as a nightingale's. 'I am, too.'
Trembling, he stepped toward her and clasped her small hand.
Wort peered through the iron grating, watching the fiery eye of the sun sink toward the horizon. The moor stretched as far as he could see, beautiful in its desolation. West of the village loomed the nameless tower. It was taller now than before. Yet even its ominous presence could not dampen the exhilarated fluttering of his heart.
For an hour, in the dappled light and shadow of the belfry, he and Mika had spoken as the pigeons fluttered around them like pale spirits. They had talked of simple things. He had asked her to describe what life in the far-off city of II Aluk was like. Then he had listened angrily while she described the way others had scorned her for studying medicine at the university in II Aluk, and had cried silent tears when she spoke in halting words of the Crimson Death, and the tragic loss of her husband and daughter.
She in turn had asked him how he knew which ropes to pull to form the clarion harmonics of the bells, which he was excited to explain to another for the first time. All the while he had marveled that such a wondrous creature would deign to be so close to him.
Finally, Mika had risen to go. But as she did so, she had said something to Wort that even now echoed in his mind. Gently, he stroked the pigeon that sat upon his outstretched arm, preening its iridescent feathers. 'Did you hear her, Armond?' Wort whispered to the bird. 'She said my voice was beautiful.'
Wort could not help but laugh at this. How strange to think that anything about him might somehow be beautiful. Wort shook his head as he stroked the pigeon's smooth feathers. In the shadows above him, the last rays of the sun fell upon the bell forged of bronze, silver, and blood. Its rope dangled down, swinging gently in the faint breath of air that blew through the windows, as if to beckon Come, ring me…
Eleven
The dying man's screams echoed eerily down the corridors of Nartok Keep.
'This way, milady. Please-we must hurry. I don't… I don't think he can hold out much longer.'
Mika strode swiftly after a rag-clad serving boy with tousled red hair. In a white-knuckled hand she gripped her satchel of doctor's tools. The screams grew louder, rising and falling.
'Can you tell me what is wrong with your uncle?' she asked the boy gravely.
He cast a white-faced look at her over his shoulder. 'You'll see, milady.'
Mika clutched the hem of her dark dress up above her ankles, breaking into a trot to keep up. A quarter of an hour before, the boy had burst into the Black Boar, explaining breathlessly that his uncle, a manservant at the keep, was ill. Mika had grabbed her black satchel and rushed outside to the carriage Baron Caidin had sent in which to take her up the tor. Whatever she thought of the baron, it seemed he took an admirable interest in his servants.
'In here, milady!'
The boy led the way through a squalid warren of servants' quarters to a dingy room. A cloying odor hung on the air, so thick it was almost palpable. On a rude cot, a gray-haired man writhed beneath a blanket, shivering despite the fire roaring in a stone fireplace only a few feet away. Several servants clustered around the cot, staring with frightened eyes.
Mika entered with an air of authority. 'All right everyone, step back,' she said briskly. 'Somebody bring candles-I'll need more light.' The servants scurried to obey her requests. 'How long has the patient been like this?'
'Since he was bitten this morning, milady,' a young maidservant replied nervously.
'Bitten?'
The red-haired boy nodded. 'It was an insect, milady.'
'I see.' Mika approached the cot. The man gazed up at her, agony contorting his pallid face.
'Please,' he gasped. 'Please help me.'
'Don't be afraid,' Mika said reassuringly. 'It will be all right. I promise.'
She pulled down the threadbare blanket, then clamped a hand to her mouth to keep from gagging. The man's right arm was bloated to hideous proportions and covered with purple-black splotches. Even as she watched, the dark splotches inched their way onto his shoulder and chest. Mika steeled her will. This was not the first time she had faced a terrifying illness, nor would it be the last.
She began by making notes to herself about his condition. 'The patient's right arm appears to be in an advanced stage of gangrene. Infection is spreading rapidly. Immediate amputation is the only-'
All at once, the manservant's arm dissolved into a puddle of thick slime. Letting out a bubbling cry, he arched his back, raising his body off the cot. Blood gushed from his mouth in a hot, dark fountain, splattering Mika's dress. He slumped back down, his eyes glazed with terror.
'Please.. His words gurgled wetly in his throat. 'I don't want to die '
Choking back fear, Mika turned to the others who stared in horror. 'What sort of insect stung him?' she demanded.
'I… I don't know,' the red-haired boy gulped. 'But… but uncle caught it after it bit him.'
He picked up a jar and held it toward Mika. Inside a pale beetle scrabbled at the glass. Dark blotches marked-its waxy carapace, suggesting a grinning human skull. The beetle gnashed sharp mandibles, as if trying to bite through the glass. Without hesitating, Mika snatched the jar from the boy's hand and hurled it into the roaring fireplace. Glass shattered. The beetle scuttled over the hot coals, emitting a piercing shriek. Abruptly it exploded in a puff of noxious green smoke.
'A skull beetle,' Mika breathed in revulsion.
The young maidservant cried out. 'Milady!'
Mika whirled around. The man on the cot convulsed violently. As his arm did a moment earlier, with a wet sound his body collapsed into a shapeless mass of quivering yellow jelly. His face remained whole only long enough for him to let out a scream of pure agony. Then it too dissolved into thick fluid. Unaffected by the beetle's venom, two staring eyeballs floated atop the putrid puddle of slime.
Mika barely fought back the urge to vomit. Many of the others were not as successful. 'Burn it,' she choked. 'Burn everything. And whatever you do don't… don't let any of it touch your skin.'
She did not need to instruct the trembling servants twice.
Later, Mika stepped tentatively into the glittering Grand Hall of Nartok Keep. This time she was clad in a gown of indigo velvet. Baron Caidin spun on a heel to gaze at her, his hand resting elegantly on the hilt of the ornamental saber at his side. Outside the tall windows, purple twilight was drifting down from the sky.
'Ah, yes,' the baron said with a wolfish smile. 'That gown is better, my lady. Wouldn't you say?'
'It is, Your Grace. Thank you for lending it to me.' Her voice was almost a gasp. The dress's bead- encrusted bodice squeezed her chest cruelly, making it difficult to fill her lungs. The thick velvet weighed down on her. She had the distinct sensation that she was not wearing the gown,but rather was imprisoned in it.
'I am sorry about your patient,' the baron said gravely. 'But I am glad that I could see you before you left the keep. I would not have had you returning to the village without my personal thanks. Oh-I am afraid my servants had to burn your other dress.'
Mika only nodded. No amount of cleaning would have removed the bloodstains from it.
'You can keep this gown, of course.'
An uncomfortable silence descended between them. Mika fumbled for words. 'It was kind of you to send a carriage for me, Your Grace. I imagine few lords take such an interest in the welfare of their servants.'
Caidin dismissed this comment with a casual wave of his hand. 'It was nothing. I suppose I consider them my children, that's all. Wouldn't any man do the same if his child was ill?'
Mika smiled fleetingly at his words, wondering if she had perhaps misjudged the baron. Once again she was struck by how handsome he was. The blue coat he wore was less formal than the one she had seen before. It fell open to reveal a white shirt and crimson sash. He seemed as radiant as the nameless gods who appeared in the mosaic beneath his boots, floating in clouds above the scene of an ancient battle-naked deities with fierce eyes and sensual lips glowing in pagan majesty.
