Domenic took a sip of soup. It was too bland for his taste, but it was hot and filling. After Darius-Mikhail had explained the problem, Domenic authorized Danilo to speak with the guild masters, since the older man had special contacts there. “I’d rather their cooperation be voluntary.”
“It will take some persuasion, but I will try,” Danilo answered. “To ease the burden on the shelters, we are encouraging those who are better off and can afford servants, or who have families still able to care for them, to stay at home.”
Darius-Mikhail reminded them that not everyone had that option. “Those newly arrived in the city seem to be disproportionately stricken. Unfortunately, they have far fewer resources. Some have no shelter or clean water and no money to buy food.”
“The poorer areas of the city are not much better,” Danilo agreed. “Sometimes an entire family falls sick, and their neighbors are either overwhelmed with their own needs or too frightened to help.”
Domenic asked for the latest estimate of casualties.
“We have only guesses, because we have no way of knowing for certain how many are tended at home.” Consulting his notes, Darius-Mikhail gave alarmingly high calculations.
Donal looked grim. “And it’s only beginning.”
A group of servants had carried out fresh covered dishes and set them on the food tables. The lady supervising them approached the table, and Domenic recognized Alanna. She wore a white head scarf and an apron several sizes too big for her over a faded green gown. Quietly, she slipped on to a bench opposite Domenic. Darius-Mikhail stared at her, color suffusing his cheeks and throat, and then hastily lowered his gaze.
For an instant, Domenic glimpsed the image in Alanna’s mind, the vision of Thendara streets silent and gray, bodies lying everywhere.
“What is the mortality rate?” Marguerida, having finished the last of her pastries, asked. “How many of those affected will die?”
“It is too soon to be sure.” Darius-Mikhail shook his head. “Many continue to go about their business in the early stages.”
“Spreading the disease still further,” Donal said.
“Such fears serve no one,” Domenic pointed out. “They only divert us from our true goals: tending those who need us most and discovering how to stop this dreadful epidemic.”
“Domna, have you had success finding the Terran medical records?” Danilo turned to Marguerida, who shook her head. “Alas, I myself have little to offer. I was at Ardais during the time of the Allison expedition. Regis told me about it afterward, but not in any scientific detail. We thought we had eliminated trailmen’s fever forever.”
Domenic frowned as he struggled to recall the biology Marguerida had insisted he study years ago. Immunity from some vaccines wore off with time, but others lasted a lifetime. Which type applied to trailmen’s fever? Danilo had been vaccinated, as had many others still alive. They would be middle-aged or older. Would immunization decades earlier give them even partial protection?
When he voiced his question, Marguerida immediately understood its importance. “If older people who have received the vaccine don’t get sick, then we can use the old formula. When we find it, that is.”
“But if they are as vulnerable as younger folk,” Domenic said, following the thought along its logical progression, “it could either be because the immunity wears off or the disease has changed. How would we know the difference?”
“That’s a very good question,” Danilo said.
“I don’t have lists of specific individuals,” Darius-Mikhail said, “but I will ask those in charge of the shelters if any have fallen sick who were previously…vaccinated.” He stumbled a little over the unfamiliar word.
“What of those among us who are already sick?” Domenic said. “Domna Marilla, for example. Was she immunized?”
Just at that moment, Illona entered the hall. She accepted a laden plate and a steaming mug from one of the serving maids and stood looking down at what she held as if she no longer recognized it as food and drink. Then, as if sensing his gaze upon her, she lifted her eyes to meet Domenic’s.
He wanted to go to her, to fold her in his arms, to surround her with his love, to pour his strength into her. But he could do none of these things, not in public, not with Alanna and his mother sitting here, watching him. The weight of his position as Acting Regent pressed down on him like a mantle of stone. He was no longer a private person. With the fragile cohesion of the Council dependent upon him, with the healers and organizers looking to his leadership, he dared not falter, no matter how pressing his personal desires.
Illona came toward them. The men started to rise, but she gestured for them to remain as they were. She took the nearest seat, beside Alanna, and set the mug and plate on the table.
“I bear sad news,” she said. “This very hour, Marilla Lindir-Aillard has passed from our midst.”
Domenic sat back, stunned. “So quickly? The fever is that virulent?”
“It is a dreadful disease, and she was not strong,” Illona said, “not like that poor man at Nevarsin. She slipped into a coma at midday and never awakened. Kennard-Dyan stayed with her until the end. Domna Linnea…” she inhaled, visibly gathering the shreds of her strength, “…ordered me to rest.”
“And so you should, child,” Marguerida said. “You must replenish your energies so that you do not also fall ill.”
Illona picked up a slice of pastry studded with nuts and dried fruit and set it down again.
Alanna touched her gently on the back of the wrist, telepath-style. “I cannot eat such rich food when I am tired, either. May I bring you a custard or a baked apple instead?”
Domenic felt a sudden lump in his throat as Illona nodded and said in a thin, strained voice that she would like that very much. Alanna sprang up and hurried away toward the kitchen. Darius-Mikhail followed her with his eyes. She returned in only a few minutes with a simple egg custard garnished with cream and berries.
Illona took a spoonful and swallowed it. “It’s very good. Thank you.”
Alanna lowered her eyes and did not reply. Domenic had no notion of what such kindness to her rival had cost her. Whatever her feelings, she had behaved with dignity.
While Illona ate, Darius-Mikhail finished showing the others a map of the city, with locations of improvised hospitals marked.
He has not yet realized what the death of Lady Marilla means, Domenic thought with an odd, dispassionate clarity. Now he will be Warden of Aillard, with everything that entails.
“We must make provision for disposing of the dead,” Donal said. “Domna Marilla must be buried at Hali.”
“But—” Darius-Mikhail broke in.
“Even now, at such a time,” Donal glared at him. “Would you deny her the honor of her caste because it is inconvenient? She was Comynara, a noble lady, and the head of her Domain.”
Before Darius-Mikhail could reply, Domenic directed the conversation back on a more practical course. “Danilo, Marilla was about your age. Do you know if she had been vaccinated?”
“Yes, she was, for I remember Regis talking about all the Lindir-Aillards receiving the serum. Domna Callina was alive then and was the formal head of the Domain.”
“So we cannot count on any immunity.” Marguerida began to say something else, but she paused as her father came into the hall. His scarred face looked more battered than ever, but he moved with firm purpose, very much the still-vigorous man who had ridden from Nevarsin.
“Father, what is it? What has happened? Is it Mikhail? Please sit down.”
Lew shook his head. “There is no time to lose. The reports of the epidemic grow more alarming with each passing hour.”
For a moment Domenic feared his grandfather would insist on joining one of the healing circles, as he had at Nevarsin, but Lew went on, “Domenic, we must use every resource at our command. You must send word to Cisco Ridenow to release Jeram and ask for his help.”
“Jeram, your friend from Nevarsin?” Domenic
said, surprised. “If you believe he has something to offer, I will certainly ask him. If nothing else, as a Terran, he must know computers.”
“Would he agree to help us?” A shadow passed over Danilo’s still-handsome features. “He has little reason to love the Comyn, given what he has endured at our hands.”
“Let us put that question to Jeram himself,” Lew said.
“After all,” Marguerida added tartly, “we are not all like Francisco.”
“We should discuss this with him in a private location,” Domenic said. He would eventually need an office, not his father’s but some other place.
“Perhaps my chambers?” Lew said, as if sensing his thought.
Domenic asked Donal to have Jeram brought there. “Mother, will you come with us?”
He caught the edge of her quickly masked emotion. This Terran, Jeram, might not have willingly collaborated with Francisco, but he reminded her all too painfully of the scheme that led to her husband’s current critical condition.
“I have too much work of my own.” Shaking her head, Marguerida stood up. “First, I must go and see Kennard-Dyan. He will be devastated.”
“Just so you do not overtire yourself,” Lew said. “You must follow the good advice you gave to Illona.”
Promising, Marguerida bent to kiss the old man’s cheek before leaving the hall.
“I will join you, if I may,” Illona said, “for I tended this man at Nevarsin.”
As they got to their feet, Alanna said, with a pleading glance at Domenic, “May I not come, too?”
It would be cruel to exclude her when Illona could come and go wherever she willed, as a leronis. Alanna had tried so hard to behave well, to be of use.
As she is to be my wife, she should not be shut out or kept ignorant. Domenic nodded and held out his arm for her. From the corner of his vision, he saw Darius-Mikhail’s quickly masked expression of disappointment. It was a pity Alanna was utterly oblivious to him.
Ah, well, Domenic thought. As Father always said, the world goes as it wills and not as we would have it. Especially in affairs of the heart.
Donal escorted Jeram into Lew’s quarters a few minutes after the rest had arrived and were settling around the small table before the fire. Domenic settled himself in one of the chairs beside his grandfather, noticing that the old tapestry of Lady Bruna Leynier tilted at an odd angle. Domenic wondered if the housekeepers had been careless or if Lew had been trying to rehang it one-handed.
Domenic was pleased to see the change in the Terranan. Over the last several days, Jeram had lost his pallor. Moving with assurance, he crossed the room and bowed to Lew.
“My friend,” Lew said, holding out his single hand. “Excuse me for not embracing you as comrades should, but I claim an old man’s privilege. It is good to see you looking well once more.”
Jeram touched Lew’s hand for a brief, telepath-style greeting. “You lend us all grace, Dom Lewis,” he said in fluent, heavily accented casta. “And you, Domna Illona.”
“I am glad to see you, too,” she said.
“Dom Domenic,” Jeram said, bowing again.
“This is my cousin, Alanna Alar,” Domenic said.
Another bow, this time accompanied by a smile of genuine warmth. “Damisela.”
“I remember you from the Council meeting,” Alanna said. “Dom Francisco was absolutely horrid to you.”
“Let us not speak ill of the dead,” Jeram replied, “but I thank you for your concern.”
“Please, sit down,” Domenic said. “I do not know if news has reached you about the illness in the city.”
“I have heard a little,” Jeram said in a guarded tone, “enough to realize people have reason to be frightened.”
Illona explained to Jeram that in earlier times, what was a harmless childhood illness among the trailmen sometimes passed to humans, building in cycles to a devastating epidemic.
“My grandfather thinks you can help us,” Domenic said.
Jeram glanced sharply at Lew. Lew said, “I said nothing. It is your story and your choice entirely.”
“Trailmen’s fever used to decimate our population until the Terran Medical Corps helped us develop a vaccine a generation ago,” Domenic explained. “Now it has returned, and my mother and her friends have spent all day trying to find those records. Without any success, I might add.”
Jeram’s eyes glittered in the light of the fire. He seemed to hesitate. Domenic wondered if Danilo had not been right, that the Comyn had already made an enemy of this man. Then Jeram said something utterly unexpected: “Those records would be heavily encrypted, invisible unless you know the codes and where to look.”
“Encrypted?” Domenic thought of the SECURITY CLEARANCE warning that prevented access to information on the Allison Expedition’s findings.
“This trailmen’s fever of yours is a perfect biological weapon. You’d have to seed only a few target areas, not necessarily densely populated. In seven months, either your enemy would be dying, or all his resources would be committed to nursing the sick.”
“Biological weapon?” Domenic repeated, stunned. The Terran Federation had thought to use this dreadful infection as a tool of warfare? He was so horrified that for the moment, he could not speak.
Lew nodded darkly. “The Federation wanted to preserve the knowledge and keep it secret. The potential to make such things is itself a powerful threat.”
“But to deliberately expose thousands of innocent people, with no way of defending themselves…” Donal muttered. “What kind of monsters are they?”
“It is no worse than what we ourselves did during the Ages of Chaos,” Illona said. “Clingfire, lungrot, and bonewater dust killed or maimed uncounted ordinary folk. The only difference is that we created them with laran instead of science. In the end, we became so ruthless that we faced a choice between the Compact and utter destruction. I fear the Terranan have not yet reached that point.”
“So they hid the medical records of trailmen’s fever, including its prevention and treatment, in order to keep the knowledge for themselves,” Domenic said, still deeply disgusted.
“They did,” Jeram said. “But I know how to find it.”
They all stared at him.
“Before I came here with the Special Forces unit, I was an expert in biological warfare, and that includes treatment and prevention as well. I know those encryption systems. If you’re willing to trust me, I can dig out everything we know about trailmen’s fever. By the time I’m done, we’ll have this bug nailed down to its genetic sequence. If there’s even a hint of how to cure it, we’ll have that as well.”
From the expression on Lew’s battered features, he had known about Jeram’s special expertise. For some reason, he had left it up to Jeram to step forward. The offer had been genuine, of that Domenic was certain.
“We would be most grateful for any help you can give us,” Domenic said to Jeram.
“There is, however, a price for my assistance,” Jeram said.
Domenic’s belly clenched. Jeram had been Francisco’s prisoner, had been drugged and then tortured. He had been the unwilling victim of laran assault and had every reason to extract compensation, even revenge. Yet when Domenic glanced at his grandfather, he sensed the bond between Lew and Jeram, love and trust and something more.
“Just this,” Jeram said. “Only that whatever I find—a treatment, a vaccine, I hope—be made available without charge and to everyone, regardless of economic or social status, no special privileges for the Comyn or anyone else.”
“We have limited resources,” Donal protested, “and cannot send laran-trained healers to every person. For some, warm blankets and food will have to do. Certainly every life is worth saving, but how many might die needlessly from a rash action?”
Alanna flashed him a look, near defiance. “If it were our own people, if only Comyn got this wretched fever, we would find a way to save them all. Wouldn’t we? And if we could not, if we are so feckless and—an
d unresourceful, then I think we are not fit to rule.”
Lew reached out and patted her hand. “Well spoken, child.”
Illona had been listening, hands lightly clasped in her lap. “Alanna is right. I must go out among them—”
No, you must not risk yourself! She had not yet fully recovered from her fruitless attempt to save Marilla’s life.
“I will go out among them,” Illona repeated, her voice now carrying the icy authority of a Keeper, “even as I tended the man Garin in Nevarsin. Equal treatment for all is an honorable price, one that we all should be eager to pay.”
“Thank you, vai leronis,” Jeram said. “I promised myself that if there were some way to help those people, I would. I had no idea it might come in such a form.”
35
Marguerida leaned forward, her elbows braced on the conference room table, and rested her face in her hands. She had never felt comfortable in the Terran Headquarters complex, and now the air scoured her lungs and left her eyes red and itching. The ventilation system might remove the worst of the chemical stench, but it could not restore the natural sweetness of Darkovan air. Her head had gone beyond aching, her eyes refused to focus properly, and yet she searched on. What else could she do, with the pressure of foreboding pounding through her temples?
One more time… she thought wearily.
“Domna Marguerida?” came a man’s voice from the direction of the door.
Startled, she swiveled her chair around. It was that man, Jeram or Jeremiah Reed, whatever his name was, the one Francisco had paraded before the Council to support his charges. Silently, she swore to find whoever let Jeram in and flay him alive.
“What are you doing here?” she said.
Jeram stepped into the room, carrying an insulated bottle. “I brought you some coffee.”
Coffee! She could almost taste it, bitter and invigorating. The last of her own stores had been used up a year ago, and there would be no more. Darkover’s climate would not support the cultivation of coffee beans, only the ubiquitous jaco.