A Fatal Humor by J.S. Mawdsley

Author:J.S. Mawdsley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: political fantasy, Pandemic Fiction, sorcerers, plagues
Publisher: J.S. Mawdsley
Published: 2020-03-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

The girl looked ill, to be honest. Her thin chest was heaving, her face was flushed, and she had her jaw clenched like she was fighting not to throw up. “Are you well?” Caedmon asked. The alarming thought occurred to him that she might have the plague, but then, apparently her guards had let her out, which meant that she hadn’t shown any marks for three days. She was safe. But then why did she look so out of sorts?

Caedmon had spent yet another morning fuming in his prison cell—that was what it was, and at his age, he didn’t think there was any point in getting into the habit of lying to himself. Then Garnett had come in to examine him one last time. Caedmon was becoming more and more convinced that Garnett was one of the most pompous asses ever to work at the Bocburg. And considering the history of the place, that was saying a great deal. Much though Caedmon did not wish to admit it to himself, the fact that the new duke was employing such a man did not speak well for his grace’s judgment.

When he removed his beaked mask, Garnett proved to have a long, luxurious black beard with streaks of gray in it. He looked like the sort of man who spent a great deal of time grooming himself. Even so, Garnett had confirmed what Caedmon already knew, or at least had guessed—that none of the four hillichmagnars had the plague. However, they were not quite ready to meet the duke. In a bored sort of way, Garnett had said that the duke had a very busy schedule, and that it might be “this afternoon, or perhaps a day or two,” before his grace had leisure for a private audience. Caedmon had not greeted Garnett’s offers of intellectual partnership with any enthusiasm, and now Caedmon had the feeling that the self-described “physician and natural philosopher” resented him and wanted him gone as quickly as possible.

Still, Caedmon had the liberty of the old palace. He had wandered around a bit, looking at old haunts, remembering old friends, and starting to get a bit misty. He went into the old archive and library, which had started to spread in the most appalling fashion into some of the old apartments. No one, it seemed, had bothered to catalog or properly file a single thing since he had left the court. He was just starting to get really mad about the way some priceless Kingdoms Era maps were being stored, when he had suddenly felt, quite clearly, a burst of Ellard’s magy. After more than eight decades in the boy’s company, Caedmon knew the feel of his spells as well as he knew the boy’s handwriting. He followed it upstairs, only to discover Stasya there, instead of Ellard.

He started to repeat his question, “Was Ellard here?” And then he stopped. There was an alternative explanation for her symptoms—one that Caedmon did not wish to dwell upon. Her clothes were slightly disheveled, too.

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