Clandestine circle

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.