looked up in shock. A dozen pigeons whirled slowly in the air above him, but not under the power of their own wings. Each was frozen, its beak gaping and silent. One by one the dead birds dropped to the floor.
'My friends…' Wort gasped in anguish.
He reached out toward the poor broken birds, then suddenly hesitated. The pigeons lay in a pattern. Their gray bodies and splayed wings formed the shapes of letters, spelling out a word: MORE.
'But how…?' Wort did not need to finish his question. His gaze rose to the cursed bell. Suddenly his sorrow was replaced by exultation.
'Of course,' he whispered excitedly, leaping to his feet. 'It is a message. If I am to gain vengeance against Caidin, one token will not do.' He gripped the blood-stained coin tightly. Gradually, a dark plan unfurled in his mind.
Wort scrambled down the ladder to his chamber below the belfry and opened the trunk next to his pallet. He drew out a small wooden box and set the bloody coin carefully inside. Then he returned the box to its place. Cackling to himself, he curled up on his musty pallet and went over things in his feverish mind. He was not certain which thoughts were his own and which were whispered by the dry, ancient voice. Nor did he care. At last he drifted into the dark waters of sleep.
Wort woke with the dawn and made his way downstairs to find, as he did on every third day, the basket of brown bread and jug of water that were left outside the door of his tower. Taking these back up to his chamber, he broke his fast,sharing some of the crumbs with the surviving pigeons that clustered around him.
'Do you think she will come today, my friends?' he asked the mist-gray birds. He was answered with a soft chorus. 'Truly? Well, I hope that you're right. I find… I find that I am lonely when she is not here.'
Wort closed his eyes for a moment, picturing the pale oval of the doctor's face, glowing like the angel who drifted in the ancient tapestry. Sometimes Wort did not see Mika for several days, and then, just when he had given up hope of her ever returning, he would once more hear the gentle rapping at the tower's door. Rushing down, he would find Mika waiting, and she would explain with grave eyes that she'd been detained by a bad outbreak of fever in the village, or that she had just had to attend to a village woman going through a long, difficult birth.
Happily, there were also times when Mika managed to come several days in a row. Often she brought things with her-flowers to brighten his dismal chamber, or honey cakes, or a gameboard with carved wooden pieces to play Castles and Kings. Wort had never played the game before, but Mika seemed to draw upon an endless reservoir of patience as she explained the complex rules to him.
It was midday this time when he heard a faint rapping echoing up from below.
'She's here!' Wort exclaimed, jumping to his feet.
In vain, he tried to smooth down his matted brown hair and brush bits of straw from his threadbare brown tunic. He flung open the trapdoor in the center of the floor, threw down the length of rope coiled next to the opening, and clambered down to the bottom of the bell tower. In one swift motion, he sprang from the rope and opened the door.
Mika gasped in surprise, holding a hand to her breast. Then she laughed. 'I'm happy to see you, too, Wort.' She was clad in a dress of thick gray wool. She had thrown a heavy sky blue cloak over her shoulders against the autumn chill. She carried a straw basket in her arms.
'Please, come in, doctor,' Wort said, attempting a clumsy bow. His grin was a trifle mischievous. 'I've been practicing my opening gambits in Castles and Kings. I think you might not find me so easy to beat today!'
Mika arched a single eyebrow. 'Is that so? Well, I'm afraid you'll have to wait until another day to embarrass me. Today we're going on a picnic in the woods.'
Wort stared at her. He had never been on a picnic before. In fact, he had no idea what a picnic involved, but he grinned at Mika all the same.
'I'll need my cloak,' he said gruffly. He hobbled quickly upstairs to the belfry and grabbed the garment, but as he turned to head back down, he paused. The cursed bell brooded darkly among the rafters. A strong feeling of… disapproval seemed to radiate from it.
'Why shouldn't I go?' Wort whispered angrily. 'What's the harm in it?'
The dry voice echoed in his mind. Monsters do not walk with angels.
'I don't have to listen to you,' he snarled. 'You are not my master!' The voice repeated its message, but Wort clamped his hands to his ears and dashed back down the stairs.
'What's wrong. Wort?' Mika asked, concern clouding her violet eyes. 'Were you arguing with someone up there?'
He shook his head. 'No,' he said hoarsely. 'Let's go.'
That afternoon found them walking together through a grove not far fronrj the keep. The trees were bare with the lateness of the year, and the ground was a crisp, crackling carpet of russet, crimson, and dark sienna.
'This looks like a good spot for lunch,' said Mika when they reached the mossy bank of a brook. The jagged stump of a dead tree stood beside the brook. Only a few dark, twisted branches still ciung to the gnarled, moss- covered trunk. 'What an interesting old tree. I bet once it was the tallest tree in the forest.' She started to set down the straw basket.
Wort shook his head, suddenly feeling uneasy. 'No, not here,' he whispered. 'This is a sad place. Can we go somewhere else?'
Mika regarded him with serious eyes. 'Of course, Wort.'
They wound up in the center of a small glade. Mika pulled bread, cheese, dried fruit, and a clay jug of wine from the basket. As they ate, Wort was once again amazed that one so fair as she would deign to be friends with one as monstrous as himself. It was like a miracle. Of course, weren't angels accustomed to performing miracles? After they had eaten, Mika coaxed chattering gray squirrels into plucking raisins from her hand. Then she made Wort give it a try. His big, clumsy hand shaking, he held out a palm full of dried fruit. A squirrel approached tentatively through rustling leaves. The creature regarded Wort with bright eyes, then scurried forward to snatch a raisin from his hand before hopping away.
'It… it didn't fear me!' Wort said in amazement.
'Why should it, Wort?' Mika asked, puzzled.
Wort almost spoke the words. Because I have killed, Doctor. He shook his head and said nothing.
For a time, Mika took her basket and collected herbs useful for her healing craft while Wort explored among the trees. In a small hollow he was surprised to discover a flower blooming despite the lateness of the season. He did not know its name, but its petals were the same dusky lavender as Mika's eyes. Thinking it would give her joy, he reached down to pluck the bloom. Then he cried out in sudden pain.
Mika rushed toward him. 'Wort, what is it?'
Shaking his hand, he dropped the flower. He could see a long thorn protruding from its stem, wet with blood. 'The flower. It… it pricked me.'
'Here, let me see.'
Gently, Mika took his hand and turned it over. Blood welled up freely from a deep puncture. She examined it critically, then took several of the leaves she had gathered and crushed them into a ball. She held the fragrant compress against Wort's wound. Instantly the fiery pain vanished. From the pocket of her dress, Mika pulled out a pale purple handkerchief and deftly bound it around his hand with a neat knot. 'That should do the trick.'
Wort flexed his fingers. 'Thank you, my lady,' he said in a low, shy voice.
Mika frowned at this. Suddenly a flicker of realization crossed her face. 'That's where I've heard it before,' she said.
'What?' he asked in trepidation.
'Your voice, Wort. I've told you that your voice is beautiful, and it is. But I've also had the strange feeling that I've heard a voice just like it somewhere before. I only just now realized where.' She studied his features carefully, then nodded. 'Yes. Now that I take a closer look, the resemblance is clear.' The doctor took a deep breath. 'You are Baron Caidin's brother, aren't you Wort?'
Slowly, almost painfully, he nodded. 'How is it that you know my brother?' he asked warily.
She turned away with a shrug. 'Oh, we've met briefly once or twice.' The doctor turned to face him. There was a sadness in her eyes. ' Wort… it hardly seems like the name of a baron's son.'
'They say… they say my mother called me Wor- ren when I was a baby. She didn't live very long after my birth.' Anger tinged his voice as he dredged up the dark memories. 'You see, something went wrong the night I was born. She ripped deep inside, and I… I came out misshapen. The midwife thought me cursed because I was not
