Casket of Souls

sorry. We just came to see how you both are.”
    She gave a listless shrug. “As you see. I’m going to lose her, aren’t I?”
    “Don’t say that!” Alec urged, kneeling beside her chair. “We think we may know what’s causing this sickness.”
    She stroked his cheek. “Then where is the healer?”
    “We hope to have proof for him by tomorrow,” Seregil said, bending over Myrhichia. She looked in better health than her mistress. There was still some color in her cheeks, her carefully braided hair shone, and her expression was peaceful.
    “She takes a little broth,” Eirual told him.
    Seregil took the bowl and spoon from the night table and trickled a few drops of cold broth between Myrhichia’s lips. After a moment she swallowed reflexively, but there was no other sign of life beyond the slight rise and fall of her chest.
    Impotent rage rose in Seregil’s heart but he was careful not to show it.
    “Can you stay until morning?” Eirual whispered.
    “Of course. Come, lie down and try to sleep, love.”
    Seregil settled Eirual in bed beside Myrhichia, then stretched out beside her, nodding for Alec to lie beside Myrhichia on the other side, as if surrounding the girl with their shared warmth and hope would be enough to save her. They lay like that all night, Alec and Eirual holding Myrhichia, and Seregil holding Eirual. Alec drifted off, but Seregil remained awake, watching the waxing moon sail past the window and the stars follow. The fifth day would soon dawn.
    Brader waited until the others had gone up to bed, then cornered Atre in the front room.
    “Have you gone completely mad?” he whispered, furious. “A noble here and there, the old ones, drew no attention, but for the love of Soru,
three
in less than a month?”
    “What makes you think it was me?” Atre protested.
    “Of course it was you. You think I don’t know the signs by now? Important people dropping dead for no reason, and you looking like you do? Even Merina is taking notice. She may not know what it all means, but it’s not like she hasn’t seen it before.”
    “First of all, I didn’t kill Alarhichia. That was probably someone from Kyrin’s group, or natural. As for the others? I’m sure the two cabals are convinced they’re killing each other out of revenge.”
    Brader took a steadying breath, resisting the urge to pummel his cousin. “Each side knows whether
they’ve
killed anyone or not.”
    “Relax, Brader. No one suspects us. This city is too huge to notice what we’re up to. That’s the beauty of it! The vicegerent will quarantine another area of the sleeping death, and the cabals will kill each other off faster than I can. There’s nothing to worry about.”
    “I’ve heard that before.”
    Atre smiled. “Trust me.”

 
    I T was drizzling when Seregil and Alec entered the Ring again that morning, dressed this time as dirty beggar women. Swords weren’t part of the disguise, but they had knives hidden under their ragged cloaks. Both wore large faded kerchiefs that covered their hair and partially obscured their faces.
    It wasn’t Alec’s favorite form of disguise; he felt uneasy with his legs hampered by long skirts, and although Seregil had gone to great pains to teach him how to make his voice lighter and more feminine, Alec always felt a bit silly speaking that way. For this job, however, even he had to admit it was a good choice. They attracted much less attention than they had yesterday.
    “Let’s see if we can avoid any more fights,” Seregil murmured, keeping a sharp eye out for danger as they wended their way into a section of the slum they hadn’t been in before.
    They did manage to stay out of trouble, but had little luck until it was nearly dark. They were on their way back to the gate, not wanting to get caught here after dark, when Seregil glanced down a side path and saw a stoop-shouldered, bowlegged old man speaking with a young boy and holding something out to him. The man must have been tall in his day, and had a head of wild grey hair that hung to his shoulders, a bulbous nose, and a patch over one eye. His unruly grey beard was stained with something dark at the corners of his mouth.
    Seregil caught Alec by the arm and nodded in their direction, whispering, “The one-eyed old man.”
    As they watched, the boy took whatever it was and handed the old fellow something back. The man patted him on the head, then stumped away deeper into the shantytown.
    “There’s a bit of