5 Plague
“A tale of two countries. That’s how most historians view our land.
The starving north and the well-fed south squabbling over the allocation of resources as though there remains a question of entitlement.
In case the mountain of research I have condensed into these pages for you wretched southerners doesn’t make it clear, I’m saying that the north deserves as much as you have.
I’m saying that while you sit in your domii and feast, the north withers.
In your limited understanding of poverty, you dare believe that a poorly negotiated, centuries-old Act entitles you to our resources.
I say you ask for civil war. The north may be politically weak, but we understand more of hardship than you lot ever will.
We will rally around evil if it means remaining untouched by what you call good.
And when we come and dispossess you of all you took for granted, we will show you the same sympathy that you showed us.”
—excerpt from The Distribution Deprivation Act: Legal Robbery, author unknown
Afternoon brought an odd banality to the day that sat ill with her after the horreum and its aftermath.
She’d endured an ear-splitting conversation with Grains Guildmaster Ioratius that had begun with her offering her condolences on the loss of over thirty of his Guildspeople and ended with them threatening to arraign each other on charges of theft—him for hoarding grain from the country, and her for pillaging it and sending it north—and reaching an impasse.
But the rest of the day had been… pleasant.
The cases were simple, the cold not too sharp, and the throng that engulfed the marketplace in which Kadra held court was blessedly quiet.
The petitions spanning the length of the table they worked from had dwindled over the afternoon with nary a screech of “mountain bitch” or worse. It felt wholly ominous.
Tomorrow would be a different beast. Cassandane was already informing the vigiles at Edessa’s four points of entry to examine all who entered the city for welts. Word will spread, and another wave of anti-northern sentiment will flood the city. What a hav?d mess.
Telling herself to enjoy the quiet while it lasted, Sarai winced at the renewed cheer on the crowd’s faces.
How ironic that she’d sought to convince them only three days ago that the Elsar hadn’t cursed the land and now was barely sure of it herself.
How badly would this fragile peace shatter tomorrow?
“It was terrifying!” the plaintiff whose case she was supposed to be hearing suddenly cried. Sarai jumped. “I had no other choice!”
She glanced at the petition. Guildsman of the Wine and Spirits Guild seeking restitution. She started at the listed defendant, wondering if her eyes had it right. The north?
“The crowd swarmed my wagon—I mean, the Guild wagon—like gnats. I’ve never feared so greatly for my life. Naturally, I ran and left the wagon behind,” the Guildsman finished.
Kadra smiled pleasantly. “Naturally.”
“I shouldn’t have to pay for the missing goods. I didn’t ask the north to riot. Least it can do is compensate me for the value.”
“‘The north’ isn’t a valid defendant,” Sarai said wearily. “Can you describe your attackers?”
“How would I know? These mountainfolk all look alike!”
Sarai frowned. His voice held the defiant thrum of a man who believed what he was saying, even if it wasn’t necessarily how others would see it.
“What were you doing in that marketplace?” Kadra’s arrowlike gaze pinned the Guildsman. “Guild wagons are to deliver their allotments under the Distribution Act directly to the locale’s receiving warehouses or to establishments that purchased additional quantities.”
Guilt snuck into the man’s eyes and fled just as quickly. “Just stopped to examine some wares.”
Just stopped to make a secret profit off marketgoers and deliver the remaining goods to the warehouse while shrugging about how the quantities came up short. She turned to Kadra and smiled at the exasperation in the stern line of his lips.
“Furtum is a crime.” Kadra used the Corpus Juris Totus’s term for theft. “The north has already compensated you well.”
The man turned purple. “I am owed for an entire wagon lost. This doesn’t compare to small profits here and there—”
“You’ve been a Guildsman for some twelve years,” Kadra’s voice took on the quiet timbre that meant danger. “Your skimming will have earned you enough to account for several wagons of supplies. Your case is dismissed.”
Vigiles waved the man off when he attempted to argue further. Cries of “but my coin!” faded into the background.
She shook her head, sigh deepening upon unrolling their final case of the day. Assault, or iniuria, as per the ancient tongue used in the Corpus. Junia of Edessa was demanding compensation for apparently horrific injuries caused by one Lucanus. This could get ugly.
Surveying the crowd while Kadra called both parties to the chairs in the middle of the marketplace, she stared in confusion when a pair of silk-robed nobles stalked forth, looking equally put out with each other. Neither looked horrifically injured.
Kadra considered the duo. “What manner of assault brings you here?”
Junia rose with trembling lips. “I have been disfigured!” she wailed. “How am I supposed to go out in public like this?” Before Sarai could stop her, she flung off her birrus and robes in one swift movement, leaving her clad only in her undergarments.
Gaius’s neck nearly snapped at the speed with which he looked away.
Lascivious howls rose from the now-boisterous crowd while Sarai sighed into her palm.
Wisdom’s teeth, it’s winter. “Please put your clothes back—” She caught sight of Junia’s bare shoulders and jumped out of her seat.
Ugly, familiar welts patterned her skin, arcing down her chest.
Dread dug into her throat like a blade when she found Kadra’s grim eyes. “Robe yourself,” he ordered Junia, who complied with a flinch. “How did this happen?”
“Well, he,” Junia spat at Lucanus, who studiously ignored them all, “decided to take himself up north via Bridger. Gods only know why, there’s nothing to do unless you fancy tradeswomen or miners, but he seems to have had an excellent time with both.
Then, I saw him last week when he returned.
I thought his welts were from whipping, because he’s fond of—”
“Godsdamn you!” Lucanus jumped up at that. “How was I to know it was that northern plague?”
Whispers of alarm came from the crowd. They darted back from the two in a frantic wave.
The pit in Sarai’s stomach widened. “When did you become aware that you had it?”
He rolled his eyes. “Few days ago, when a fucking larva popped out of my skin. Went straight to a healer and got myself purged.”
“But the scars remain, asshole!” Junia snarled.
“What sort of beetle was it?” Sarai stood, circling around the table. “Can you think of where you were infected?”
“Elsar only know that. I wasn’t entirely sober up there.” The man had the gall to grin. “But I think they said something about boil beetles.”
Sarai felt her jaw drop. That makes no sense.
She had seen a few during her time as a snowgrape climber, but Arsamea had been too cold for the crimson, fingertip-sized pests with bright-yellow venom sacs to pose a problem.
They nested within heavily forested areas and largely lived off animal flesh.
Upon biting their targets, their venom loosened the top layers of skin so that they could tunnel in and gnaw at the meat underneath.
But boil beetles had only ever been cattle killers at worst. Not plagues.
Tension seeped into the air when she met Kadra’s eyes. Their audience stuffed their exposed hands in their pockets, swiftly shielding all visible skin with silent horror. The worst part was that she couldn’t entirely tell them not to fear.
“Bad enough that the north creates a hue and cry over the Guilds every day, now they’re spreading their diseases?” someone yelled.
“Oh gods, I’ve children! What if I infect them!”
Lucanus waved a dismissive hand. “Ruin’s tits. Just see a healer.”
“Not everyone can afford a healer, you rich fuck!”
“That’s enough!” Pulling herself together, Sarai spoke brusquely.
“According to reports from the north, you will feel if you’ve been infected.
There’s no mistaking the sensation of a beetle or larva burrowing into you.
I doubt anyone here has felt that over the course of…
” She trailed off as the crowd ignored her in favor of fleeing the marketplace, frantically patting themselves as they ran.
Wisdom save us, this is a disaster.
“Where,” Kadra’s voice cut through the furor with deadly precision, “did you encounter each other for the larvae to go from him to you without your notice?”
Junia froze, exchanging a rapid but unmistakable look of guilt with Lucanus.
“Others could have been infected at the same place,” Sarai bit out. “If anyone is hurt as a result of your silence, iniuria won’t be the only charges you face. Never mind a plague, your skin,” she glanced coolly at Junia, “will look far worse after a month in the mines.”
“A whitesleep den,” Junia immediately blurted, then fidgeted in her seat when Lucanus glowered. “Look, it was just a bit of fun.”
Whitesleep again. She thought back to the Guildswoman’s crusted eyelids. Is there a link?
“Where.” Kadra’s voice brooked no refusal.
“Absolutely not!” Lucanus sputtered. “No one’ll let us into one again if we rat out—”
“The people there could be—” dead “—gravely injured. Especially if they’ve had one too many rubs to realize that they were infected,” Sarai said flatly. “Where is it?”
“The owners frequently change the den’s location in case it leaks to vigiles,” Junia mumbled. “But it’s in Tetrarch Harion’s Quarter.”