[Mkguild] Inchoate Carillon, Inconstant Cuckold (8 of ?)

[C. Matthias]

It has been a week since I sent the last part of 
this tale and for that I apologize.  My wife and 
I just put our house on the market and that has 
made it very difficult to find the time to 
write.  Until I feel like I'm writing new 
material at a comfortable pace again, I'm only 
going to post portions on weekends.

That said, here's the next part!  The first 
section is taken straight from Raven's story "A Presence of Thieves"

Inchoate Carillion, Inconstant Cuckold
By Charles Matthias


Duke Thomas peered at the map of the Keep and its 
surrounding fortifications that lay spread out on his desk.

“Nicely done, Jack,” he murmured, nodding 
approvingly. “Nicely done, indeed. From the looks 
of this, I’d say that Metamor has never been better protected.”

“No one’s going to be repeating Nasoj’s Yule 
surprise, at any rate,” the castellan agreed. 
“With the extra ring of walls and the new 
defences around Euper, any enemy that tries to 
reach the Inner Keep will have a damn hard time 
of it. I’ll certainly sleep better at night now that this is finished.”

“It needs no better recommendation than that, my 
friend,” Thomas said, smiling. “I­“

A knock sounded at the door.

“Aye?”

A nervous-looking page stuck his head into the 
room. “Doctor Coe to see you, milord.”

The duke nodded. “Very well. Send him in.”

Coe must have heard his words, because he 
practically forced his way past the page as soon 
as Thomas had spoken. The physician nodded once 
to Jack as he approached the desk, then turned to face the horse-king.

“Milord, we have a very serious problem,” Coe said.

Thomas motioned for him to continue.

“A patient was brought to the sickbay this 
morning from Euper. He has the plague.”

Jack muttered a curse under his breath. Thomas 
slowly sank into his chair. “Plague?” he repeated 
softly, scarcely believing it. “Are you sure?”

“Very. The symptoms were clear, milord.”

“The Flatlanders?” Jack asked. His voice was thick with suspicion.

“I don’t believe they’ve been here long enough to 
have brought it,” Coe said, shaking his head. 
“Plague generally takes a few days to incubate 
before it becomes visible. Clearly some trader 
brought it in with him, though. We haven’t had a 
case of plague at Metamor in fifty years.”

“How great is the danger, doctor?” Thomas asked.

“ ‘Tis too soon to tell, milord. Bubonic plague, 
which Feldon has, is not very contagious, though 
it is still very deadly once you have caught it. 
If that is all we face, our greatest concerns are 
the fleas that carry the germ and the rats that 
carry the fleas ­ assuming that Lytherian’s 
theory about the contagion is correct, of course.”

“Do you believe it is?”

“Fortunately, I have never before had the 
opportunity to test it,” Coe said dryly. “But I 
consider Lytherian a reliable source. Be warned, 
though, milord: Some strains of plague are far 
more contagious than the bubonic form. If an 
airborne strain has reached us, the situation is far more dire.”

Thomas snorted once. “Bubonic plague is quite bad 
enough, I think,” he said sourly. “What do you advise, doctor?”

“The clothes and linens of those who have 
contracted the disease will have to be thoroughly 
cleaned, somewhere far away from the city water 
supply. Victims will have to be isolated in 
sickbay, in case a more contagious strain is 
present. Someone should conduct a survey of the 
city to make sure that the rat population is 
under control ­ though it is probably best that 
our cat-morphs refrain from hunting them for now, 
to avoid picking up their fleas.” Coe’s face 
twisted into an unpleasant moue. “And, 
unfortunately, we are going to have to quarantine the city.”

The duke leaned back in his chair and nodded 
wearily. “I was afraid of that,” he said. “Very 
well. Make the necessary arrangements, doctor. 
And notify the Lightbringers of the situation ­ perhaps they can be of help.”

“Aye, milord.”

The coonish doctor sketched a quick bow, then 
turned and nearly ran out of the duke’s office.

“It never ends, does it, Jack?” Thomas asked 
rhetorically, gazing up at the ceiling.

“Only in death, milord.”

Despite himself, Thomas managed a wry smile at 
that ­ but only for a moment. “Go on, Jack,” he 
said. “Notify the guard of the quarantine and 
prepare them to barricade the city gates. And 
tell Steward Thalberg to raise the yellow flag.”

Another thought struck him and the horse lord sat 
up, alarm anew washing through his equine brow. 
“Jack... did... did my wife go out riding this morning?”

The mule began to nod and then his eyes widened too. “I will have somebody–”

He got no further than that as Thomas leaped from 
his seat and ran from the room. The quartet of 
guards standing wait outside collapsed over each 
other in their confusion. Jack shouted after him, 
the clatter of their hooves ringing in their ears.

Thomas did not care that he startled everyone in 
his galloping passage. All he could see was his 
Alberta laying in bed, sores festering in her 
hide as she slipped in exquisite agony from this 
life. He had to get to her himself, and no 
courier could be trusted to be as motivated as 
he. The horrifying thought that it may already be 
too late only made him drive his hooves into the 
carpeting and stone work of the castle all the more firmly.

The blistering cold that savaged him when he 
barrelled through the exterior door leading to 
the riding fields betwixt Keep and walls where 
Alberta liked to relax in the saddle almost 
slowed him, but that only to consider where he 
set his hooves. The days were warming but many 
stones were slick with ice. Behind him he heard 
Jack shout a curse as one of his hooves struck a 
slick patch. Thomas had no such trouble.

In the midst of the field filled with patches of 
snow and the first blades of Spring grass rode 
his grey-furred wife, mounted upon a mighty roan 
destrier whose prancing struts were hammer blows 
to crush skulls. Povunoth noticed him first, and 
turned mid-stride, slowing to a stately trot. 
Alberta’s long ears lifted and her muzzle broke 
into a wide-lipped smile that faded into a moue 
when she saw how fast her husband was running toward them.

She nudged Povunoth into a canter and after a few 
seconds slowed them again when Thomas finally 
reached them. Jack still chased after him, 
swearing for him to get back inside. Alberta 
glanced between her out of breath husband and the 
castellan and asked, “Why hath thou run so, 
Thomas? What art Jack shouting o’er?”

Thomas gasped as Jack finally reached him and 
nearly put a hand to his shoulder. He waved his 
head and gestured back at the Keep. “You... you 
need to get back inside. There’s... plague!”

Alberta’s eyes widened in alarm. “Plague? In Metamor?”

Thomas and Jack both nodded. “You need to come 
back inside where it’s safe. At least until we know how bad it is.”

“As do you, milord!” Jack added in exasperation. 
“I’ll tend to Povunoth. Just the both of you get 
inside!” Even as he spoke, Thomas’s guards came 
out of the Keep, hurrying as quickly as they 
could while being careful not to stab each other with their spears.

Alberta swung out of the saddle, patted her steed 
on the cheek, and then let Thomas take her by the 
arm and escort her back to the castle. Povunoth 
reared once and then followed the mule to the 
stables. Alberta trembled as the guards 
surrounded them. “Wilt Metamor survive? I hath 
heard terrible... terrible tales of plague.”

Thomas shook his head. “I don’t know. We’re just 
going to have to trust in Coe and pray. I’ll work 
with everyone here to try to beat it, but... first I need you safe, Alberta.”

She rested her long head against his chest. “I 
shalt do whate’er thee asks of me, my sweet 
Thomas. Just thou shalt do as I ask too. I wilt 
not having thee work thyself to twigs.”

Thomas whickered softly. “Do I not always obey you, my Alberta?”

They held each other closely as they returned to the Keep.

----------

Misha liked having Charles's children here at the 
Long House. They were exuberant, curious, eager 
to learn and play, and above all, they brought 
smiles to everyone who saw them. Kayla and 
Rickkter had been by that morning to return some 
things to Misha that he'd let them borrow while 
the raccoon was recovering, and even the Kankoran 
had chuckled while watching them play with the 
bear Meredith. It hadn't been much but it was a start.

The only thing better would be if Charles were 
here himself – to stay. After hearing Kimberly's 
complaint about Charles being assigned to a 
patrol down south, he'd made sure George knew how 
little he appreciated having his Longs assigned 
duties without being consulted. The jackal had 
not been impressed and growled about everyone 
walking on eggshells around the rat ever since 
he'd gotten back. He'd had a few weeks. It was 
time he started earning his pay again.

As far as Misha was concerned, Charles had earned 
an extra year's pay by journeying to Marzac and 
experiencing horrors beyond anything Nasoj had 
ever thrown at them. But some days George could 
be just like the mercenary he once was, and this 
was one of those occasions. Sometimes it was good 
that he could be so hard; it gave him a 
ruthlessness that Misha at his angriest couldn't 
convey. But the rest of the time it made Misha 
want to brain him with the flat of Whisper.

But for now at least, with his paperwork well in 
hand, Misha could enjoy a few moments to watch 
the Matthias children. Meredith, who had three 
children, was entertaining them by pretending to 
be a monster. Despite how much bigger he was, 
none of the little rats were afraid of the big 
bad bear. They had been given little practice 
swords, wooden sticks that vaguely resembled 
swords, but they were more likely to begin 
chewing on the ends than trying to stab the bear. 
They preferred to jump on him and hold on as he 
turned and twisted around; and if he moved too 
fast, they tended to bite. From the look in 
Meredith's eyes, Misha could tell that it stung!

Heart full of simple joy, he pondered if there 
might be such delights in his and Caroline's future.

He did not have time to ponder long as that 
jackal pushed through the doors to Long House 
with the fiercest scowl on his jowls that the fox 
had ever seen. George's eyes were dark and his 
faintly graying muzzle quivered as if it were 
worrying a particularly troublesome bone. His 
tail was stiff and jutting out from his back like 
a rudder. He turned toward Misha and actually ran 
to his side where he grabbed his arm and shoved 
his snout into the fox's one good ear. “Your office now!”

Misha almost tripped over his paws as he and the 
jackal rushed into his office. George shut the 
door firmly behind him and started swearing. 
Misha, feeling a trifle angry, straightened out 
his jerkin and crossed his arms. “Are you going 
to tell me what this is about or are you going to 
show off what you learned in your mercenary days?”

“Misha, shut up for a moment. I just learned this 
from Copernicus, and he leaned it from Jack. We've got plague in Metamor.”

His anger froze into fear. “Plague?”

“That's right. Coe confirmed it this morning. I'm 
not sure how many victims there are yet, but we 
cannot be too careful. Copernicus and Jack are 
already mobilizing the Watch and what soldiers 
are stationed here at Metamor. They're going to 
be closing the city. Euper too. Nobody gets in or 
out. Birds and dragons too.” George shook his 
head and swore again. “This is going to get very ugly.”

Misha lowered his snout and then began to nod. 
“Did they say what the standing orders were for anyone trying to leave?”

The jackal snorted and shook his head. “They 
didn't have to. Anyone trying to leave has to be 
killed before they can escape.”

Misha didn't like it, his heart rebelled against 
it with every fiber of his being, but he knew it 
to be true. “Aye, I'll mobilize the Longs. We 
can't keep the Long House isolated, but I'm sure 
going to try for all the families.” Another 
horrible thought struck him like a hammer. “Oh 
Eli! Have you heard if Charles is inside the city walls yet?”

George shrugged. “I haven't heard anything. But 
if he isn't, he isn't getting in.” His eyes 
hardened and fixed on Misha with the searing 
intensity of a forge. “You know that.”

He had to take a deep breath, wondering how he 
could tell either Kimberly or Charles that they 
could not see each other for who knew how long. 
If ever. If this truly was a plague, there was no 
telling how many of them would survive. And Caroline; what if she succumbed?

“I'll never be able to convince Charles. You know how stubborn he is.”

George shook his head. “You better. Or I won't 
hesitate in putting an arrow in him. If he's 
outside the walls, then we need him to stay out there.”

And then, quite possibly the most vile thought 
entered into his mind. The fox felt more 
physically ill about this than anything else, but 
he knew it was the best thing he could do. He 
shuddered and wrapped his paws around himself and 
whispered a prayer for forgiveness. “I know who 
can convince the rat to stay away from Metamor. 
Pass the word to the rest of the Longs. I must take care of this by myself.”

George nodded and stepped out of his way. Misha 
walked back to the main hall, stomach clenched 
tight, and turned toward where a mother watched 
her children. She turned at his approach and the 
inchoate smile faded into a troubled moue. “Is 
something wrong, Misha?” Kimberly asked as she rose from where she reclined.

The fox swallowed heavily, paws rubbing one over 
another in nervous anxiety. His tongue felt thick 
like molasses. “Kimberly, I... I... I have to ask 
something... very, very difficult of you. Please forgive me.”


----------

May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,

Charles Matthias


!DSPAM:4e73dad2252951226415657!
-------------- next part --------------
An HTML attachment was scrubbed...
URL: <http://lists.integral.org/archives/mkguild/attachments/20110916/b9704377/attachment-0001.html>