Heart of the Staff - Complete Series Read online

  “Halt!” cried the guard from the middle of the hallway, immediately tramping forth in the echoes with his pike leveled. “Put down your staff!”

  “I shall indeed, good sir,” said Razzmorten, carefully stooping to lay it down.

  “Who are you?” said the guard.

  “Wizard Razzmorten at the service of the Crown.”

  “Well, I do beg your pardon, sir. We were instructed to watch for you just about anywhere, but I'm sure dumbfounded by how you turned up out there with the roses. Anyway, I'm supposed to take you straight to the king and queen.”

  Weary of the scuffling of its nearly grown brood, the barn owl under the ridge pole flew noiselessly to a nearby truss and peered down at what was going on below, as the guard brought Razzmorten into the throne room. Presently, the guard bowed and backed away from the wizard, leaving him standing before King Henry, Queen Helina and Leigheas, the Elven court healer for the Throne of Niarg. The king motioned for the guards to leave them in private.

  “Wizard Razzmorten,” said the king, the moment that the great doors went shut. “You already are acquainted with Leigheas, are you not?”

  “I have been for years,” he said, exchanging nods with the Elf.

  “It was he who's advice I took when I summoned you to the castle upon Princess Branwen's steward showing up sick,” said the King.

  “Have you seen the patients?” said Razzmorten.

  “No, I have not,” said Leigheas. “I allowed that the patients stood a better chance of surviving if I didn't die from exposure to them, but it certainly stirred the indignation of the court doctors. They seemed not to share my urgent sense of a need to quarantine...”

  “Seemed?” said Razzmorten.

  “Well, perhaps they still seem...”

  “This is right quick,” said the king. “Is there any chance at all that you bring good news?”

  “There is...”

  The king paused to give the queen a quick nod as he squeezed her hand. “Then please have a seat. What did you find?”

  “The very medicine which a large band of aboriginals called the Ngop used to keep themselves alive on the Dark Continent, south of Head, when the First Wizard died of the plague...”

  “You surely found evidence that it works, aye?” said Leigheas, scooting the cuspidor closer to his chair with his foot before leaning aside for a spit. “I know about a number of cures without any.”

  “Multitudes all around died during the plague, while not one of the Ngop did more than fall ill, which I well realize is not full proof. But which I'd certainly think at least makes it a damned good gamble for us, right now.”

  “So do we have to trade for it?” said the King as he put his crown into his lap and rubbed his temples.

  “I was given about a pint of the stuff, which I have right here,” said Razzmorten as he pulled the bottle from his shoulder bag. “If we want any more, we'll have to make it ourselves.” He carefully removed the stopper and fished out a drop on the blade of his penknife.

  “Is that enough to cure one person?” said the Queen.

  “What, the drop or the jug?”

  “We've had a number of people fall ill in just the short time you've been gone,” said the king as he replaced his crown and sat on the edge of his chair. “You know about Branwen's steward...”

  “And Awstin Strong, I suppose...”

  “No actually, or at least he was alive at noon. But both doctors are in very bad shape, along with four nurses. And we had just found out about the third guard coming down with it, right before you came in. And word getting out...hooee! It hasn't yet, but the prospect's almost as scary as the plague itself...”

  “There's no way to know for sure, but this might give you some hope, Your Majesty,” said Razzmorten, as he leant forward where he was sitting to pull back one finger at a time as if he were counting. “A sick person is supposed to need six drops of the oil under his tongue, six times a day for maybe a fortnight. He'll need half that much put on his swellings. And at that rate, this pint might save thirty-six people...”

  “So how do you come up with another pint?”

  “That's harder,” said Razzmorten, standing up suddenly to begin pacing. “It takes a hundred pound of the plant to make the pint...”

  “What kind of plant? Say, what's this oil called, anyway?”

  “The Ngop call both worrobobo, but I learnt about it as Elven hyssop a very long time ago. The Elves call it oregano...” He looked aside to trade nods with Leigheas.

  “Then who do we get it from?”

  “Not from the Ngop. I had to promise that we'd come up with the plant on the Northern Continent in order for them to share the cure.”

  “Well, I can see that,” said the King as he twirled his moustache and studied the banners on the far wall. “The Elves then, I reckon...”

  Razzmorten was already shaking his head. “We could go to the big Elven apothecary in town and talk to their head herbalist, Talamh Coille Graham, but it would waste precious time, because I don't think it's ever grown in the Jutwoods.”

  “You're right,” said Leigheas. “It's not.”

  “Well where, then?” said the King. “Any idea?”

  “I've collected samples of it for my herbarium over the years,” he said, shoving away from the back of his chair and pacing another circle. “I know of two good places. One is the chalky hills at the south end of the Gulf of Orrin, though that spot may be quite limited, and the other one is the Black Desert along the Dread Sea. I'd think that the Black Desert supply would be neigh unlimited.”

  “Good Grief!” said the king as he squirmed on his great chair. “The south end of the Gulf of Orrin is a good week away by ship, and the Black Desert, at least three or four weeks. Well when you return with a shipload, then what? How do you get the oil out? Do you press it?”

  “You have to heat up an infusion of it in a distilling vat and catch the oil when it collects as droplets at the far end of a pipe coming off the lid of the vat.”

  “And what you're saying is that you'll have to try setting up such a thing before you'll know how to have it work right?”

  “I saw the distillery which produced the oil I have, but I'm afraid you're right.”

  “That means that the oil we have here might be long gone before the next batch gets made, doesn't it?”

  “I have a couple of ideas about that, if you'll give me a moment,” said Razzmorten as he took his seat again. For the safety of the kingdom, this first oil needs to be limited to You, Her Majesty, Prince Hebraun...”

  “Wait, wait, wait. We don't have the plague.”

  “No, but if you take the oil drops, you won't get it. So. You three, Captain Strong, Leigheas and me, and all of those in the castle sick this minute, and my two daughters get the oil in this jar. And everything about this wee jar of oil must be kept in strictest secrecy.” He held up his hand for a moment. “The other thing to keep in mind is this. I seldom use traveling spells because they take such a huge amount out of me. I've now gone all the way to the Dark Continent and back. I think I have enough energy left to make it clean to the south end of the Gulf of Orrin and return with a hay wagon. Now if I do that, I will be spent for weeks at least, so this means that I can only make such a journey once. However, I'll surely be able to oversee the setting up of a distillery when I return. Meanwhile, you must send separate ships immediately.”

  “So what happens if someone else falls ill while all of this is going on?” said the queen.

  “Strict hushed quarantines for any further ill,” said Razzmorten, “We don't share the oil, or it jeopardizes us all. That's precisely why we must keep it utterly secret.”

  “That means that not one further soul must discover the plague,” said the king, “particularly not within the walls of this castle.” He stood up and looked at Razzmorten. “Go to Captain Strong for the wagons and supplies you'll need. He should be able to arrange for a ship to leave at once for the far shore of Orrin. We w
ill try to find a place for a distillery inside the outer ward by the time you get back with your hay wagon.” The king held out his hand. “Fates' speed, my good wizard.”

  Razzmorten left the throne room and raced to find Captain Strong grieving over the news that Awstin had just been found dead.

  Chapter 3

  Karlton stood before Captain Cadwalader Pryce on the quay in the early evening calm between sea breeze and land breeze, carefully un-wadding the wilted oregano plant which Razzmorten had brought back in his bag. Captain Pryce watched carefully with blue eyes that had reminded Karlton of a wolf from the time they had played together as children.

  “That's it?” said Pryce, looking up.

  Karlton nodded.

  Pryce said something to a burly man who tramped a few steps down the pier, stopped rigidly and blew a whistle. For a moment, the planks thundered with bare feet as the crew of the twenty-six oar galley, Centipede, hurried down her gang way to line up on the quay. Three pelicans decided to land on pilings elsewhere. Pryce spit his chaw into his hand and flung it into the water, shifted his cutlass on his hip and strutted down his line of men. “Gentlemen!” he declared in a voice like dry leaves that everyone could hear as he paced. “We are on a secret mission to save the Crown. You will not discuss this mission with a soul beyond this crew, not with your wives, nor with your children, nor yet with the very Fates themselves until I tell you to do so, unless you want to hang for treason. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Aye sir!” came the shout of many voices.

  Commencing with: “Atten-tion!” Pryce introduced three officers of the Royal Guard, marching them into place in line with his own men in spite of their scarlet uniforms. “These men are part of this crew for the duration of this mission!” he cried, looking from face to face. They are along because of their knowledge of this mission, their knowledge of putting up hay and their keen marksmanship with the longbow. They outrank most of you. Don't forget it, and I promise that you'll have the pleasure of showing them how to toughen up their feet like Navy men!”

  At this, a roar of cheers broke out, silencing the moment that Pryce introduced Captain Karlton Strong.

  “Gentlemen,” declared Karlton, “you are the pride of Niarg!”

  Again there were cheers, silencing at once.

  He held out the oregano plant as he started down the line. “Gentlemen, I have something for each of you to see...”

  ***

  “Well, I'm finally here,” said Razzmorten as he stepped into the kitchen and took his chair at the head of the board.

  “Father!” said Minuet, getting up at once to fetch him a cup and a bowl from the shelves. “The tea's right hot. There's only been one cup out of it. Bethan left a kettle of soup for us over the coals, out in the summer kitchen. I'll be right back with it.”

  Ugleeuh sat at the far end of the board, ignoring Razzmorten completely except to glance up at him with a glower of contempt as he put a spot of milk into his cup and stood up to reach down the table for the pot. “So it's salsify and green onions, aye?” he said with a hoary browed squint at her and her bowl before he sat, as Minuet tramped in, waddling quickly to the table with the heavy kettle.

  “Oh, but it's good,” said Minuet as she filled his bowl. “She's used just the right amount of new onions and black pepper, and there was some parsley just up, but that was the very last bit of salsify in the cellar.” She put the kettle aside and returned to her bowl of soup. “It's good you're back. I allowed that you'd be gone longer than this.”

  “Well I'm only scarcely back, since I'll be leaving first thing in the morning...”

  Suddenly Ugleeuh's stool smacked the stone floor with a clatter as she threw down her napkin and stamped away from the table.

  “My word, Leeuh!” said Razzmorten, blotting at the milk running down his chin. “I can't imagine what could suddenly have you so upset. It can't be the salsify running out...”

  “That's obvious as can be!” she shouted, wheeling about. “You'd not forget a promise to Minny-Min. “She gets my stinking popinjay so that I can't even watch it drown, and then you go off with Captain Strong and completely forget your promise to take me to the market. You both owe me, big!” And with that, she tramped out.

  “You're just awful!” cried Minuet as she threw down her napkin and stepped over the bench she was sitting on.

  “Please Minuet,” said Razmorten. “Just sit down and finish your supper. It'll give her time to calm down. Besides, if she must be childish, should she be able to drag us along?”

  “I'm sorry,” she said as she stepped back over the bench and sat down. I'm just fed up with her. “What is the matter with her, Father? She's never nice to either of us anymore, unless she wants something out of us.”

  Razzmorten sighed and found where to get his next spoonful of soup. “I swear,” he said with the slightest shake of his head, “Demonica didn't spend any more time raising her than it took her to give birth and flee, but she still has far more influence over her than I've had in all my years raising her. And you know? Just now, she struck me more like Razzorbauch than either one of us.” He looked up with a wince of a smile. “I have no business saying any of this. Let's just eat. We'll go have a talk with her when we're done.”

  “Your leaving first thing tomorrow?” she said, sipping from her spoon. “Is still it all hush-hush? I mean, Leeuh says the plague's in Niarg and probably Far, too.”

  “Fates!” said Razzmorten with a look of alarm. “She's not told anyone else, has she?”

  “I can't imagine how. She's not set foot off Peach Knob, and she's such a horrid snot to the help that they'd never pass the time o' day with her.” She stopped eating. “Father. The plague's really here, isn't it?”

  “Oh, it is, it is. You look scared. I don't think you need to be, because I think I've actually had an impossible stroke of luck. But tell me: how in all thunderation did Leeuh find out about the plague if she's not left the place?”

  “Quite simply. And it's my fault. I'm so sorry...”

  “What?”

  “Well she overheard you and Captain Strong before you left. I let her out of my sight because I swallowed her saying she was going to her room.”

  “Fiddlesticks, sweetheart!” he said, giving her hand a squeeze. “Why would anyone suspect?”

  “Because its her nature.”

  “Of course. Now, I'd not be upset with you, even if she did let the word out, but with what's at stake here, please tell me again. You're absolutely certain that she's not told a soul?”

  “Well, not that I can possibly imagine...”

  “That's good enough.”

  “Say. I feel mean, Father. Let's eat her cake. She's already had 'way, 'way more than us put together, and we can still leave her some...”

  “Shhh!” he said, looking up at the sound of muffled barking overhead. “Was Fifi out when I got home?”

  “As far as I know.”

  Upstairs, Ugleeuh was pacing her room in a furious huff all the while. “Hey!” she said with sudden smile and a snap of her fingers. “If they both owe me so bad, that means I get to drown the stinking popinjay, right now. My bird. Too bad.” With a surge of giddy glee, she raced into the hallway, stepping right out in front of Razzmorten and Minuet, who were walking up behind.

  “Oh, say Leeuh,” said Razzmorten. “If you're off to have some fun in Minuet's room, we'll join you.”

  “My bird,” she said, going on her way without turning about. “You both owe me, and you never got me a replacement, so it's still my ugly little popinjay, so I'm on my way to pull out every last pinfeather and drown it.” Suddenly she sprinted for Minuet's door as if it were a game of tag.

  “No!” cried Minuet with a furious slap at the air. Down the hall, her door slammed shut with a deafening bang, immediately in front of Ugleeuh. Ugleeuh froze, pieces of plaster still peppering down all about her.

  “You'll not think of going anywhere near Hubub,” said Minuet calmly as she
folded her arms. “Will you, Lee-Lee-pooh?”

  “Hubub?” said Razzmorten with a sudden toothy smile, as if none of this was going on around him. “That's perfect! And after Min-Min and Lee-Lee, it would have to be Hubba-Hubba...”

  “Oh it is,” said Minuet. “I've already called him that once.”

  Ugleeuh was still looking at the closed door.

  “Ears still ringing, sweetheart?” said Minuet.

  Ugleeuh jerked her gaze away from the door with the look of a flat eared cat.

  “Good,” said Minuet. “Now that you remember that you gave me little old Hubba-Hubba, Father wants to have a talk with us, back in the kitchen. We can even have some of your cake.”

  By the time Razzmorten took his seat at the head of the board in the kitchen, Minuet and Ugleeuh were already sitting on either side of his chair. “Well Ugleeuh,” he said, getting her eye, “I'm keeping my promise of taking you to the market, in spite of your awful behavior this evening, just as soon as this emergency allows.” He paused to shake his head at her drawing in a passionate breath. “Now I was all ready to explain my secrecy when I was called away, but since you eavesdropped and think you know all about it, I'll skip that part. But I have quite an announcement,” he said, pausing to see that he had the gaze of each one of them. “In fact, I'm still finding it hard to believe that I have indeed stumbled onto a cure for the plague. It's the oil from a plant, and I'm taking the big hay wagon, a brush scythe and a pitch fork first thing tomorrow to see how big a load I can come back with. When I get back, I'll have to work night and day for a while to set up a distillery to extract the oil. There's a ship which is also leaving in the morning to bring back more.”

  “So there will be delays before you have this oil ready?” said Minuet.

  “Oh I'm afraid so. All kinds of them. And there will undoubtedly be a lot of people who die before I get caught up...”