instantly forget. One would not forget the robes, however. The Hierarch repeated his question. “Are there deaths? Unexplained ones? Or deaths from plague?
“We don’t know,” said Rigo, remembering it was probable that the Hierarch had an analyzer on them. The least risk lay in disclaiming absolute knowledge. One could almost always do that truthfully.
“People do disappear on Grass,” Marjorie offered honestly. “We’ve been trying to find out how, and why. It might help if we knew precisely what drew Sanctity’s attention to Grass initially. The information we were given was not very specific.”
The Hierarch gave her a long looking over, head to toe, as though assessing how well she would dress out for meat. It was not a look Marjorie had met before, and it chilled her. The Hierarch was not interested in her as woman or person, so much was clear.
“I will tell you precisely what we heard. A minor official at Sanctity was visiting his family. One of his visiting kinfolk worked as a port controller on Shame. Sometimes this kinsman stopped in at a port tavern after work. On some unspecified occasion, he talked over his ale with a crewman from an unnamed freighter, The crewman said his friend, unnamed, had come down with some sores on his legs and arms just before the ship landed on Grass. The sick man was in a quarantine pod. The ship was on Grass an unspecified length of time. When it arrived at some farther destination, the man was cured.”
“That’s all?”
“Our official repeated this story to us when he returned from his visit to his family. Our computers say the likelihood is great that the unnamed crewman had plague, but we’ve been unable to verify the story. The man who told it to our official died of plague shortly after leaving Terra. We don’t know where the alleged ship went from Grass. We have been unable to identify the ship or the crewman.”
Rigo threw up his hands, indicating frustration. “Assuming the story is true, the cure could have come about here or elsewhere. Or he might not have had plague at all. Plague isn’t the only thing that causes sores!” He let his voice and manner indicate frustration and fear. That was normal, and it would cover his agitation.
The Hierarch stared at them expressionlessly. “Have any survivors from the Friary been found?”
Rigo nodded. “A few, yes. Some are beginning to wander back to the site as they realize we’ll be searching for them there.”
“My old friend Nod — that is, Jhamlees Zoe?”
Rigo shook his head, unwilling to trust his voice. No. Jhamlees Zoe hadn’t turned up. If Rigo said that aloud it wouldn’t take a machine to detect that he rejoiced in the fact.
The Hierarch nodded, as though someone had asked him a question. “I think we’ll remain here for the time being. Zoe may yet turn up. Or you may find some more definite information.”
In the shuttle, Marjorie asked, “Rigo, the crewman in the quarantine pod, assuming there was one, would have been given Grassian food and water and air, would he not?”
“Certainly.” He nodded, indicating the men seated in front of them. “Quarantine pods allow nothing out, but materials do go in.”
She chased an idea, worrying at it, but she asked no other questions.
They were escorted back to the order station by a handful of troopers. “There are definitely enough armed men on that ship to control the planet.” Marjorie said to Roald Few.
“If they decide to do so,” Rigo agreed.
“What do you think?” Roald asked, throwing a side long glance at his son-in-law, the Mayor.
“I think the Hierarch is doubtful,” Rigo replied. “If I were the Hierarch, my next step would be to send the scientists down.”
“Wouldn’t he have told you that?” the mayor wanted to know.
Marjorie laughed, an unamused sound. “We aren’t among the Sanctified, Mayor Bee. He doesn’t like us, doesn’t trust us. Probably he doesn’t like or trust much of anyone. He’ll get what he can from us, but he won’t give us anything in return.”
“Smart man,” remarked Alverd. “Not to trust us Commons. We’ve no love for Sanctity. He’s one should die of plague.”
“When that letter of his becomes public, he may wish he had,” Marjorie said. “Until then, we simply hang on and get in his way as much as possible.”
They were given no further opportunity to impede the Hierarch. Sanctity scientists came down and occupied the hospital, setting up their own mysterious equipment.
“It doesn’t matter what they find out,” Marjorie reminded Rigo. “So long as Dr. Bergrem finds it, too.”
“It would be better if she found it first,” Rigo objected, taking Marjorie by the arm and leading her to a quiet corner. “You and I need to agree on what we will say if the Hierarch asks more questions. All of Commons needs to agree on what they will say.” They discussed their strategy, at first alone, then with Roald and Alverd. When they had worn the subject thin, they returned to their rooms in the winter quarters, to more sleep and more of Kinny’s cooking.
Late in the evening Rillibee came in from the swamp forest, waking the Yrariers. Marjorie came out of her room yawning, wrapped in a light robe, to find Rigo sitting up in his bed with Rillibee perched on the foot of it.
“I’ve come to get Father James,” he said. “And the other Father, if he’ll come back.”
“What’s going on, Rillibee?”
“I wish I knew exactly. The foxen are trying to figure something out. It’s because of something you did, Marjorie. You talked to the foxen, didn’t you?”
“During the… the episode out there. Yes.”
“You didn’t tell me that,” Rigo said, almost angrily.
“It wasn’t anything very real to me at the time,” she said calmly. “I would have a hard time quoting the conversation. Mostly I was thinking words, but the foxen seemed to understand the threat I intended.”
“It wasn’t anything to do with a threat, I don’t think. No. It was something else. Brother Mainoa is tearing what little hair he has left trying to figure it out. Whatever you did, it was the key to some change in their attitude. There are hundreds and hundreds of foxen in the forest, you know. All talking at one another, growling, yowling, thinking, sitting and looking at each other with their claws tap-tapping. It’s like having shadow beasts projected all over you. You can’t see them. You walk around them without knowing why. You hear them, and your mind tries to make wind noises out of it. After a while, you lie down and put your hands over your head, wishing they’d all go away…
“Anyhow, they’re having some major discussion. Something’s going to happen. A foxen wants you, Marjorie, but I told him I didn’t know if you could come. He’ll settle for Father James.”
Marjorie shook her head, longingly. “I mustn’t leave here. If I were to vanish, the Hierarch could get very suspicious. He’s got a thousand armed men, and he might not hesitate to destroy the swamp forest or the town or anything else he felt like. Father James will probably go with you, if he feels up to the trip.”
“I’d like to take Stella, too,” Rillibee said, looking at his feet.
Marjorie sighed and turned away. Stella was still at the temporary hospital, though no longer encased in a Heal-all. “Have you seen her, Rillibee?”
“I stopped there first.”
“She’s not… she’s not like herself.”
“She’s like a child,” Rillibee agreed. “A nice child.”
“What use do you have for a nice child?” Rigo asked, his mouth in a grim line.
Rillibee drew himself up, a slight, wiry figure, somehow dignified in this circumstance by his very lack of stature and bulk. “I’m not interested in molesting her, if that’s what you’re imagining. She’s in danger here. You all are. But you can choose what you’ll do and she can’t. I’d like to take Dimity, too. And Janetta. For the same reason. If the Hippae ruined them, maybe the foxen can help to heal them.”
“Why not?” Marjorie said. “If Rowena and Geraldria are willing to have you take their daughters, why not? You’ll have to ask them, but as far as I’m concerned, yes, take Stella.”
“Marjorie!” Rigo was outraged.
“Oh, stop roaring at me, Rigo,” she snapped in a voice he had never heard. “Think! You’re doing it again, all these automatic responses of pride and masculinity.”
“She’s my daughter!”
