Clandestine circle

“Your Excellency, we were not expecting you. Commander Durne said you were detained at the palace.”

Lord Bight grunted a noncommittal response, then said, “Why are the gates closed?”

The sergeant looked surprised that Lord Bight did not know. “Orders, sir. The disease has spread so far, the City Council decreed that the city gates were to be locked and barred last night when the city was quiet. Folks haven’t liked it one bit, I can tell you, sir.”

The governor’s eyes narrowed and the lines of his face hardened to stone.

“But what of the City Guards that patrolled the waterfront and. the harbor district?” Linsha asked.

“Those that were not sick or dead were withdrawn under Commander Durne’s orders,” replied the sergeant. He recognized Lynn and nodded to her. “The west side of the city has been pretty much left to its own, and people are scared.”

“There’s a fire in the warehouse district,” Lord Bight said angrily. “Is there anyone left to put it out?”

“I don’t know, Your Excellency. The volunteer fire brigade should answer the summons, but whether or not there are enough men left able to fight a fire, I don’t know.”

“Then I’d better go check on it. Come on, Lynn,” the governor ordered.

“Your Excellency, wait!” protested the sergeant. “You need to get in behind the wall. The plague is rampant in the outer city.”

“That fire is more dangerous at the moment,” Lord Bight replied, turning away.

“Then let us go with you, your lordship. You will need all the help you can find,” offered the sergeant.

Lord Bight answered in midstride. “Thank you, Sergeant. I appreciate your offer. However, until I know more about the situation, you should obey your orders and guard this gate. Later I may need someone to let me back in.”

The sergeant and his men saluted. They took Linsha’s pack for safekeeping, gave her a small wine sack, and watched worriedly as the two hurried back into the darkness of the streets.

Linsha gratefully sampled the wine as she followed Lord Bight. It was a white of local vintage, light and refreshing on a hot night. She passed the sack to the lord governor, who look a long swallow before he passed it back. Linsha slung it over her chest for later.

Although she would have liked more, she needed to stay alert. Something wasn’t right in these streets she knew so well. The taverns and shops were open but were nearly empty, and every house she saw was closed and barred, despite the hot night. There were the usual gully dwarves and stray dogs rooting about the refuse heaps and some groups of happily chattering kender, but there were very few people of any race outdoors. She noticed, too, a faint stench of death on the wind that had not been there a few days ago.

Shortly, another smell masked the scent of death, smoke thick and black. It boiled out of the burning warehouse and clogged the streets downwind with a choking, blinding haze. Linsha decided she’d had enough of hot fumes for one day and tugged the governor in another direction. She brought them around through the warehouse district so they could approach the burning building from the north, where the smoke wasn’t so thick. A few other people, mostly men, hurried in the same direction.

By the time Linsha and Lord Bight reached the warehouse-a two-story structure of timbers and stucco-the fire was out of control. A desultory bucket line made some attempt to keep it from spreading to a neighboring warehouse, but the fire was so intense, the wall of the neighboring building was starting to smoke. The wind didn’t help either, for it whipped the fire into a conflagration and blew sparks and embers onto other buildings. The summer had been too hot and too dry, and the city was like a tinder pile waiting to burn.

The lord governor made a quick assessment of the emergency. Before he could take action, however, a tall, smoke-covered man recognized him and burst out of the bucket line. “Lord Bight,” the man cried frantically. “You’ve got to help us. That warehouse is empty, but the one about to catch fire is filled with barrels of wine and lamp oil.” It was Vanduran Lor, head of the Merchants’ Guild. His long face was streaked with oily sweat and flushed from the heat of the fire.

The governor rolled his eyes. Could there he a warehouse in the district any more volatile?

“Vanduran, what are you doing here?” Lord Bight growled. “I thought the council voted to shut the city gates. Shouldn’t you be in the inner city?”

The merchant drew himself up. “I didn’t vote for that, Your Excellency. My business and my workers are here. I stayed to look out for them.” He leaned forward, his hands clasped in supplication. “Please, we had to move the sick house this afternoon to that larger warehouse on the next street. It’s in the direct path of the wind and sparks.”

“Why was it moved?” Lord Bight demanded, his eyes lost in the shadows of a frown.