Divine by Mistake (30 page)

I laughed and pulled a face at Alanna. “Telephones and the nightly news are very effective demonic forces. Be happy we don’t have them here.”

“I will,” she replied with such seriousness she made me laugh all over again.

Carolan took her hand and pressed a lingering kiss to her palm. “What was the interruption, love?”

Worry creased her forehead, and as she answered she looked back and forth between Carolan and me.

“An illness has broken out in the temple.” She spoke slowly. “Several of your maidens complained last week about not feeling well after returning from a retreat.” Alanna looked apologetically at me. “I did not think much of it. The maidens usually made excuses to stay away from Rhiannon.” I nodded my head in understanding, and she continued, “Then I was so busy, first with the new Rhiannon—” we grinned at each other “—then with the people who poured into the temple, that I gave the maidens’ complaints no credence and admonished them to serve the Goddess with more diligent spirits.”

“I remember you mentioning to me that the girls were playacting, and I said I thought they just needed a break from their babysitting load,” I chimed in.

“Yes, well, it seems we both were mistaken.” The lines over her forehead had become even more pronounced. She turned to her husband. “Many of the maidens are very ill, as are several of the children and old women. They need your attention.” She turned back to me, “And your prayers.”

“Of course, love.” Carolan kissed her on the cheek, and let his thumb brush her worried forehead in a light caress. I could see her relax at his touch.

“I’d better come, too, and see what the heck’s wrong with them.” Alanna looked surprised, but pleased, at my pronouncement.

“You do not wish to attend the meeting with the warriors and explain our plan?” ClanFintan inquired. I loved the way he looked at me—all serious, like he really expected me to want to speak to a room filled with smelly old warriors about stuff I really didn’t understand. Actually, I’d almost rather solve math problems. Almost.

“No, honey.” I tried to look sorry. “You go ahead and explain it to them. I’d better be sure my maidens are okay.”

“If you feel you must, I am certain the warriors will understand.”

Sometimes he reminded me of Worf (as in the Klingon from
Star Trek The Next Generation,
for you civilians).

“When you finish with your maidens, please be sure to join us. You will be good for the warriors’ morale.”

Now,
that
I did like. Just like Marilyn Monroe.

“Not a problem.” I tugged on his arm and he bent down for my kiss. “Knock ’em dead, big boy,” I purred. He looked confused, but he returned my kiss, nodded at Carolan and Alanna, and trotted his cute butt from the room.

Attempting my best bad imitation of Madeline Kahn as Lilly VonSchtupp in
Blazing Saddles,
I sighed dreamily and said, “What a nice guy.”

Carolan ignored me completely. Alanna rolled her eyes and said, “Are you coming?” over her shoulder as they turned and left the room.

I guess I needed to get some new material.

I hurried after them, but they were waiting at the door so that I could exit before them and maintain the façade of bitchy goddess-in-charge. Not that I minded. Just outside the door a guard waited for us. He was holding an enormous bag made of worn leather, which he handed to Carolan. Carolan thanked him and the guard bowed, turned on his heel and stepped back into his position of door ornament.

“I sent for your bag of medicines,” Alanna said.

“As usual, you anticipate my needs.” He smiled dreamily into her eyes.

Ugh. Newlyweds.

Starting down the hall, in what I hoped was the right direction, I “
psst-
ed” and motioned for them to catch up with me.

“Hey,” I whispered. “Where the hell are we going?”

“To the quarters of your maids.” Alanna supplied that nonhelpful answer.

I gave her an
I’m clueless
look and she seemed to remember I was me.

“Oh, just keep going straight, like you are returning to the courtyard. Before you come to the door, turn left, and keep walking and the corridor will lead you to their quarters.” She paused. “When you smell it, you are near.”

Carolan’s eyes narrowed at her description, and we increased our pace.

I followed her directions. I turned left when I came to the exit that I recognized as the door that would open out on the center courtyard. We walked down a long, marble corridor that was decorated with colorful murals on one side and large windows that overlooked the courtyard on the other. The murals were predominately of lovely maidens frolicking gaily in flowered meadows, with me (or, rather, Rhiannon) astride Epi (bare bosomed, of course—me, not Epi) benevolently overseeing it all. As we hurried down the hall, I glanced out the beveled windows and was pleased by the scene of industriously working women. Maraid was in the thick of it all, walking from group to group (no doubt she was in organizers’ heaven). We rounded a bend in the hall—

And the smell struck me. At first it was almost sweet, like sugar that had been scalded. Then it changed to a thick, purulent aroma that caused me to gag. I put my hand to my mouth and paused, looking at Alanna. She motioned to the unguarded door that was closest to us, and nodded.

“I will enter first.” Carolan moved past us toward the door. “It may be best if you wait here.”

“No.” I took my hand from my mouth and made my voice sound firm. “I’m coming with you. They’re my girls.”

“I have already been in there—it holds no surprise for me.” Alanna’s voice sounded sad.

Carolan nodded at us, and opened the door.

The scene that greeted us was like a vignette taken from a weird horror flick. If it hadn’t been for the smell making it real, I would have thought I was having my first authentic nightmare. The room was enormous, and had obviously once been lovely. The ceiling was tall and intricately lined with creamy-colored crown molding. The walls and the matching sheer curtains, which draped over floor-to-ceiling windows and pooled in shimmery waves on the marble floor, were tinted a soft peach color that should have evoked feelings of harmony and comfort, but now it seemed to cast everything in a diseased off-color light. Soiled bedding and linens were piled all over the floor—on each pile lay a person. Other women shuffled between the piles of bedding with beakers of water and wet clothing, stopping briefly to help one of the sick drink or to wipe a fevered face.

As I stepped into the room I forced myself not to retch, but I couldn’t keep my hand from covering my mouth. Vomit and other bodily wastes mixed with something that I didn’t, at first, recognize. Then I realized where I had smelled the odd scent before—MacCallan Castle. It was the scent of death.

Alanna and I stayed by the door as Carolan hurried into the room. He went quickly to the pallet closest to us, and bent to touch the fevered brow of a young girl. Thick, down-filled blankets covered her, but I could see she shivered and thrashed about. I watched Carolan examine her—he drew back the blankets and began feeling her neck with one hand and taking her pulse with the other. His face was set in an impassive mask as he murmured soft words to her and opened the bag, which lay at his feet.

He pulled out something that looked like a crude stethoscope and began listening to her chest. I felt helpless and inept standing there, watching him move from pallet to pallet, examining the patients and calling for water, fresh linens or cool compresses.

I wanted to misquote Bones and yell, “Damnit, Jim, I’m a teacher not a miracle worker!” But I knew no one would get it. I glanced sideways at Alanna and decided I was going to have to start telling
Star Trek
stories, if for no other reason than just so someone would be able to appreciate my wit.

“My Lady?” A raspy voice caught my attention. I looked around, trying to identify who was calling me, and about halfway into the room I saw a hand make a vague motion in my direction and a head raised feebly so that I glimpsed long, dark hair.

“Tarah?”

Alanna nodded her head sadly.

Well, that did it. I sure as hell couldn’t just stand there when a nymph who looked like a favorite ex-student needed me. I took a deep breath through my mouth and made my way to where she lay.

As I came to her side, I took her hand in mine. It was cracked and dry, and the fragile lightness of her bones surprised me.

“I am sorry, my Lady.” She tried to smile, but her expression turned into a grimace. “We are too busy for me to be ill.”

“Shush,” I quieted her. “Don’t worry about it. Just rest and get better.” She closed her eyes and nodded.

She didn’t want to let loose my hand, so I sat next to her and studied her face. It was pale and her lips looked dry, but what was most disconcerting was that the skin of her face and neck were covered with an angry-looking red rash.

“Chicken pox?” I mumbled aloud to myself.

“Yes, I believe it is the pox.” Carolan’s voice startled me. “Are you familiar with it?”

“I think so. I had it when I was a child,” I answered him, still looking at Tarah’s drawn face. “But I wasn’t this sick.” I remembered hearing stories of people who had died of chicken pox, but these had always seemed to me like old wives’ tales. I had caught chicken pox when I was a kid, and I remember missing several days of school and being itchy, but nothing like this. These people were severely ill.

“I, too—” Tarah’s weak voice trailed off, and I had to bend down to catch the rest of her words “—had the pox as a child.”

“She says she had pox when she was a child.” I blinked up at Carolan in surprise. “That’s weird. In my—” I almost said
world,
but caught myself and changed words with a cough “—um,
experience,
people can only get pox once. They are unable to be infected again.”

Carolan nodded in agreement then motioned for me to follow him back to the door. Before letting go, I squeezed Tarah’s dry hand and whispered that I’d be back soon.

The three of us huddled together near the entrance, and Carolan spoke quietly and urgently.

“I have only performed a rudimentary examination of several of the patients, but what I have already found concerns me deeply. I believe this is all the same disease, but it develops in three distinctly different stages.” He pointed at the first girl he had examined. “The beginning stage seems to be high fever with headache, backache and vomiting.” He gestured toward Tarah and continued, “Then a few days later the fever breaks and the rash begins. It appears to move from the face throughout the body and extremities.” He nodded his head in the direction of a cluster of pallets, all occupied by children. “The rash changes into blisters, which become filled with pus and putrefaction. The fever returns, bringing delirium. This stage is dangerous and deadly. These children are dehydrating. Some are developing fluid in their lungs. Some have throats that are closing. This is not the childhood pox that brings uncomfortable itching and is only fatal to the very young or very old and weak. Many of these women and children were young and strong—but they are dangerously ill.”

“Smallpox.” The name washed into my mind from the recesses of my memory. Growing up in Oklahoma I was very familiar with tragic stories of tribes of Native Americans being wiped out after being infected with the disease. Almost without conscious thought, my hand lifted to trace the old inoculation scar on my left arm. A shudder of fear fluttered in my stomach.

“What is this smallpox?” Carolan asked.

“I don’t know a lot about it. In my world, or at least in the civilized part of my world, it has been entirely eradicated. But from what I can remember, this sounds like it might be a similar disease.” I gave him an apologetic look.

“Anything you can tell me I can put to use.”

I searched my memory, wishing the biology electives I had taken in college hadn’t been ten-plus years ago.

“Under what you might call normal circumstances, which means if a race of people had been periodically exposed to the pox, it killed those who were very young, and those who were old and already ill. But let’s say a certain country and the people who lived in the country had never been exposed to the pox. It could devastate them, killing probably ninety-five out of every one hundred exposed. It is like a plague.” My remembrances only made me more worried. “Has this disease ever been seen in Partholon before now?”

Carolan rubbed his chin while he thought. “It seems to me that I do have some records of a pox that has sprung up periodically in the people who live near Ufasach Marsh, and spread sporadically to the general public. But they are a strange, secretive people who do not look to outsiders for aid, so the references are few.”

That gave me a thought. “Alanna, you said the maidens were complaining of being sick when they came back from a retreat. Right?”

“Yes,” she agreed.

“Where was the retreat?”

“The Temple of the Muse.”

“Isn’t that near the marsh?” I tried to visualize the map.

“Yes,” Carolan answered. “The marsh makes a picturesque southern border for the temple grounds.”

“I’ll bet if we check this out, we’ll find the retreat was where this stuff originated. Which means the Muses are probably dealing with the same illness there that we are dealing with here.” I dug through my memory (which tended to be cluttered with old pieces of half-memorized literature and poetry), trying to remember everything I could about smallpox.

“Oh, God.” I hit my forehead, upset that the most obvious thing about smallpox had just now popped into my mind. “It’s
really
contagious. Through bodily fluids and contact. Like if you sleep in the same bedding someone who is infected has slept and sweated, or whatever, in—you get the disease. Or if you drink after them out of the same cup. Anyone who takes care of someone who has it risks contracting the disease.” I wondered briefly if they understood about germs. An image of Carolan calling for fresh water and soap and washing his hands between patients set my mind somewhat to rest.

“Then you and Alanna must stay far away from those who are sick.”