Arvin sat. “You were here last night,” he began.
She waited, not blinking. Arvin had grown up in Hlondeth and was used to the stares of the yuan-ti. If she was trying to unnerve him, she was failing.
“Do you remember the man I was sitting with-the one in the yellow shirt?”
She nodded.
“The woman who was sitting on his lap, the doxy, have you seen her since then?”
“The pockmarked woman?” Her voice was soft and sibilant; like all yuan-ti, she hissed softly as she spoke.
Arvin raised his eyebrows. “You saw her sores?”
“I saw through the spell she’d cast to disguise herself,” the yuan-ti answered. “From the moment she entered the tavern, I recognized her for what she was.”
Arvin was appalled. “You knew she was diseased? Why didn’t you warn us-or call the militia?”
The woman shrugged, a slow, rolling motion of her shoulders. “There was nothing to fear. Plague had touched her then moved on, leaving only scars behind.”
“But her touch-”
“Was harmless,” the yuan-ti interrupted. “Her sores had scarred over. Had they been open and weeping, it would have been another matter entirely.”
“What about her spittle?” Arvin asked.
The yuan-ti stared at him. “You kissed her?”
“My friend did. Or rather…” He thought back to the phlegm that had been smeared on his brow. “The doxy kissed him on his forehead. Would that pass the plague to him?” He waited, breath held, for her reply. Had he fought off the poison he’d been forced to drink, only to be condemned to death by disease?
The yuan-ti gave a faint hiss that might have been laughter. “No. Tell your friend not to worry. The plague that left the pockmarks was long gone from her body. From
She said it with such certainty, Arvin believed her. Relief washed through him. Knowing that he’d been touched by people who themselves had been touched by plague had filled him with dread. He wasn’t old enough to have witnessed the last plague that swept through the Vilhon Reach; the “dragonscale plague” had been eradicated thirty years before he was born. Like most people, though, he feared to even speak of it. The disease, thought to be magical in origin, had caused the skin of those it touched to flake off in huge chunks, like scales, leaving bloody, weeping holes.
Shuddering, he ordered an ale from the serving girl who approached their table; then he turned back to the yuan-ti. “You seem to know quite a lot about disease.”
“In recent months I’ve made a study of it.”
Arvin’s eyes narrowed. “Is that so?” A suspicion was starting to form in his mind-that it was the “doxy” this woman had been looking for last night, or one of her pockmarked companions.
“Did you follow us after we left the tavern?” Arvin asked bluntly. He waited tensely for her answer; perhaps she could describe the place where the pockmarked people had entered the sewer system. If he knew that, he might be able to find the chamber where-
“There was no need. I had a… hunch that I’d see you again this morning and hear your story.” Her eyes bored into his. “Tell me what happened last night after you and your friend left the Mortal Coil.”
Arvin stared at her, appalled by her indifference. She’d sat and watched as Naulg was led away by a dangerous, diseased woman-and done nothing. At the very least she might have warned Arvin not to follow them. Instead she’d let events unfold, content to question the survivors afterward.
“Some ‘study of disease,’ ” Arvin muttered under his breath. Then, meeting the yuan-ti’s unblinking eyes, he asked, “Who are you?”
“Zelia.”
Arvin supposed that must be her name.
“Who do you work for?”
Zelia gave a hiss of laughter. “Myself.”
Arvin stared at her, frowning. When it was clear she wasn’t going to add anything more, he made a quick decision. He had little to lose by telling her his story-and everything to gain. Perhaps she might pick out some clue in his tale that would help him find Naulg. She seemed to know more-much more-than she was letting on, but then, yuan-ti tended to give that impression.
Omitting any mention of his transaction with Naulg, Arvin reiterated the events that had taken place a short time ago: his fight with the doxy and her accomplice, finding himself in the sewage chamber, being force-fed the poison, the terrible anguish it had produced, and escaping in the rowboat. He watched Zelia closely as he told his tale, but her expression didn’t change. She listened most attentively as he described the chamber where the force- feeding had taken place, stopping him more than once to ask for more detail, including full descriptions of the people who had abducted him. She made him describe each person’s appearance and exactly what had been said. Arvin concluded with a description of the statue. “The wood was rotted, but it was definitely a statue of a woman. The hands were raised, as if reaching-”
“Talona.”
“Is that a name?” Arvin asked. He’d never heard it before.
“Lady of Poison, Mistress of Disease, Mother of Death,” Zelia intoned.
Arvin shuddered. “Yes. That’s what they called her.”
“Goddess of sickness and disease,” Zelia continued, “a lesser-known goddess, not commonly worshiped in the Vilhon Reach. Her followers only recently surfaced in Hlondeth.”
“Last night was a sacrifice, then,” Arvin said.
“Yes. It is how they appease their goddess. They appeal to Talona to take another life, so she will continue to spare their own.”
“That’s why they fed us the poison.”
“Yes,” Zelia said. “Sometimes they use poison and sometimes plague. Usually, a mix of both.”
Arvin felt his face grow pale. “Plague,” he said in a hoarse voice. Had there been plague mixed with the poison they’d forced him to drink? He gripped the edge of the table and stared at his hands, wondering if his skin would suddenly erupt into terrible, weeping blisters.
Just at that moment, his ale arrived. The serving girl set it on the table then stood, waiting. Arvin stared at the mug. He suddenly didn’t feel thirsty anymore. Realizing that the serving girl was still waiting, he fumbled a coin out of his pocket and tossed it onto her tray. He’d probably just paid her too much, judging by the speed with which she palmed it, but he didn’t care. His thoughts were still filled with images of plague: his lungs filling with fluid, his body burning with coal-hot fever, his hair falling out of his scalp, his skin flaking away in chunks…
“Will Talona claim me still?” he croaked.
Zelia smiled. “You feel healthy, don’t you?” She waved a hand disparagingly. “If there was plague mixed in with the poison, it’s been held at bay by the strength of your own constitution. You slipped out of the goddess’s grasp. Talona has lost her hold on you.”
Arvin nodded, trying to reassure himself. He did feel healthy-and strong. Refreshed and alert, despite having had no sleep last night. If he had been exposed to plague, he was showing no signs of it-yet.
A question occurred to him. “Why are you so interested in this cult?” he asked.
“They’re killing people.”
“They’re killing humans,” Arvin pointed out. “Why should a yuan-ti care about that?”
All he got in reply was a cold, unblinking stare. For a moment, he worried he’d gone too far. Did he honestly care why Zelia was “making a study” of disease, or on whose behalf? Really, it was none of his business. He quickly got back to the matter at hand-trying to learn something that would help him find Naulg.
“Does this cult have a name?” he asked.
Zelia gave a slight, supple nod. “They call themselves the Pox.”
“Can you tell me anything else about them? How I can find them again, for example?”
Zelia smiled. “What would you do if you found them?”
“Rescue my friend.”
Zelia frowned. “Rushing in will only alert the Pox to the fact that someone is watching them,” she told him. “And it would serve no purpose. Your friend is already dead.”
