Come on, let's have a show of hands! All right, form two lines, men on this side, women on that side. Move it along now, we haven't got all day!
'Where's your wife? She's dead!? Sorry, we can't divorce the dead, not here, you need a thaumaturgist for that. One's set up shop by Berick's timberyard.'
Once the would-be divorcees had been regimented into ranks, Hearst conducted a ceremony of his own devising, which saw him striding up and down between the ranks scattering handfuls of leaves from last year's autumn while shouting:'I divorce you! I divorce you! I divorce you!'Then, as the crowd began to break up, Hearst shouted:
'Remember, I'm doing marriages tomorrow morning. So if you see anyone here you fancy, try them out tonight and be here by the morn's morn.'
With the main business of the day evidently over, a few petitioners approached Hearst. He dealt with them swiftly, grinding one petition underfoot, slashing another with the steel hook-claw which served him instead of a right hand, and ordering one petitioner to go jump in the river (which, of course, he duly did). Thus it was with some uneasiness that Drake approached.
On their last meeting, in Selzirk, Hearst had thought (rightly!) that he had seen Drake before. This time, the Rovac warrior's face showed not the slightest sign of recognition.'Who are you?' he said.
Drake was hurt not to be recognized. He also found Hearst's brusque manner hard to take. After playing out elaborate charades of royalty for over a year at the Gates of Chenameg, Drake was still finding it hard to adjust to his present status as an ordinary citizen.'We met in Selzirk,' said Drake.
'Why, maybe we did. Have you any idea the thousands I've met in my travels?''I brought you a message from Elkor Alish.'
'Ah … I remember the message right enough, but not the messenger. Are you seeking reward after all these years?''I seek the healer Miphon.''Have you a pox, have you?''My woman is sick.''Then take her to Mystrel, Blackwood's wife. She's good with women things. Look, that place on the hill. See? That's the House of Health. Well, what are you waiting for? Hurry along!'
So Drake hurried. When he reached Mystrel's House of Health, half way up Melross Hill, a birth was in progress, so he had to wait to see the healer. But, soon enough, out she came into the sunlight. She was as he remembered her from their previous meeting in Blackwood's house in Looming Forest: a work-worn middle-aged woman. She must have forgotten him entirely, for she asked straight out:
'Are you the herbalist with the master-wort for sale?' 'No … I come because my – my wife is sick.' 'And invisible into the bargain?' said Mystrel, looking around.'No, she's back at the town.' 'What, too sick to walk?' 'No, she-''Then bring her here! I can't read disease at a distance!'
Whereupon Drake hustled back to the town. At the inn, the innkeeper was still in conversation with his cronies.
'Did your sword find service with the kings?' said the innkeeper.'Not yet,' said Drake.
'Nay,' jeered one of the innkeeper's cronies. 'For-' The rest of what he said was in Churl, and Drake understood only enough to realize that something very rude was being said. Shrugging off the insult, he went to his rented room, where Zanya greeted him. Perhaps it was just Drake's imagination, but the blue sore at the side of Zanya's mouth seemed to have grown larger in his absence.'Come,' he said. 'We're going to see Mystrel.' 'Has she a cure?' said Zanya.
T know not what she has,' said Drake. 'That we'll discover when we get there:' As they were leaving the inn, a voice cried: 'Hey!''Keep walking,' murmured Drake to Zanya. 'Slowly.'
But he heard footsteps behind, following them out into the hot sunlight. So he turned to face his danger. The innkeeper had come outside, three of his friends with him.
'Yon woman's got a sore on her face,' said the innkeeper.
'Aye,' said Drake. 'A gadfly bit her.' 'No gadfly ever bit blue. That's a leper you've got there. A blue leper.'
'Man,' said Drake, 'whatever she is, we're leaving.' The innkeeper spat.
'Leaving? To spread plague through Lorford? Oh, not so easy!'
He nodded at one of his companions, who slipped away. To summon help? Doubtless. That left two men to back up the innkeeper. So Drake drew blade and challenged:'Which dies first?'
The three scarpered at the sight of his steel. Once they had retreated into the inn, Drake sheathed his blade. He was fit, strong and long-breathed – but, even so, his breath was whipping in and out as quick as a frog's tongue, and his heart was hammering as if it had fifty knives to forge by nightfall. Turning to Zanya, he saw she was crying.
'Love,' said Drake, 'none will hurt you while I've sword by my side.''They hate me!' she said, crying the more.
He kissed and soothed her as best he could, trying to appear calm although he was desperately impatient to be gone. Lorford was dangerous. When they did get clear of the town, he looked behind often to make sure there was no pursuit.
Zanya was sweating heavily by the time they reached the House of Health. As they entered the cool shadows within, Mystrel greeted them. She examined Zanya's face, and became grave.
'We have seen none of this for a season,' she said.
'What is it?' asked Drake, hoping she would give him an answer different to the one he knew.
'An illness,' said Mystrel. 'An illness which many fear. What is your name, love? Zanya? Then come in, Zanya, for there's a welcome for you amongst the women. We've met before, haven't we? I remember you by your red skin. Come! Why hesitate?'
'I'll not come inside,' said Zanya, with what bravery she could muster. 'No, not if I'll spread sickness.'
'This illness,' said Mystrel, with a glance at Drake. 'It's spread only when two lie together as a woman lies with a man.'
Mystrel led Zanya into a room for women, which Drake was forbidden to enter. Then she returned, and took Drake aside for serious talk.
'Likely you have the same disease yourself,' said Mystrel. 'Thus you must lie with no woman and with no man, or others will die of it.'
She was still counselling him when a young woman interrupted them.
She made for the door. Curious, Drake followed. Standing in the shadows, he saw a lanky young man standing out in the sunlight.
'Oh no!' muttered Drake to Drake. 'Tell me it's not true!'
It was Sully Datelier Yot, his face crowded with as many warts as ever. On his head was a golden circlet of the type usually worn by princes in children's fairytales told on Stokos. This status symbol indicated pretensions to grandeur, but Drake doubted that Yot could have found real power under a regime run by sensible men like Morgan Hearst.'What do you want?' said Mystrel to Yot. 'To enter and search, in the name of the kings!''Get away with you,' said Mystrel, scornfully. 'Is Lord Blackwood here?'
'No,' said Mystrel. 'I'd have words for him if he was. It's about time he got rid of you, you posing priestling.'
At that, Yot used his strength on the woman. He shoved her so she staggered backwards. Yot strode toward the door – and Drake came forward to meet him.'Drake!'cried Yot.
'The same,' said Drake. 'With sword at side, as ever. What would you be wanting?'
'Some men in the town said blue lepers came this way. So they sent me to investigate.''Why you?' said Drake.'Because he's a regular troublemaker,' said Mystrel.
'Because I've built trust in the town, for I have the ear of Lord Blackwood,' said Yot. 'For good reason, too, for I've a sharp mind, which is what the times are needing. Drake – bring out the woman.''What woman?' said Drake.
'Your Ebrell bitch. We're looking for a woman red in skin and red in hair. That makes her of Ebrell. Your Zanya answers the case.'
'Man,' said Drake, wishing he had killed Yot years ago, 'Zanya I've not seen since she was sold into slavery in
