uh, oh… I’ve been busy, my lord. I don’t remember.”

“Call out the serving girl that cared for him,” Bight demanded in a tone that allowed no refusal.

Cobb eyed the guards with increasing nervousness. His eyes widened when he recognized Linsha among them, but he knew there was no help there. “Angelan,” he called over his shoulder. “Come out here.”

Angelan appeared, pretty, blonde, and trembling.

“Are you the one who cared for the sailor?” Lord Bight demanded. He glared down at her, and she seemed to wilt before his eyes.

The blood drained from her face. She looked at Cobb, then back at the Governor’s Guards. “I… uh, yes, sir. It’s like Cobb said, sir. He-”

“Stop dithering, girl!” Lord Bight bellowed. “Where is he?”

Angelan burst into tears. “In the back garden,” she wailed. “He’s dead.” She sagged against her employer and sobbed.

Commander Durne barked commands to three guards, who hurried into the inn.

Without another word, Lord Bight and his men waited in the gathering darkness. Cobb and Angelan remained where they were, too afraid to move without the governor’s permission. More customers gathered at the door behind Cobb or hung out the windows; pedestrians, drawn by the sight of the mounted soldiers, clustered at a discreet distance to stare.

The quiet dragged into a tension-filled silence until even the horses grew restive. Abruptly the three men returned, pushing their way through the crowd at the door.

“There’s a newly dug grave in the back, Your Excellency. They tried to conceal it under some flagstones, but we dug into it and found the body,” one guard reported.

Angelan sobbed even harder.

“Your Excellency, I-” Cobb tried to explain.

Lord Bight cut him off. “Innkeeper, you knew the City Guards were looking for this man. It was your responsibility to notify them of his whereabouts. We are trying to contain this illness before it sweeps through the city. Your lack of judgment has endangered this entire area. Now it is necessary to burn the inn. You, your servants, and anyone who had contact with the dead man will be put in quarantine at once.”

Cobb nearly choked. His hands wrung themselves into his apron. “Lord, please. Not the inn. It’s all we have.”

“Commander Durne,” the governor said flatly.

The commander slid from his horse and gestured to his guards. Smoothly, efficiently, he sent the soldiers into the inn and amid an outcry of complaints and sobs. The guards evicted the customers, closed the inn, and soon had Cobb, Angelan, another serving girl, a cook, and Cobb’s wife standing huddled in a shaking group with a few belongings in hand. The customers were gone, after giving their names to Durne’s lieutenant, and the body of the Whydah’s sailor had been exhumed, carefully wrapped in a tarp, and loaded on a horse. In moments, flames licked at the timber walls and began to rise toward the roof. The innkeeper turned away, his face stricken. The women cried harder.