Merovingen - Fever Season Part 6

So here he was at Kamat's gatehouse, facing the ancient doorkeeper through its grate. He was glad that it was nearly dusk; glad his dark sweater and britches were so anonymous, glad beyond telling that the shortsighted doorkeeper of House Kamat couldn't see his face. It took all his courage to pretend to be a runner with a message to be left "for m'sera Marina." He moved off as fast as was prudent, eager'to get himself deep into shadows, once the folded and sealed paper was in the doorman's hands. His heart was pounding with combined anxiety, embarra.s.sment, and excitement. Maybe- well, probably-Marina would get it, if only when the head of her household demanded to know "what this is all about"- And-Ancestors!-they'd want to know what it was about, alt right. Because it was a love-poem. Anonymous, of course, so Marina would be able to protest honestly that she had no idea where it had come from, and why. And Raj's ident.i.ty was safe. He'd written and erased it twenty or thirty times A PLAGUE ON YOUR HOUSES.

77.before it seemed right. And the only reason he'd found the courage to deliver it was because today he'd finally found out just who she was.

M'sera Marina of Kamat. The daughter of the house. Not above Rigel Takahas.h.i.+-provided that the hostilities between Nev Hettek and Merovingen could be overlooked-but definitely above the tpuch of Raj Tai.

Raj had buried Rigel Takahas.h.i.+ quite thoroughly, and not even for the sweet eyes of Marina Kamat was he going to resurrect the name he'd been born to. But even if he couldn't touch, he could dream-and perversely, even if she were never to learn who her unknown admirer was, he wanted her to know how he felt. So he'd spent three hours struggling over that poem.

Just two weeks ago it was, he'd seen her. At Moghi's, with a couple of companions. Until then his daydreams had been confined to something just as impossible, but hardly romantic.

The College. Lord and Ancestors, what he wouldn't give to get in there-but he had no money, and no sponsor, and the wroiig religious affiliation on top of it all. Not that he gave a fat d.a.m.n about religion anymore, but in no way was he ever going to pa.s.s for Revenantist. He didn't know the creeds, the ceremonies, the doctrines- But he was young enough that sometimes, sometimes when the day had gone really well, it almost seemed possible. Because a long-buried dream had surfaced with this new life. Raj wanted to be a doctor; a medic, anyway.

The patrons of Mama's drug-shop had teased him about that-but right along with the teasing they'd asked his advice, and taken it too. That perfect memory again; he remembered symptoms, treatments, alternatives, ailergies-he'd helped old May out in the swamp, later, with her herbs and her 'weeds,' dispensing what pa.s.sed for medicine among the swampies and the crazies.

Of course, since seeing Marina for the first time, she'd crowded out that particular daydream more often than not.

He wondered if he'd see her tonight at Moghi's.

His feet were chilled as he padded along the damp wooden 78.Mercedes Lackey walkways. He couldn't get used to shoes after five years without them in the swamp, so he generally went as bare of foot as a ca.n.a.ler. The temperature was dropping; fog was coming up off the water. The lines of the railings near him blurred: farther on, they were reduced to silhouettes. Farther than that, across the ca.n.a.l, there was nothing to see but vague, hulking shapes. Without the clatter of boot-soles or clogs, he moved as silently in the fog as a spirit-silent out of habit. If the walkway-gangs (or the swamp-gangs) didn't hear you, they couldn't ha.s.sle you. Breathing the fog was like breathing wet, smokey wool; it was tainted with any number of strange smells. It held them, fishy smell of ca.n.a.l, smell of rotting wood, woodsmoke, stink of nameless somethings poured into the dark, cold waters below him. He hardly noticed. His thoughts were elsewhere-back with the inspiration for his poem.

Oh, Marina- She tended to show up at Moghi's pretty frequently. Of course Raj was under no illusions as to why. Tom Mondragon, naturally-h.e.l.l, Tom even had Rat and Rif exchanging l.u.s.tful jokes and comments about him. Raj wondered hopelessly if he'd ever have-whatever it was that Tom had. Probably not.

His feet had taken him all unaware down the walkways and the long, black tunnel-path through Fife to his very own door, almost before he realized it. He started to use his key, but Denny had beaten him home, and must have heard the rattle in the lock.

" 'Bout time!" he caroled in Raj's face, pulling the door open with Raj standing there stupidly, key still held out. "Ye fall in th' ca.n.a.l?"

"They kept us late," Raj said, trying not to feel irritated that his daydream had been cut short. "There any supper? It was your turn."

"There will be. Got eggs, an' I promise not t' burn 'em." He returned to the side of the stove, cracked an egg into the pan, and began frying it with studious care as to its state. "They give me tomorrow off too, like you-somethin' about A PlAGUE ON YOUR HOUSES7 a Falkenaer s.h.i.+p-ye got anythin' ye wanta do? After ch.o.r.es, 1 mean."

"Not really," Raj replied absently, going straight over to the wall and trying to get a good look at himself in the little bit of cracked mirror hung over the sink. Denny noticed, and c.o.c.ked a quizzical eye at him as he brought over a dented tin plate holding Raj's egg and a slice of bread.

"Somethin' doin1?"

"1 just don't see any reason to show up at Moghi's looking like a drowned cat," Raj replied waspishly, accepting the plate and beginning to eat.

"Huh." Denny took the hint and combed his hair with his fingers, then inhaled his own dinner.

"Hey, big brother-y'know somethin' funny?" Denny actually sounded thoughtful, and Raj swiveled to look at him with surprise. "Since ye started eatin' regular, yer gettin' t' look a lot like Mama. An' that ain't bad-she may'a been bird-witted, but she was a looker."

Raj was touched by the implied compliment. "Not so funny," he returned, "1 gotta look like somebody. You know, the older you get, the more you look like Mahmud Lee. In the right light n.o.body'd ever have to guess who your daddy was."

Denny started preening at that-he was just old enough to remember that Lee had been a fair match for Tom Mondragon at attracting the ladies.

Then Raj grinned wickedly and deflated him. "It's just too bad you inherited Mama's vacuums-brain too."

"Hey!"

"Now don't start something you can't finish-" Raj warned as his brother dropped his empty plate, seized a pillow and advanced on him.

Denny gave a disgusted snort, remembering how things had turned out only that morning, and threw the pillow back into its corner. "No fair."

"Life's like that," Raj replied. "So let's gel going, huh?"

80.Mercedes Lackey Moghi's was full, but subdued. No clogging, not tonight; no music, even. n.o.body seemed much in the mood for it. The main room was hot and smokey; not just from Moghi's lanterns, either. There was smoke and fog drifting in every time somebody opened a door; which wasn't often, as it was getting cold outside.

Lanterns tonight were few, and turned low. Customers bent over their tables, their talk hardly more than muttering. Dark heads under darker caps, or bare of covering; no one here tonight but ca.n.a.lers. Raj looked around for the only blond head in the room, but had a fair notion of where to find him. Mondragon preferred-when he had a choice-to sit where he could keep an eye on everything going on. Pretty paranoid- but normal, if you were ex-Sword. Raj had been known to choose his seats thai way.

There he was-black sweater, dark cap, golden blond hair that curled the way the carved Angel's hair curled. Not surprisingly, Mondragon was ensconced in his usual corner table. But as Raj and Denny wormed their way closer, Raj could see that he was looking-not quite hungover, but not terribly good. Limp-looking, like it was an effort to keep his head up and his attention on the room and the people in it. Minor mental alarms began jangling.

Still, if the man wanted to binge once in a while, who could blame him? Gallandrys had plenty to say about him, not much of it good. Raj picked up a lot just by keeping his mouth shut and his ears open, doing the accounts they set him and staying invisible. What he heard didn't exactly seem to match the Tom Mondragon that had given two dumb kids a way out of trouble when it was more logical for him to have knifed them both and dumped them in the ca.n.a.l. He had a feeling that someday he'd like to hear Tom's side of things. He also had a feeling that if that day ever came, it would be when Mondragon was on a binge. If he ever lowered his guard enough.

Mondragon's table had a candle over it, not a lamp- candlelight was even dimmer than lamplight. The two boys moved up to the side of that table like two thin shadows. Raj A PLAGUE ON YOUR HOUSES81.

had-brought his week's worth of recollections, neatly folded into a packet. Maybe it was the dim light-but they stood beside the table for nearly a minute before Mondragon noticed them. Raj bit his lip, wondering if he'd offended Mondragon in some way, and the man was paying him back with arrogance-but, no; it was almost as if he was having such trouble focusing that he could only tend to one thing at a time. As if he really wasn't seeing them until he could get his attention around to the piece of floor they were standing on.

When Mondragon finally saw them, and invited them to sit with a weary nod of the head, Raj pushed the sealed packet across the table towards his hand. Mondragon accepted it silently, then stared off into s.p.a.ce, like he'd forgotten they were there.

Raj sat there long enough to start feeling like a fool, then ventured to get his attention: "M'ser-"

Now Mondragon finally looked at them again, his eyes slowly focusing. He did not look hungover after all; he looked tired to death and ready to drop. "You asked me to come here, remember? There something you want us to do?"

"I-" Mondragon rubbed one temple, slowly, as if his head was hurting him; his eyes were swollen and bruised-looking, and there were little lines of pain between his eyebrows. "There was-1 know there was a reason-"

This was nothing like the canny Tom Mondragon Raj was used to dealing with! Alarmed now, Raj took a really hard look at him, eyes alert for things May had taught him to take note of, and didn't like what he saw.

A thin film of sweat stood on his forehead; his green eyes were dull and dark-circled-and Mondragon was fair, but he'd never been this white before. His hair was damp and lank, and not from the fog, Raj would bet on it. And his shoulders were s.h.i.+vering a little as if from cold-yet Moghi's was so warm with closely crowded bodies that Raj was regretting he'd worn his thick sweater! And now Raj was remembering something from this morning and the gossip among the other clerks at Gallandry-a rumor of fever in the town. Maybe brought in on that Falkenaer s.h.i.+p. Maybe not.

82Mercedes Lackey Raj's bones said whatever was wrong with Tom had its roots here-because Raj's bones had once shook with a chill he'd bet Tom was feeling now.

"M'ser, are you feeling all right?" he whispered under cover of a burst of loud conversation from three tables over.

Mondragon smiled thinly. "To tell you the truth, boy-no. Afraid I've got a bit of a cold, or something."

He broke into a fit of coughing, and his shoulders shook again; and although he was plainly trying, not all of his iron will could keep the tremor invisible. Raj made up his mind on the instant.

"Denny-go find Jones. Get!"

Denny got. Mondragon looked at Raj with a kind of dazed puzzlement. "She's probably on her way. What-"

"You're drank-act like it!" Raj whispered harshly. "Unless you want Moghi to throw you in the ca.n.a.l for bringing fever here! I don't much imagine he'd be real happy about that."

He rose, shoved his chair back, and seized Mondragoo's arm to haul him to his feet before the other could protest-or react. And that was another bad sign; Mondragon had the reactions of any trained a.s.sa.s.sin, quick and deadly. Only tonight those reactions didn't seem to be working.

Raj had always been a lot stronger than he looked-with a month of regular meals he was more than a match for a fevered Tom Mondragon.

"Now, m'ser Tom," he said aloud-not too loudly' he hoped, but loud enough. "1 think a breath of air would be a proper notion, ne? Traid m'ser Moghi's drink is a bit loo good tonight."

There were mild chuckles at that, and no one looked at them twice as Raj half-carried, half-manhandled Mondragon out the door. Which was fortunate, for they both discovered when Mondragon tried to pull away that his legs were not up to holding him.

They staggered out the door, weaving back and forth, Raj sagging under Mondragon's nearly-dead weight. Out the double doors they wove, narrowly avoiding collision with an A PLAGUE ON YOUR HOUSES83.

incoming customer, and down onto the lantern-lit front porch. Down a set of stairs were the tie-ups for small boats, only half of them taken tonight. And pulling up to those tie-ups was a skip poled by a dusky girl in a dark cap. Altair Jones, and no mistaking her.

They were just in time to see Denny catching the line Jones was throwing to him. Light from Moghi's porch-lantern caught her eyes as she stared at them. There was something of a mixture of surprise and shock-yes, and a touch of fear-in the look she gave them.

"I think we need to get this feller home, m'sera," Raj said loudly, praying Jones would keep her wits about her. She might not know him well, but she knew that Mondragon had trusted them to spy for him, and guard his back, and that more than once. He just prayed she'd trust him too, and follow his lead.

She did; playing along with him except for one startled glance. "Fool's been celebratin'?" she snorted, legs braced against the roll of her skip, hands on hips, looking theatrically disgusted. She pushed her cap back on her head with a flamboyant and exaggerated shove. "Ought to let 'im walk home, mat 1 should. Ah, h.e.l.l, hand 'im over-"

Mondragon was in no shape now to protest the hash they were making of his reputation. He was shaking like a reed in a winter storm, and his skin was tight and hot to the touch, as Jones evidently learned when she reached up to help him down the ladder onto her halfdeck. "Look-you-" was all he managed before another coughing fit took him and Jones got him safely planted. She gave no real outward sign that she was alarmed, though-just a slight tightening of her lips and a frightened widening of her eyes.

"Think we'd better come along, m'sera," Raj continued in what he hoped was a bantering tone of voice, for though they seemed to be alone, there was no telling who had eyes and ears in the shadows or above the ca.n.a.l. "Afraid m'ser is likely to be a handful. Won't like being told what to do." That last was for Mondragon's benefit. While he talked, he 84.Mercedes Lackey stared hard into Jones's eyes, hoping she'd read the message there.

Co along with rhis-he tried fiercely to project. / can help.

"Ye think so?" The tone was equally bantering, but the expression seemed to say that she had understood that silent message. "Well, guess it can't hurt-"

"Right enough then-Denny, give the m'sera a hand with that line-" Raj climbed gingerly down into the skip to where Mondragon sat huddled in misery, as Denny slid aboard, the tie-line in his hand.

"What th' h.e.l.l-" Jones hissed as soon as they were out of earshot of the bank.

"He's got fever-you got something to keep him warm?"

Without the need to guard her expression, Raj could read her nearly as well as one of his books. First there was relief- Thank G.o.d, it could have been worse, he could have been hurt~and that was quickly followed by anger and resentment. He couldn't guess at the reasons for those emotions, but that expression was chased almost immediately by stark, naked fear. Then she shuttered her face down again, and became as opaque as ca.n.a.l water. At her mute nod toward the hidey, Raj ducked in and out again, and wrapped the blanket he'd found around Mondragon's shaking shoulders.

Mondragon looked up, eyes full of bleary resentment. "I-" cough "-can take care of-" cough "-myself. Thanks."

Raj ignored him. "First thing, we got to get him back home and in bed. But we gotta make out like's he's drunk, not sick."

Jones nodded slowly; Raj was grateful for her quick grasp of the situation. "Because if people figger he's sick-they figger he's an easy target, Yey. d.a.m.n!"

"Will you two leave me alone?'""

This time Raj looked him right in the eyes.

"No," he said simply.

Mondragon stared and stared, like one of the piers had up and answered him back; then groaned, sagged his head onto his knees, and buried his face in his hands.

A PLAGUE ON YOUR HOUSES85.

"Right," Raj turned back to Jones, swiveling to follow her movements as she poled the skip into the spa.r.s.e traffic on the Grand. She wasn't sparing herself-Raj could tell that much from what he'd learned poling his raft. Which meant she was trying to make time. Which meant she was worried, too. "Second thing is, we need money. 1 got some, but not much. How 'bout you? Or him?"

"Some. What fer?" Suspicion shadowed the glance she gave at him as she shoved the pole home against the bottom, suspicion and more of that smoldering anger and fear. Touchy about money, are we, Jones?

"Medicine," he said quickly. "Some we send Denny for; people are always sending runners after medicine, 'specially in fever season. Nothing to connect Tom with that."

Raj fell silent for a moment.

"Ye said, 'some'-"

"I'll decide the rest after we get him back-" Raj said slowly, "And I know how bad it is."

Petrescu at last. Up the stairs at water-level they went, stairs that led almost directly to Mondragon's door. Mondragon tried to push them off, to get them to leave him at that door. But when his hands shook so that he couldn't even get his key in the lock, Raj and Jones exchanged a look-and Jones took the key deftly away from him.'

He complained, bitterly, but weakly,.all through the process of getting him into his apartment and into bed in the downstairs bedroom-not even with three of them were they going to try manhandling him up the stairs to the room he usually used. Ominously, though-at least so far as Raj was concerned-he stopped complaining as soon as he was installed there; just closed his eyes against the light, and huddled in his blankets, s.h.i.+vering and coughing. Raj sent Denny out with orders for asprin, nienthil-salve, and blueangel; not that he expected the latter to do any good. This wasn't that kind of fever. He knew it now; knew il beyond doubting.

"I hope you can afford to lose a night's trade, Jones," he said, pulling her out of the bedroom by main force. "Maybe 96.Mercedes Lackey more-I'll tell you the truth of it. M'ser Tom's in bad shape, and it could get worse."

"It's just a cold or somethin', ain't it-?" Her look said she knew d.a.m.ned well that it was worse than that, but was hoping for better news than she feared.

"Not for him, it isn't," Raj said, figuring she'd better know the worst of the truth. "He's not from here, remember? Our germs are gonna hit him, and hit him hard. I know-it happened to me." Raj paused in thought. "Bet he was taking pills before this, ney?"

Jones nodded, slowly.

"And I bet his pills ran out not too long ago. You can't get 'em here, not without connections upriver. You need tech for medicine like that. Same thing happened to me, when 1 had to hide in the swamp. I caught every d.a.m.n thing that you could think of." Raj shook his head. "Well, he needs something besides what we can get at the drug-shops. Now listen; when Denny gets back, you rub the salve on his throat and chest, you give him the asprin and a dose of the blueangel. Then you mix him some hot tea with whiskey-make it about half whiskey-and lots of sugar in it-that should help him stop coughing enough to sleep. Looks to me like he needs sleep more than about anything else right now. You stay with him; don't leave him. That might be enough-right now he feels like he wants to die, but he's not exactly in any danger, so long as he stays warm. But-" Raj paused to think. "All right, worst case. If he gets worse before I get back-if his fever goes up more-if he starts not bein' able to breathe-"

That was an ugly notion, and hit far too close to home. He steadied his nerves with a long breath of air and thought out everything he was going to have to do and say. What he was going to order Jones to do wasn't going to go down easy. She didn't like being ordered at the best of times, and this was definitely going to stick in her throat. "-1 know maybe more about our friend than you think I do-I'm telling you the best-h.e.l.l, the only option. If he starts having trouble breathing, you send Denny with a note to that Kalugin. You tell A PLAGUE ON YOUR HOUSES.

87.him if he wants his pet Sword alive he better send his doctor. And fast."

Jones' eyes blazed, and she opened her mouth to protest. Raj cut her short.

"Look, you think / want my brother going up there? You think we're in any better shape than Tom is in this town? I dunno what you know about us, Jones, but we got as much or more to lose by this. 1 dunno if Tom's let on about us, but-"

G.o.d. G.o.d, the chance! But they owed Tom more than they could pay.

"Look at me-believe me, Altair. If Kalugin-any of 'em-ever found out about me 'n Denny, we'd-we'd wish we were dead, that's all. We know things too. and we got n.o.body but Tom keeping us from getting gobbled up like minnows by the hightowners. Tom they got reasons to keep alive-us-well, you can figure how much anybody'd miss two kids. So trust me, the risk's a lot more on our side; if he gets worse, it's the only way to save him."

"d.a.m.n, Raj-" she started, then sagged, defeated by his earnestness and her own fear and worry. "All right. h.e.l.l, though-what ye been doin1-1 dunno why we'd need a real doctor. Yer as good's any doctor I ever seen-"

"Like b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l I am!" he snapped, more harshly than he intended. He saw Jones wince away, saw her expression chill a little, and hastily tried to mend the breach.

"Look-I'm sorry, I didn't mean the way it sounded- Jones, Altair, I'm scared too-for all of us." He managed half a smile when he saw the hard line of her lips soften. "And you just-stepped on a sore toe, that's all. See, I'd give my arm to be able to go to the College, to learn to be a doctor. And I've got about as much chance of that as your skip has of flying." He sighed. "That's the problem with having things get better, I guess-when 1 didn't have anything, I didn't want things, 'cause I knew I'd never get 'em. But now I got a little, seems like I want more. Things I got no chance for."

He hadn't really expected Jones to understand, but to his ItMercedes Lackey surprise, she gave a little wistful glance back toward the bedroom, sighed, and nodded. "I reckon we both got a notion how that feels-" she agreed. "But-I dunno, Kalugin-he's a sherk-that doctor could just as easy poison 'im as cure 'im."

"So 1 just gave you what to do in worst case, hey? Worry about that when the time comes. Tom's luck with skinning through, he'll be all right. But if not-I'll tell you now-you might just as well chance poison, 'cause if you want Tom alive, you get him a real doctor as soon as he starts getting worse-//he does before 1 make it back."

"Back? From where?" She only now seemed to realize that he wasn't planning on staying.

"I told you, 1 know this fever-I had it once, too. And Tom needs more'n what we can get from the drug-shop. So I'm going to get the medicine he needs-the one place where 1 know I can-where I got what saved me. The place 1 spent the last five years. The swamp." He smiled crookedly at her stunned expression.

"How ye gonna get there?" She stammered. "I-"

"1 said you had to stay here, didn't 1? And keep Denny here to help when he gets back. I'll get in the same way 1 did the last time. Walk."

He could hardly feel his feet, they were so numb and cold. He was just glad that it wasn't quite egg-season for the dragonelles, or he'd have had to worry about losing toes, instead of just feeling like he'd lost them.