Page 83 of A Trade of Blood

“What is that?” said Trikao.

I turned around, peering through the window behind me. I could see no movement within the jail.

The sound came again, low and rising to a high, ragged crescendo—but this time it did not taper. It continued, growing and growing until it became a shriek.

“What is happening?” whispered Trikao.

I threw open the door to the jail and dashed inside.

—

I’d memorized the layoutof the jail during my many visits here, and as I darted through the corridors with Trikao Armenta behind me I estimated that the screams were not coming from a wing or chamber I had seen. Someplace new, then, something different.

I hurtled through the half-lit dungeons. Ippeas Armenta stood at the bars of his cell, crying out, “It’s Castus! It’s Castus, something’s wrong!”

“Where?” I said.

“The infirmary, down there! He started saying his head pained him, and Seriv and an attendant took him away to sedate him, but—”

I dashed on without hearing more.

“What is going on, Signum Kol?” bellowed Trikao Armenta behindme.

“I don’t know, sir,” I said, my voice eerily calm in my own ears.

I ran on down the hallway toward the source of the screaming. It began to gurgle, to choke—and then a new screaming joined it, a terrified shrieking.

My hand flew to my sword, but I did not draw it yet. To draw a sword in tight environs with no enemy about was a foolish thing, for a naked blade often did as much harm as good.

This proved a wise choice, for then the door at the end of the hallway burst open. Seriv rushed out and nearly crashed into me, one arm around Fotia to shield her. His face was pale and pained, and hers was horrified beyond words. My eye flew to her drover’s leggings, which I saw were stained with blood—yet it was not hers, as she seemed to be whole.

I peered through the open door behind them. I saw the infirmary beyond, with a wide medikker’s table in the center and a tray oftincture pots and tools beside it. The top half of the table was spattered with gore, almost as if the occupant had been decapitated there.

The letters flashed in my memory:LYSIS.

And Tauri’s comment:a medikker term, for when an infected body tissue breaks down, or bursts.

That last word hung heavy on me:bursts.

I could hear more screaming from a chamber beyond the infirmary. There, in the corner: another open door, this one leading to a dark passage.

“What happened?” I demanded.

Seriv fought to stand. I saw that his hand was pressed to his stomach, where dark blood was welling through his fingers.

“Said he had a headache,” Seriv gasped to me. “Took him to…to…He grabbed aknife…”

“Where is he now?” I asked quickly.

“Evrik, the infirmary medikker,” said Seriv. He groaned as pain coursed through him. “He…he ran when it happened. Castus pursued him.”

Another scream from the shadowy passage in the corner.

“Where does that lead?” I asked.

“The lading deck,” said Seriv faintly. “Where the sick are taken away.”

So,I thought.He could get out.