“Oh, Jonathan!” Jera shook her head. “Certainly, you can leave, Alfred. Any time you want. You’re not a prisoner here!”
Yes, I am! Alfred groaned inwardly. I’m a prisoner, a prisoner of my own ineptness! I came through Death’s Gate by sheer accident! I would never have the courage or the knowledge to get back alone!
“Think about your friend,” Tomas added soothingly, pouring out a cup of kairn tea. “You don’t want to leave your friend behind, do you, Sir?”
“I’m sorry.” Alfred collapsed back into his chair. “Forgive me. I’m . .. tired, that’s all. Very tired. I think I’ll go to bed. Come on, boy.”
He laid a trembling hand on the dog’s head. The animal looked up at him, whimpered, slowly brushed its tail against the floor, but didn’t move.
The whimper had an odd note to it, a sound that Alfred had never heard the dog make before. He took more notice, looked down at it intently. The dog tried to lift its head, let it sink back weakly on its paws. The tail wagging increased slightly, however, to indicate that it appreciated the man’s concern.
“Is there something wrong?” asked Jera, staring down at the dog. “Do you think the animal’s sick?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t know much about dogs I’m afraid,” Alfred mumbled, feeling dread shrivel him up inside.
He did know something about this dog, or at least suspected. And if what he suspected was true, then whatever was wrong with the dog was wrong with Haplo.
CHAPTER * 30
NECROPOLIS, ABARRACH
THE DOG’S CONDITION GRADUALLY WORSENED. BY THE NEXT CYCLE, it couldn’t move at all, but lay on its side, flanks heaving, panting for breath. The animal refused all attempts to feed it or give it water.
Although everyone in the house was sorry for the dog’s suffering, no one, except Alfred, was much concerned. Their thoughts were on the raid on the castle, the rescue of the prince’s cadaver. Their plans were made, discussed and viewed from every conceivable angle for flaws. None could be found.
“It’s going to be almost ridiculously easy,” said Jera, at breakfast.
“I do beg your pardon,” said Alfred in timid tones, “but I spent some time at court on … er … well, the world from which I come, and King Stephen’s .. . that is … the king’s dungeons were quite heavily guarded. How do you plan—”
“You’re not involved.” The earl snorted. “So don’t concern yourself.”
I may yet be involved, Alfred thought. His glance strayed to the sick dog. He said nothing aloud, however, preferring to bide his time until he had more facts.
“Don’t be so cantankerous, Milord,” said Jonathan, laughing. “We trust Alfred, don’t we?”
Silence fell over the group, a faint blush suffused Jera’s cheek. She glanced involuntarily at Tomas, who met her look, shook his head slightly, and lowered his gaze to his plate. The earl snorted again. Jonathan glanced from one to the other in perplexity.
“Oh, come now—” he began.
“More tea, sir?” Jera interrupted, lifting the stoneware kettle and holding it over Alfred’s teacup. “No, thank you, Your Grace.”
No one else said anything. Jonathan started to speak again, but was stopped by a look from his wife. The only sounds were the labored breathing of the dog and the occasional rattle of cutlery or the clink of a pottery plate. All seemed vastly relieved when Tomas rose from the table.
“If you will excuse me, Your Grace.” A bow to Jera. “It is time for my appearance at court. Although I am not of the least importance”—he added with a self-deprecating smile—”this cycle of all cycles I should do nothing to draw attention to myself. I must be seen at my regular place at my regular time.”
Alfred lurked about on the fringes of the group until everyone had separated and gone about their morning tasks. Tomas was alone on the lower floor, heading out the door of his dwelling. Alfred emerged from a shadowy corner, plucked at the sleeve of the man’s robe.
Tomas gave a start, stared around with livid face and wide eyes. “Excuse me,” said Alfred, taken aback. “I didn’t mean to startle you,”