'Then order yourself a sweetcake to end your meal and tonight, after Death's hour has tolled, come to my house. Take care that no one sees you. I have my brother's clothes and other things that-'
'Come back here, you little rat!' The innkeeper's voice was loud and thunderous with anger. Deveren turned to see what all the commotion was about. Even as the innkeeper continued to yell, a shrill, high voice rose in wordless counterpoint. Deveren was just in time to see the flash of a black dress, bare feet and, for just the briefest instant, the faded face of an old rag doll.
He scattered a handful of coins on the table as he rose, saying hastily to Kyle, 'This should pay for the meal. Keep the rest.' Before the startled actor could reply, Deveren was threading his way through the clutter of tables and benches, trying to reach the child before the angry innkeeper did.
He was too late. Allika had not been swift enough and the heavyset man had her by the arm. She squalled and twisted, her face red as a pomegranate with fury. The innkeeper's heavy hand crashed down on her small face.
'Damned little vermin-ridden thief,' the man grunted, his eyes bright and his own face flushed with excitement. 'I'll teach you to steal from my kitchen, gods help me I will!'
Deveren lunged forward and seized the man's meaty arm, preventing a second blow from landing on Allika's already swollen cheek. Growling, the man turned to Deveren, his teeth clenched in raw fury. The anger faded as he recognized Lord Larath. Allika, though, continued to scream.
'What in the Nightlands is going on?' yelped Deveren.
'This-brat-was stealing from my kitchen. Gone and eaten nearly half a chicken pasty by the time I'd caught her!'
Allika paused long enough to fill her lungs with air, then continued shrieking. Deveren was confounded by her behavior. If she'd wanted to steal, she'd have done so and not gotten caught. And he'd never seen her carrying on like this, wailing and screaming…
'Here,' he said to the innkeeper. 'Let me recompense you for your trouble and take the child away.'
The innkeeper's eyes narrowed in suspicion. 'Do you know this brat, Lord Larath?' He had to speak loudly to be heard over the din of the screeching little girl.
'No,' lied Deveren, 'but if she stole your food and not your money, I'm sure she's just hungry. I will take care of it,' he emphasized, dropping a heavy silver coin into the man's beefy palm. The innkeeper's expression turned from suspicion to greedy pleasure.
'That you will, sir,' he agreed. He let go of Allika's arm. At once, like a rabbit flushed from its lair, Allika bolted for the door. The only reason Deveren was able to catch her was that he had longer legs. His hand closed on her arm and Allika stumbled, starting to scream again.
Now Deveren saw why. The wound he and Damir had bound only, what, eight days ago, was oozing and ugly. Even in the dim torchlight from the inn, he could see that there were dark tendrils winding up and down her small, pale limb. Her head lolled back on her shoulders and her eyes were squeezed shut. The dreadful sound she was emitting would have woken the dead.
'Allika!' Deveren gripped her shoulder and shook her hard. The dark eyes snapped open and for the first time that evening she seemed to recognize him.
'F-fox?' she whispered.
'Yes, honey, it's me,' he replied. ''What's wrong?'
She blinked, as if dazed. 'I don't…' Suddenly she gasped and doubled over, clutching her stomach as if she were in excruciating pain. 'Oh…' she moaned.
'That does it,' said Deveren. 'I'm taking you to a Healer.'
Her head whipped up and there was a feral look on her face. Her little teeth were bared in a grimace. 'No!'
She fought him like a mountain cat, but his superior strength won over. Finally Deveren slung the struggling girl over his shoulder and, unnamed fear welling inside him, strode swiftly toward the temple of Health.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Heart of a doe, Voice of a lark, Breast of a dove, Hands of a Healer.
Despite Deveren's best efforts, Allika's cries of protest preceded them as they approached Health's temple. By the time Deveren, one-handed, managed to wrestle the waist-high gate open and enter the area that served as a small garden, the lights had been lit in the temple and Vervain stood silhouetted in the doorway.
'I never seem to see you but in a crisis,' she said lightly, as she swept forward to meet him. 'I didn't know you had a daughter, Lord Larath. What is her name?'
'I don't. Deveren, please. Her name is Allika, though at this moment her name ought to be Miss Needs-A- Spanking.' Allika's shrill cries had managed to find that special resonance and volume that engendered real irritation, fond though Deveren was of the child.
'Oh,' replied the Blesser, 'no child ever needs a spanking, do they, Allika?' The little girl was on the ground now, though still held in Deveren's secure grip. She glared first at the Healer, then up at Deveren.
'Want to spank Fox for holding me like that,' she snarled.
Deveren's heart spasmed. He found Vervain looking at him strangely, her eyes wide, one slim hand reaching up to her throat. His gaze locked with hers. He searched frantically for a lie, anything to explain why Allika called him 'Fox,' but his tongue cleaved to his throat. Why should he be so alarmed? Fox could simply be an affectionate nickname, not the alias of the leader of the thieves of Braedon. Yet he stood, guiltily silent.
'Fox,' Vervain breathed at last. 'Sweet Health. Come in, the both of you.'
'Miss Lally doesn't want to go in,' sulked Allika.
'Miss Lally has no choice in the matter if Miss Lally doesn't want her little rag head ripped off.'
Allika stared at him, latching on to the undercurrent of annoyance beneath the teasing words, and began to bawl.
Deveren picked her up hastily and hurried inside. The scents alone would have marked this a place of health. It was… clean. Wholesome. Deveren recognized several smells-fresh and drying herbs and flowers, mostly. But there was something else, something fresh and calming that he couldn't quite name. Rushes crunched beneath his feet, giving off their own gentle fragrance as he walked. The stone cottage was bare, almost severe in its lack of ornamentation. But the table upon which Vervain indicated Allika should be placed was covered with soft blankets, and the bench at which Deveren seated himself was comfortable and well made. Something was heating over the hearth fire. Deveren sniffed. That was what was emitted the general smell of cleanliness.
Vervain immediately spied the injury and gently touched the girl's arm. Allika winced and drew back. 'Allika, you must let me examine you, or else I won't know how to make the pain go away,' reprimanded Vervain in a gentle but stern voice.
Allika looked at her, then ducked her head. 'Sorry.' Instantly she clutched her abdomen and curled up on the table like a shrimp, wailing in agony. Deveren was by her side at once, trying to get the girl to uncurl.
'What happened?' Vervain moved to the heating cauldron and took a pair of tongs from the mantel. While Deveren replied, she fished out a hot, dripping cloth from the herbed water.
'Eight days ago she got bitten by a rat.' To tell, or not to tell? Vervain might think him mad… but she needed to know. Something told Deveren that not all of Allika's sickness was due to the simple pain of an infected rodent bite. 'I have reason to believe that the rat wasn't an ordinary creature. Something…' gods, it sounded so foolish, '… something evil.'
Vervain shot him a look, but he couldn't decipher it. 'Go on.'
'My brother and I cleaned the wound and put salve on it. It should have been fine.' He glanced down at the little girl. Sweat shone on her pale face, all scrunched up with agony now. Her breathing was rapid and shallow. Unable to help himself, he smoothed her black hair. Allika…
