<html> <body> 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! </body> </html>