“Ouch.”
“Did I hurt you?” she asked, taking his arm in sudden concern.
“I think I can stand it, dear,” he replied. “We noble heroes can bear all sorts of things.” They followed Feldegast’s lantern for a mile or more with the horses clattering along behind them through the cobweb‑draped passageway. Occasionally they heard the rumble of the dead‑carts bearing their mournful freight through the streets above. Here in the musty darkness, however, there was only the sound of the furtive skittering of an occasional errant mouse and the whisperlike tred of watchful spiders moving cautiously across the vaulted ceiling.
“I hate this,” Silk said to no one in particular. “I absolutely hate it.”
“That’s all right, Kheldar,” Velvet replied, taking the little man’s hand. “I won’t let anything hurt you.”
“Thanks awfully.” he said, though he did not remove his hand from hers.
“Who’s there?” The voice came from somewhere ahead.
“ ‘Tis only me, good Master Yarblek,” Feldegast replied. “Me an’ a few lost, strayed souls tryin’ to find their way on this dark, dark night.”
“Do you really enjoy him all that much?” Yarblek said sourly to someone else.
“He’s the delight of my life,” Vella’s voice came through the darkness. “At least with him I don’t have to look to my daggers every minute to defend my virtue.” Yarblek sighed gustily. “I had a feeling that you were going to say something like that,” he said.
“My lady,” Vella said, making an infinitely graceful curtsy to Polgara as the sorceress and the juggler, arm in arm, moved up to the place where a moss‑grown rockfall blocked the passageway. .
“Vella,” Polgara responded in an oddly Nadrak accent. “May your knives always be bright and keen.”
There was a strange formality in her greeting, and Garion knew that he was hearing an ancient ritual form of address.
“And may you always have the means at hand to defend your person from unwanted attentions,” the Nadrak dancing girl responded automatically, completing the ritual.
“What’s happening up above?” Belgarath asked the felt‑coated Yarblek.
“They’re dying,” Yarblek answered shortly, “whole streets at a time.”
“Have you been avoiding the city?” Silk asked his partner.
Yarblek nodded. “We’re camped outside the gates,” he said. “We got out just before they chained them shut. Dolmar died, though. When he realized that he had the plague, he got out an old sword and fell on it.”
Silk sighed. “He was a good man ‑a little dishonest, maybe, but a good man all the same.”
Yarblek nodded sadly. “At least he died clean,” he said. Then he shook his head. “The stairs up to the street are over here,” he said, pointing off into the darkness. “It’s late enough so that there’s nobody much abroad -except for the dead‑carts and the few delirious ones stumbling about and looking for a warm gutter to die in.” He squared his shoulders. “Let’s go,” he said. “The quicker we can get through those streets up there, the quicker we can get back underground where it’s safe.”
“Does the passage go all the way to the city wall?” Garion asked him.
Yarblek nodded. “And a mile or so beyond,” he said.
“lt comes out in an old stone quarry.” He looked at Feldegast. “You never did tell me how you found out about it,” he said.
“ ‘Tis one of me secrets, good Master Yarblek,” the juggler replied. “No matter how honest a man might be, it’s always good to know a quick way out of town, don’t y’ know.”
“Makes sense,” Silk said.
“You ought to know,” Yarblek replied. “Let’s get out of here.” They led the horses to a flight of stone stairs reaching up into the darkness beyond the circle of light from Feldegast’s lantern and then laboriously hauled the reluctant animals up the stairway, one step at a time. The stairway emerged in a rickety shed with a straw‑littered floor. After the last horse had been hauled up, Feldegast carefully lowered the long trap door again and scuffed enough straw over it to conceal it. “ ‘Tis a useful sort of thing,” he said, pointing downward toward the hidden passage, “but a secret’s no good at all if just anybody kin stumble over it.”
Yarblek stood at the door peering out into the narrow alleyway outside.
“Anybody out there?” Silk asked him.
“A few bodies,” the Nadrak replied laconically. “For some reason they always seem to want to die in alleys.” He drew in a deep breath. “All right, let’s go, then.”
They moved out into the alley, and Garion kept his eyes averted from the contorted bodies of the plague victims huddled in corners or sprawled in the gutters.
The night air was filled with smoke from the burning city, the reek of burning flesh, and the dreadful smell of decay.
Yarblek also sniffed, then grimaced. “From the odor, I’d say that the dead‑carts have missed a few.” he said.
He led the way to the mouth of the alley and peered out into the street. “It’s clear enough,” he grunted. “Just a few looters picking over the dead. Come on.”
They went out of the alley and moved along a street illuminated by a burning house. Garion saw a furtive movement beside the wall of another house and then made out the shape of a raggedly dressed man crouched over a sprawled body. The man was roughly rifting through the plague victim’s clothes. “Won’t he catch it?” he asked Yarblek, pointing at the looter.
“Probably.” Yarblek shrugged. “I don’t think the world’s going to miss him very much if he does, though.”
They rounded a corner and entered a street where fully half the houses were on fire. A dead-cart had stopped before one of the burning houses, and two rough‑looking men were tossing bodies into the fire with casual brutality.
“Stay back!” one of the men shouted to them. “There’s plague here!”
“There’s plague everywhere in this mournful city, don’t y’ know,” Feldegast replied. “But we thank ye fer yer warnin’ anyway. We’ll just go on by on the other side of the street, if ye don’t mind.” He looked curiously at the pair. “How is it that yer not afraid of the contagion yerselves?” he asked.
“We’ve already had it,” one replied with a short laugh.
“I’ve never been so sick in my life, but at least I didn’t die from it ‑and they say you can only catch it once.”
“ ‘Tis a fortunate man y’ are, then,” Feldegast congratulated him.
They moved on past the rough pair and on down to the next corner.
“We go this way.” Feldegast told them.
“How much farther is it?” Belgarath asked him.
“Not far, an’ then we’ll be back underground where it’s safe.”
“ You might feel safe underground,” Silk said sourly, “but I certainly don’t.”
Halfway along the street Garion saw a sudden movement in one of the deeply inset doorways, and then he heard a feeble wail. He peered at the doorway. Then, one street over, a burning house fell in on itself, shooting flame and sparks high into the air. By that fitful light he was able to see what was in the shadows. The crumpled figure of a woman lay huddled in the doorway, and seated beside the body was a crying child, not much more than a year old. His stomach twisted as he started at the horror before his eyes.
Then, with slow cry, Ce’Nedra darted toward the child with her arms extended.
“Ce’Nedra!” he shouted, trying to shake his hand free of Chretienne’s reins. “No!”
But before he could move in pursuit, Vella was already there. She caught Ce’Nedra by the shoulder and spun her around roughly. “Ce’Nedra!” she snapped. “Stay away!”
“Let me go!” Ce’Nedra almost screamed. “Can’t you see that it’s a baby?” She struggled to free herself.
Very coolly, Vella measured the little Queen, then slapped her sharply across the face. So far as Garion knew, it was the first time anyone had ever hit Ce’Nedra.
“The baby’s dead, Ce’Nedra,” Vella told her with brutal directness, “and if you go near it, you’ll die, too.” She began to drag her captive back toward the others.
Ce’Nedra stared back over her shoulder at the sickly wailing child, her hand outstretched toward it.
Then Velvet moved to her side, put an arm about her shoulders, and gently turned her so that she could no longer see the child. “Ce’Nedra,” she said, “you must think first of your own baby. Would you want to carry this dreadful disease to him?”
Ce’Nedra stared at her.
“Or do you want to die before you ever see him again?”
With a sudden wail, Ce’Nedra fell into Velvet’s arms, sobbing bitterly.
“I hope she won’t hold any grudges,” Vella murmured.
“You’re very quick, Vella,” Polgara said, “and you think very fast when you have to.”
Vella shrugged. “I’ve found that a smart slap across the mouth is the best cure for hysterics.”