Chapter XXIX:
The Smallpox Hut

WHILE HER GUARDS were finalizing the details, I drew Malory aside.

“Slaughtering people—are you mad? If your ridiculously squeamish public hears of this—”

“They won’t. I approved the measure to be employed only as the very last resort. My security staff never would have let me go in otherwise. Besides”—here her voice dropped to a whisper—“there will be no need to slaughter anyone, for you are going to protect us, yes?”

I was less concerned with her implication that I cast a magical warding spell—such enchantments are quite effective and not difficult—than I was with her use of the word “us.” On occasion, I have been forced (by my dear brother, among others) to occupy castles under siege, and I did visit the battlefield on the Salisbury Plain but only after I knew the fighting had concluded. I do not as a rule walk blithely into hot combat zones, magic or no magic.

“And, by ‘us,’ you mean…”

“My security detail, of course. I will need you there, too, in case we encounter something unexpected.”

I nodded my acquiescence. However, “Are you certain this is a wise decision, President Malory? What if something should go wrong? My arts can solve many problems, but resurrection of the dead has never numbered among my skill set.”

She bared her teeth in a most un-Presidential grin. “Might I remind the esteemed Ms. Hanks that she was the one who advised me to be spontaneous?”

“So noted—but only if Madame President in turn acknowledges that I said ‘spontaneous,’ not ‘stupid.’”

“Acknowledged. I’m counting on you to remind me of the difference.”

In truth I would not have left Malory’s side even to obtain the Thirteen Treasures of Britain.

The President’s silver dragon alighted on a weedy field of a size and shape vaguely familiar to me. I did not recognize it for what it was until we emerged from the beast and my toe scuffed against a hard, oblong lump half-buried in the grass. Closer inspection revealed it to be the rubber from an old pitcher’s mound. Heaven knew how long the field had lain in disuse. The bags and backstop were gone, as were the infield and base paths, and the only evidence of the out-of-play fences was a handful of metal posts canted at mournful angles, ragged scraps of fence wire still attached, monuments to their struggle to remain on duty. A copse of trees, by their heights and girths at least two decades old, partially concealed a lone section of metal audience seating along what once was the first-base line, trunks and dirt-caked aluminium twisted into a testament to nature’s perseverance and inevitable triumph.

To say the field was deserted would be to say boiling water is hot. But it was no ordinary abandonment; the total enveloping silence suggested even the birds and insects were gone. Probably this was due to the dragon’s landing. I hoped so. While the guards fanned out, Malory and I stood without speaking, each turning a slow circle to take in—and make some sense of—her surroundings, as if we believed that to utter words might break some ancient warding spell and bring upon us unwanted attention. I chose not to pry into the workings of the President’s mind, but I confess thoughts of that ilk were coursing through my brain.

A narrow house—by this century’s standards, more hut than house—lay beyond what once had been center field. Being the closest habitation, the President set course for it, striding resolutely as if it were the destination of the most important mission of her life. Perhaps for her it was.

The hut was in as bad a condition as the ball-field: encircled by a moat of weeds and saplings, its roof caved in places, every window either cracked or broken, and loose sheets of siding creaking indifferently in the sporadic breeze. A knock on the rusty door produced no sound of either welcome or rejection. It was not locked.

When Malory would have entered, her guards insisted we both stay outside while they investigated. Our compliance pacified them. Sidearms at the ready, two men entered, while two remained with us. A fetid stench burst from the open door so palpable I could taste it. Everyone grimaced; the two investigating guards visibly steeled themselves and forged into the gloom. Muffled footfalls and muted talking marked their passage throughout the dwelling.

I knew the stench; I needed no guard to report the discovery of two corpses and two others, ravaged by the same disease, who would transition to that state soon. And I knew there was nothing I could do to reverse the disease’s march.

“They are beyond saving?” asked Malory, and the guards nodded. “Then we must comfort them as best we may.” When the President started for the door, her men blocked her way. She crossed her arms and leveled a frank look at them. “I have had every vaccination known to Man, and several more besides. These people can be no threat to me. Ms. Hanks, your inoculations are current, too, are they not?”

Since I had cast a spell of immunization over every person in the party the instant the death-stench had hit my nostrils, my nod was not precisely a lie.

The stalemate between Malory and her guards was pierced by a long wail. She shouldered past them, and so did I. Just inside the door we found a woman sitting on the bare floor, swaying and keening and cradling to her breast the body of a smaller, much younger woman, probably a daughter. As we watched, helpless in our uncertainty, the mother’s strength failed, and she collapsed over the still form, sobbing.

Malory rushed forward, knelt, and hugged the woman. I cringed despite our immunities; the failing afternoon light filtering through the ragged window coverings revealed the merciless signature of pox upon every body in the house: the woman, her newly dead daughter, a man, and a girl.

“Sweet Jesu, have mercy,” I murmured.

The woman raised her head. Her face was red and swollen from the disease and from her sobs. “No mercy here…”

“What happened?” Malory asked.

 

“No mercy here…”

 

 

“The Doglords took everything!”

I furrowed my brow, trying to puzzle her meaning. “Druglords?”

“They were that, at first. But over time their power spread everywhere in Sanctuary: drugs, food, property, prostitutes, down to the very dogs…” She blew a derisive sound between pursed lips. “That, for the Doglords! They wanted my sweet daughters, but my grown sons fought them and were taken. Probably to the Big House. I don’t know whether they are alive—part of me hopes they are, but part of me wishes they are free at last of this hellish place.” Malory winced to hear “Sanctuary” equated with “hell;” only by my decades of self-discipline did I not do likewise. “The Doglords only left the rest of us alone when they realized we’ve got smallpox. Perhaps it’s God’s mercy at work, after all.”

Malory asked me to find water for the woman. As I set about my quest, I pondered the hideous injustices that had contributed to this family’s woes, not the least of which being the fate of the sons for trying to defend their sisters. And I pondered the marvel that I had even recognized the injustices at all; the ancient me would not have expended the effort to care.

The water was easy to find, flowing reasonably clear from the kitchen tap, but drinking vessels were another issue altogether. These “Doglords” had stripped this abode down to its very roots. I cupped my hands beneath the stream and brought it to the woman as best I could. She sucked it gladly, greedily, and far too fast: it touched off a coughing fit that left her weak and wheezing. Malory, bracing the woman’s shoulders and stroking her hair, said, “Good mother, soon we shall take you to a hospital where you will receive much better care than we can render here. And we will learn the fate of your sons, and bring you word.”

“What of my beloved daughters and husband?”

“We shall see to them, as well. You have my word.”

I noted that Malory did not employ her title to lend weight to her vow, nor was it required. Her sincere assurance was enough for the afflicted woman, and her countenance relaxed as she lay back onto the floor. Malory’s guards, who had followed us inside and had borne witness to all that had transpired within the hut, were already snapping orders into their headsets for the implementation of the President’s will.

Of a sudden the guards went silent and alert, like bird dogs on point. An eyeblink later, they were hustling us outside and back into the dragon, clearly responding to a reported threat. Neither Malory nor I resisted them. Only when we were aboard and the beast safely aloft did we learn that fire had broken out within a nearby tenement building.

Malory ordered that we continue to circle Sanctuary and monitor the situation, and I cast a warding spell over the woman we had left behind and any of her family who might still be alive.