A sixth sister appeared, pushing rudely in between Mary and
Tamra. This one perhaps was only one-and-twenty, with flushed
cheeks, smooth skin, and dark eyes. Her white habit billowed like a
dream. The red rose over her breast stood out like a curse.
'Go! Leave him!'
'Oooo, my dear!' cried Sister Louise in a voice both laughing and
angry. 'Here's Jenna, the baby, and has she fallen in love with
him?'
'She has!' laughed Tamra. 'Baby's heart is his for the purchase,'
'Oh, so it is!' agreed Sister Coquina.
Mary turned to the newcomer, lips pursed into a tight line. 'Ye
have no business here, saucy girl.'
'I do if I say I do,' Sister Jenna replied. She seemed more in charge
of herself now. A curl of black hair had escaped her wimple and
lay across her forehead in a comma. 'Now go. He's not up to your
jokes and laughter.'
'Order us not,' Sister Mary said, 'for we never joke. So you know,
Sister Jenna.'
The girl's face softened a little, and Roland saw she was afraid. It
made him afraid for her. For himself, as well. 'Go,' she repeated.
`'Tis not the time. Are there not others to tend?'
Sister Mary seemed to consider. The others watched her. At last
she nodded, and smiled down at Roland. Again her face seemed to
shimmer, like something seen through a heat-haze. What he saw
(or thought he saw) beneath was horrible and watchful. 'Bide well,
pretty man,' she said to Roland. 'Bide with us a bit, and we'll heal
ye.'
What choice have I? Roland thought.
The others laughed, birdlike titters which rose into the dimness like
ribbons. Sister Michela actually blew him a kiss.
'Come, ladies!' Sister Mary cried. 'We'll leave Jenna with him a bit
in memory of her mother, who we loved well!' And with that, she
led the others away, five white birds flying off down the centre
aisle, their skirts nodding this way and that.
'Thank you,' Roland said, looking up at the owner of the cool
hand.. . for he knew it was she who had soothed him.
She took up his fingers as if to prove this, and caressed them. 'They
mean ye no harm,' she said ... yet Roland saw she believed not a
word of it, nor did he. He was in trouble here, very bad trouble.
'What is this place?'
'Our place,' she said simply. 'The home of the Little Sisters of
Eluria. Our convent, if 'ee like.'
'This is no convent,' Roland said, looking past her at the empty
beds. It's an infirmary. Isn't it?'
'A hospital,' she said, still stroking his fingers. 'We serve the
doctors ... and they serve us.' He was fascinated by the black curl
lying on the cream of her brow - would have stroked it, if he had
dared reach up. Just to tell its texture. He found it beautiful because
it was the only dark thing in all this white. The white had lost its
charm for him. 'We are hospitallers ... or were, before the world
