Shards of Time (9 page)

The smell inside the madhouse was appalling, reeking of filth and human misery. He and Thero both pulled out handkerchiefs and covered their mouth and nose.

The lower floor was divided into two large, barred cells, one filled with a horrific assortment of men in all stages of decline, some naked, and some clearly starving to death. The other held an equally pitiful collection of women dressed in dingy, shapeless shifts. Most of them were asleep but those awake raised an outcry at Thero and Seregil’s approach and instantly the whole place was in an uproar. The inmates screamed, roared, sobbed. Dirty hands clawed at them through the bars on both sides.

Seregil exchanged a disturbed look with the wizard as the warder hurried them toward a stone stairway at the far end of the gauntlet; they’d been in less disturbing charnel houses. It was an unsettling reminder that Illior, the patron Immortal of
wizards and nightrunners, also held sway over these mad wretches.

“Come on, then,” the warder shouted above the wailing and screaming. “The one you want’s upstairs.”

It was marginally better there, more like a prison, and quieter. Heavy black doors with tiny grates lined the long corridor. They were barred, rather than locked.

“How can such a small island produce so many lunatics?” asked Thero, cautiously taking his handkerchief away from his face.

“Most were shipped over from the Plenimaran mainland,” the warder replied. “It’s unlucky, you know, to hear or see the mad.”

“Where does that leave you?” Seregil asked.

The man grunted. It might have been a laugh. “Where you see me, my lord. There’s your man, third cell on the left.” He jerked a grimy thumb in that direction. “I’ll have to shut you in.”

“Is he violent?” asked Seregil.

“Now and then, my lord. I’d be real careful, if I was you.” He took a lamp from a niche in the wall and gave it to Seregil, then heaved the thick bar from the brackets and let them into a tiny, airless cell that reeked of piss and fear.

A narrow stone shelf served as a bed, and a wild-eyed, unshaven man cowered there, clutching a blanket to his chest as he stared at them in terror. He was of middle years, muscular and bearded, but fear had clearly unmanned him. Seregil found a niche high in the wall next to him and set the lamp there. By its flickering light, he saw that the only other things in the room were a wooden pitcher and a large tin chamber pot.

Thero exchanged a look with Seregil; the wretched man before them didn’t look capable of violence.

“You have nothing to fear, Captain Sedge,” Thero said gently, remaining just inside the door.

Sedge blinked at him. “Captain?”

“Captain Sedge of the Governor’s Guard. That’s you. My name is Thero, a wizard from Skala, and this is my friend Baron Seregil. We’d like to help you, if we can.”

Sedge shrank back as if he wanted the stone wall to swallow him. “A wizard? Why have they sent a wizard? Oh, please, no more sorcery!”

Signaling for Thero to remain by the door, Seregil slowly crossed the tiny cell and sat down on the end of the bed shelf, hands folded in his lap. “Did someone use sorcery on you?”

“No one believes me!” The man was trembling so hard Seregil could hear his teeth clicking together. “Lieutenant Phania was pulled—
pulled—
”

He choked and his eyes rolled up into his head as a sudden spasm took him. He tumbled off the bed and began flailing, back arched, spittle foaming between his lips as he beat the back of his head against the stone floor.

“Your belt, quickly!” Thero cried, springing forward to hold the man down.

Seregil pulled off his belt and pried the man’s jaws open to place the leather end between Sedge’s teeth to keep him from biting off his own tongue. “Is he an epileptic?”

“Who knows? Hold him down!”

Seregil threw himself across the man, and Thero gripped Sedge’s head between his hands to stop him from hurting himself any further. The man continued to buck and thrash, screaming hoarsely through clenched teeth. Thero gripped Sedge by the hair and managed to trace a hasty sigil on the man’s brow with his thumb, murmuring some spell under his breath. The mark writhed like a tiny eel, then disappeared in a little puff of malodorous steam.

“That’s not good, is it?” asked Seregil. “Put him to sleep, will you?”

Thero managed to grip the man’s head again, one hand pressed over his eyes and commanded, “Sleep.”

Sedge screamed and thrashed harder, throwing both the wizard and Seregil off.

Seregil grabbed Thero by the arm and pulled him back toward the door. “I think we’re only making things worse,” he shouted over the stricken man’s screams. “What did the smelly sigil mean?”

“That he’s probably not mad. Some sort of curse has been placed on him. Inside, he’s screaming for help.” Thero extended
a hand in the frothing man’s direction and held his other out to Seregil. “Would you like to see what he sees?”

Seregil clasped Thero’s hand and was immediately surrounded by blood. It was smeared across the walls, dripped from the edge of the bed, and covered Sedge’s hands and face. Flies were thick in the room, crawling in the blood and over the man’s eyes and mouth. Seregil and Thero looked hulking and demonic to him, with slitted pupils and blackened lips.

“Illior’s Light!” Seregil pulled his hand away. “That’s what he sees all the time?”

“Yes.” Thero looked down at the tormented man with pity in his pale eyes.

“It must be necromancy.”

“Not necessarily. There are other magics that include such spells. Whoever put the curse on him was skillful in covering their tracks. I think even a drysian would be—”

Sedge suddenly stopped thrashing, then sat up and looked at them with dead, empty eyes. The air around them went clammy as he let out a thick, bubbling laugh and pointed an accusing finger at them. “Sorcerer, you are going to die, and you, too, skinny man. Only the dead can walk with the dead.” He made a horrible retching sound and spat a gob of black, slimy spittle at Thero’s feet.

“Are you going to kill us, Captain Sedge?” asked Thero.

Sedge lunged at them but Thero was ready. Raising his left hand palm out, he shouted “Halt!” and Sedge fell to his knees, snarling and frothing like a mad dog.

“I think we’re done here, for now, don’t you?” Seregil turned and pounded on the door.

The warder looked in at Sedge as they hurried out, then slammed the door as the madman threw himself against it. “Told you to be careful, didn’t I?”

“Thank you for the warning,” Thero replied, looking shaken despite the success of his spell.

“Get any sense out of ’im?” the tall man asked as he led them downstairs.

“Hard to say,” Seregil told him.

Seregil waited until they were safely outside before asking, “What else did you get from his thoughts?”

“Terror mostly, but also just a glimpse of a young woman’s bloody face disappearing into darkness.”

“He said Phania was ‘pulled.’ What do you make of that? Ghosts?”

“I don’t know. It’s like someone has built a wall around the man’s memories.”

“There are still Plenimarans on the island. One of them could be a necromancer,” said Seregil.

“If we can heal Sedge’s mind, he may be able to tell us. We need a strong healer, someone who can calm him enough for me to brush his mind more deeply.”

“So far the only one we’ve heard of is this Doctor Kordira. And she’s Plenimaran. For all we know, she’s the one who put the curse on him.”

“Now who’s jumping to conclusions? I’ll pay the good doctor a visit tomorrow.”

Micum and Alec stayed with Klia for a few rounds of Blue Goose, then bid her good night and went to their own rooms.

Micum opened his door and shook his head. “I could fit the whole family in here, along with the household, dogs, and horses!” he whispered, careful not to wake Mika, who was asleep in a trundle bed by the fire.

Alec followed him inside. The chamber was as large as Klia’s, with the same antique appointments. Micum tested the mattress of the massive poster bed. “We might as well sleep out on the ledges.”

Alec chuckled and went back to his own chamber, which seemed even less welcoming now, even with the lamps lit and a fire crackling on the hearth. The monsters on the bedposts and mantelpiece took on a life of their own in the flickering firelight. The idea of ghosts seemed less amusing here than it had in the sunny Wheel Street dining room. Alec wandered over to one of the tall windows that faced out over the town. Lights glimmered there through halos of fog. A dog howled somewhere close by, and another answered—a lonely sound.

A tall tree stood near the window, fretting the darkness with its branches. As he watched, a huge owl glided out of the fog and landed on a branch right in front of him. It hooted loudly, then set to work eating the mouse clutched in its talons. The lucky sign lightened his heart a little, and Alec bowed his head respectfully to Illior’s bird, breathing a prayer that their own prey was as easily caught and dispatched.

With nothing else to do, he explored the room, looking into the wardrobes and chests and checking the paneled walls for secret doors, but found nothing more alarming than a few spiders.

What was keeping Seregil? He sat up for a while poking the fire, then blew out the lamps and stretched out on the hard bed. Lying with his hands behind his head, he watched the shadows dance and listened to the crackling of the fire, expecting it to lull him to sleep.

He was still awake, however, when Seregil finally slipped in and began to undress by the door.

“It’s all right. I’m awake. What did you and Thero learn?”

“That our poor guard is probably cursed rather than mad,” he said as he crawled into bed with Alec and stretched out with his arms behind his head. “Bilairy’s Balls, this bed is like iron! I never thought I’d miss a ship’s bunk.”

“The curse, Seregil. What is it?”

“Terrible visions, terrible fear. Someone doesn’t want him telling what he saw that night. All Thero could get beyond that was the impression of a woman, probably Lieutenant Phania, being pulled into darkness.”

“By whatever attacked the governor, probably.”

“Hmmm. Maybe. Whatever it was, Thero wasn’t able to get much out of the poor man before he fell into a fit. In the midst of it he claimed that Thero and I are going to die. ‘Only the dead can walk with the dead.’ That seems like a fairly obvious statement—”

“Illior’s Light, Seregil! Did he say anything more?”

“No, talí, he didn’t. He’s not the first to threaten me with death, and as you can see, I’m still here.”

“Do you think these nightmares you’re having that you can’t remember have anything to do with it?”

“If I could remember the dreams, I’d tell you.” Seregil sighed. “Thero’s going to find a healer for the man to calm him so that he can get a better read on his thoughts and memories.” Seregil yawned. “That’s all for now. Not bad for a first night’s work, wouldn’t you say?”

Alec rose up on one elbow. Seregil’s eyes were closed already. Alec nudged him gently with his knee. “I thought you were going to lose your temper at dinner when the mayor mentioned slaves.”

Seregil sighed again. “I’d lay money on the mayor having had a few in his own household.”

Alec had suspected as much from Hasen’s reaction. “Insulting him in front of Klia wasn’t going to change anything.”

Seregil touched Alec’s chest where the slave taker’s fatal arrow had struck him, then ran a finger along his collarbones. “Don’t you remember the weight of that collar against your throat? I’ll never forget, and I’ll never forgive. Not that.”

“I’m not defending him, but you have to think of what it must be like to be occupied by different sides over and over again.”

“You don’t have to become the oppressor. When Loena started making excuses—”

“I know. They both made my skin crawl but we may need them at some point.”

“I know, talí.” He was quiet for a moment, then a smile tilted his mouth up at one corner. “Come here, you. Monsters in the shadows notwithstanding—” He gestured at the weird creatures carved on the bedposts. “The fact that we’re finally alone together is not lost on me.”

“Now that you mention it …” Alec kissed him. “And we don’t have to sleep in our clothes.”

Seregil pulled the tie from the end of Alec’s braid and slowly teased his hair loose over his shoulders. “Quite the opposite, it appears.”

Z
ELLA
provided an excellent early breakfast in a sunny dining room the next morning and at Klia’s order she and her party ate in private. Mika sat beside Thero, unusually quiet and wide-eyed. Perhaps Thero had explained the previous night’s events, thought Seregil.

“So, I assume you’ve told Alec what you and Thero found last night?” asked Klia as soon as the servants had left their platters and departed.

“It’s a nasty magic, apparently,” Alec replied. “From what Seregil says, it sounds like we need a healer or a priest. Drysians don’t deal in curses or ghosts.”

“Until I speak with Doctor Kordira, I won’t be able to do anything more with him,” Thero explained. “Assuming we trust her to help us.”

“I don’t trust anyone here yet,” said Seregil. “But I think our next concern should be the other soldier they’ve got locked up here.”