Living With Ghosts Part 27

On the third night, someone set fire to the plank bridge linking the shanty isle to the main city. It burned poorly in the damp, but the insult was sufficient. By dawn, there were twenty dead.

Every morning saw more bodies in the streets of the old city. Garbled reports spoke of masked gangs patrolling after dark. No one seemed to credit anything supernatural. Joyain wrote a careful report of his own experience, then tore it up. He did not want to think about it. He had taken care not to discuss it with anyone, not even Iareth. She was quiet and calm as ever, but she had not sought him out since that night. In fairness, he had made no move to spend time with her, either. She will burn you. He did not know what to think or feel. Perhaps he would be better off away from her, away from all the Lunedithin.

There was sickness in the new dock, in the shanties, in the low overspill. Joyain heard of it from Leladrien on the afternoon of the fifth day. There were barricades in the old docks, erected by the tenants against the threat of the shanty-dwellers. The watch and guards seconded from other regiments had orders to tear those down, but this had no effect. The barriers were simply rebuilt, sometimes by the troopers themselves. By the fifth day, no one tried to cross them. Leladrien's company had been ordered onto the isle-such of it as was still above water-to investigate. As cavalry, they had been more concerned initially with the inappropriate nature of the job than the actuality. "Until we got there," said Leladrien, white-faced in the mess. "Ever been in the shanties, Jean?"

"Not lately."

"Hmm. Well, most of it's gone. The entire east end is awash. It must've been abandoned a couple of days ago. The rest . . ." He gulped the remainder of his drink and said, "Is there any more of that?"

"I expect so." Joyain fetched a refill and watched as Leladrien drank it straight off.

"Not sure that helps. All the same. . . . The rest of shantytown is empty, too." Leladrien licked his lips and looked uncomfortable. "Those river-d.a.m.ned barricades! Some people got out, I guess, before the bridge was swamped; or maybe into the old dock in the first day or too. Though where they are now . . . Have you heard of any increase in vagrants?"

"No."

"Well, you wouldn't, up there with the aristos." Leladrien sounded bitter. Joyain looked at him in surprise. "You and Her Majesty both!"

"Lelien!"

"All right, all right. I won't shout." Leladrien sighed and helped himself to Joyain's drink. "I'm sorry, Jean. It's just this morning . . ."

"You're trying to tell me the shantytowners are dead?"

"Everyone we found, anyway. Women and children, mostly. They'd tried to bury some of them, but in the end I suppose it was too much work. Pray for a north wind, Jean. We had to burn the lot." He looked up and smiled unkindly. "It won't do for the queen's guests to be disturbed by the smell of burning flesh, will it?"

His animosity was making Joyain uncomfortable. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"I have to tell someone." Joyain looked down. Leladrien continued, "I don't know. . . . How many bodies did the watch pick up this morning?"

"Eighteen, I think. All but four have been identified."

"Right. Some of the corpses in shantytown had gone that way. Bludgeoned. But the rest . . . There's been some kind of plague down there. Half of those I saw were rotten with it." Leladrien rubbed a hand across his mouth. "Probably as contagious as all h.e.l.l, but the captain's too scared of a panic to make anything official. And I don't imagine it would do any good by now anyway. Some shantytowners got out. Even if they did leave their families behind." Again he smiled, but this time it seemed to be an attempt at self-conviction. "It's a good thing I'm not sentimental, that's all. You wouldn't have stood it, you cry when you have to shoot a horse." Joyain said nothing. "So, what's your news? Taken your foreigners to any good parties lately? I hear you're s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g one of them." Joyain tried to stare him down.

"Well, what am I supposed to say to you? I spent this morning counting bodies. It's hardly comparable."

"I'm sorry," Joyain said.

"Not your fault, I suppose, although I'll run you through if I ever hear you b.i.t.c.hing about your luck again." Joyain started to reply. Leladrien cut him off. "I know, you think you should be doing something. Except I don't think you'd like it if you did."

"Is that the point?"

"The point?" Leladrien shook his head. Then, horribly, he began to laugh. "Drown it, Jean! There isn't any point. There never has been. That's the whole of it."

People were beginning to look at them. Leladrien's voice was too loud. Joyain said, "Hush." And then, "You need to stop thinking about it."

"Certainly. Any suggestions?" Leladrien said, "I've taken two baths, and I can still smell it. That really concentrates the mind."

"What do want me to do about it?"

"What can you do?" Leladrien was cynical. "As little as ever, I expect." Joyain winced. "Maybe you could ask your dear friend Thiercelin of Sannazar and the Far Blays to exert some pressure upon his beloved wife, and get us some kind of official guidelines. We're still operating on standard procedure, because the captain's a scion of a n.o.ble family and has no b.l.o.o.d.y idea what to do unless he's been told how. Or perhaps your equally dear friend the heir to Lunedith could raise it with the queen the next time they take chocolate together?"

"Not him," said Joyain. "It would ruin his chance to gloat." And then, "You know I didn't ask to get stuck up there."

"Yes," Leladrien said, savagely. "Doesn't help."

"I'm sorry."

"I know, I know." Leladrien put his chin on his hands. "Get me another drink, will you?"

Joyain complied, suppressing misgivings. Returning, he said, "I've asked several times for a transfer. The Lunedithin don't need me. But protocol dictates . . ." He sighed. "And I suppose I hadn't realized it had gotten this bad. There's so often trouble and sickness down there."

"Yes." Leladrien sipped his drink. He had begun to look less angry than tired. "I thought so, too. Until this morning." He made a visible effort to pull his mind off the subject. "How's the north channel?"

"Still low. The drainage is better up there and the cliff helps. Though I did hear that the Lesser Horse Bridge has been damaged."

"Terrific." Leladrien's family lived on the north side. "I haven't got up there recently, but I . . ." He shook his head. "Forget it."

"I'm going to ask for that transfer again."

"Yes." Leladrien looked at his hands. "You'll probably get it, too. There's going to be more trouble-people are going to panic when this shanty business gets out."

"It's that bad?"

"Honestly?" Joyain could not return the look Leladrien gave him. Leladrien continued, "I don't know. I've sent a warning to my family . . . But I don't know. I hope not. I hope I'm overreacting because I'm tired and p.i.s.sed off. But it might be . . . You should tell that aunt of yours to leave."

"She's had a warning." Joyain hesitated, afraid of disturbing already troubled waters. "Gracieux told her. He knows something. He warned her nearly a week ago. I'm not sure she believed him. He was ill, and . . ."

"Ill?" Leladrien did not give Joyain time to answer. "He lives off Silk Street, doesn't he? The plague can't have got up there already. The surgeon said . . ."

"Shut up," said Joyain. Leladrien looked astonished, but obeyed. "He'd had some kind of accident. Or maybe the watch captain beat him up; I don't know." Leladrien relaxed. "I've heard nothing about sickness anywhere in the north or west quarters. Nor in the middle city, for that matter. Only in shantytown, the new dock, and parts of the south overspill."

"Good." Leladrien stood. "Pray it stays that way. You won't like burning bodies in the Old Market."

"No. Where are you going?"

"Back down. I was given three hours' furlough four hours ago. See you, Jean."

"Yes." Joyain rose and held out a hand. It was ignored. "Go safely."

"If possible." Leladrien waved and turned. In the doorway he stopped and looked back. "Jean?"

"Yes?"

"Don't ask for that transfer."

"Why not?"

"Just don't, that's all." And he was gone, leaving Joyain to brood.

He stood at the foot of the bed . . . Iareth smiled in the midnight dark and sat up, her hair falling unbound around her. The emba.s.sy lay in silence. She inhaled and said, "Give you good even, Valdin kai-reth."

His eyes were keen upon her. She had forgotten nothing, no line of him, no shade of look or gesture or tone. He moved fractionally, and she saw the tension beneath his scrutiny. She patted the bed. "Will you sit?"

His weightless form made no dent. He was all longing and desperation. Though he did not need to breathe, he wore the air of a man who holds his breath at a wonder.

We are kai-rethin and one and always; that changes not. Thus she had sworn to him six years before, and, on that vow, left him. Within the s.p.a.ce of six more months he had died. She had grown accustomed to the loss. But not, and never, to the longing.

Her Yscoithi kin had approved of her action, her sire had not. Urien Armenwy had himself transgressed that law in begetting her. His nature was Armenwy, pure and simple. Like all his clan he chose one mate only, and that for life. Iareth might perhaps have made his choice. But she had been raised Yscoithi, trained Yscoithi; and that clan was dwindling. Caught between Valdarrien's love and her duty, she had chosen duty.

She looked at him, and said again, "Valdin kai-reth." Kai-reth by vow only, and not by the necessary blood. It had been all they had. It was not enough.

He said quietly, "Iareth. Iareth Yscoithi kai-reth."

"Peace. I am here." Her words were calm, but she was not calm. Another woman might have wept. Iareth only counted her heartbeats and said, "I am forgotten, then. You have been here several weeks and have not sought me."

"I couldn't find you."

"You have found me now."

"Yes." There was triumph in the word. Gazing at her, he said, "You were wrong."

"How so?"

"When you left me, you said we wouldn't meet again. But here we are."

"I wasn't wrong. This is no true meeting." Her voice was cold as she spoke. He s.h.i.+vered at it a little and drew back. She stifled the impulse to comfort him. "There was a choice made. And I am still bound by it."

"Binding isn't wanting," Valdarrien said, and there was need in his voice.

"One doesn't have to gratify every want." Unexpectedly he smiled, dark, sardonic. "We always did differ on that point." His gaze turned speculative. "But you don't deny the wanting."

"We are kai-rethin, you and I. There should be no deception between us."

"And no treachery." He began to reach out to her. Then he stopped.

"Forgive me," Iareth said, softly.

"You did what you had to. I never blamed you for it." He looked bleak. "I couldn't, somehow. Not even . . ." He halted and shook his head. "I can't remember."

He had died in Thiercelin's arms, speaking her name, and of that she would never be shriven. She said, "It was necessary."

"I know. You were always fair with me." He looked down. "Has that changed?"

One could not bargain with the dead. One could not change the immutable. Honor allowed no alteration in the vows that held her to him, sanctified by his death. She did not think of Joyain. Her mouth dry, she said, "No."

" 'Kai-rethin and one and always,' " he quoted, almost absently. "You remember?"

"Yes."

"But it was abstract." He looked up. His face was stricken. "Always one, and always apart . . . I love you, Iareth kai-reth."

"Peace," Iareth whispered. "I haven't changed."

"I know. That's part of the horror of it."

"You cannot do this. You must let go. You haven't the right . . ." She gestured at him. "You cannot come back like this." He looked at her, and she saw that he did not understand. "The dead have no rights, Valdin kai-reth."

"So Thierry tells me. Do you think I asked for this?"

"I don't know."

"You promised me always. Urien made me promise to live." He sounded petulant. He broke off and shook his head. "Any way I say it, it sounds childish."

"I've never rescinded my promise."

"No. But I wanted . . ." Again, he shook his head. "I'm finding a way out of this . . . Do you know what's the worst of it?" She was silent. He looked at her, and his eyes were despairing. "I can't even touch you. I have to change that or change you. Don't you see?"

There were no routes back from death. She said, "I don't understand," and he closed his eyes, shoulders sagging. She said, "I have not ceased to love you."

He opened his eyes again and glared. "Do you think that helps?" he said, and disappeared.

12.

"I HOPE YOU REALIZE that this is unorthodox?" The cavalry commander tapped Joyain's written request for transfer with a finger.

"Yes, sir." Standing as upright as he might, Joyain stared straight in front of him. He had expected this matter to be processed by his captain. It had never crossed his mind that it would come to the attention of the colonel. He was uncomfortably aware that his boots were not as clean as they might have been, and that there was a darn on the right hem of his ca.s.sock. This was going to look just beautiful on his record.

"Leading the guard of a respected foreign visitor is hardly an unimportant post, Lieutenant."

"I know, sir." The back of Joyain's neck was starting to itch. It probably meant that his hair needed tr.i.m.m.i.n.g. "But with all due respect, I wasn't the officer originally intended for that position."

"So?" The colonel had disconcertingly sleepy eyes. One expected him not to notice most of what went on around him. One certainly did not expect him to care a bent copper for the opinions of a junior lieutenant of minor family and without significant connections at court. The colonel said, "You've been able to handle the job, haven't you? I've had reasonable reports of you." Joyain knew better than to acknowledge the compliment. "Perhaps you'd care to tell me the cause of your discontent?"

"Well, sir," Joyain hesitated, and cursed his lack of resolve. "I believe I can be of more use elsewhere."

"Aren't I the best judge of that?" The tone was soft, but without the necessity of standing to attention Joyain would have been staring at the floor in embarra.s.sment. "Well, Lievrier?"

"Yes, sir. But . . ." Joyain gathered his courage in both hands and looked the colonel in the eyes. "I've seen the reports on the shantytown, sir. I want to be of more immediate a.s.sistance."

"Oh, do you?"