With the heat down to merely annoying instead of oppressive and a faint thread of wind stirring the air into motion, the landscape here was simply boring. There was nowhere for highwaymen or large animals or other diversions to hide. Taking a turn at the reins did nothing to alleviate the monotony.

Fighting made him feel bad, unless it was unequivocally in defence, and even then, the royal sisters had an annoying tendency to speculate about what underlying conditions could have created the situation. But at least it wasn't dull. Scenery or wildlife or other traffic or, well, something, anything, was better than boredom.

“'Veri, shouldn't there be birds and things around? Even with the mice and all the damned bugs?”

She shrugged. “There should, normally. But those mice weren't normal. If the mice have stripped everything edible, then there's nothing for anything else to eat, unless it eats mice. Hawks and owls don't have many options for perches and nesting around here, which isn't going to lead to them being common. Even foxes and small cats might find this a tough situation. There might be some around, though, and weasels and the like. Not seeing them doesn't mean they aren't there. A lot of animals don't come out in full daylight. Some are hard to see against their surroundings even when they do.”

No smells, Kieran said.

“No smells,” Tyrel translated.

“That's a bad sign. With no predators, there's nothing to stop the mice except their own internal pressures and the limit on food. And I bet whatever human-edible or livestock-edible food the mice didn't get fairly quickly is probably being guarded closely. How much there is, is another question.”

“Great. Well, at least food shouldn't be a big issue for us, if we aren't here too long.” Talir and Lirit would be full together in less than a week, and the need of the cats for food would start to diminish rapidly as Sanur brightened; Meyar being just past full, Lysandra would be fine with limited food for the next few days. It wouldn't take long, though, for all of that to change. If this became an extended event, things could get complicated.

“I hope Narcissa's right and we can actually do something useful,” Kaveri said. “Bad people or rogue animals or the odd nasty spirit-creature we can fight. Earthquakes and such, we can help look for survivors and support or organize basic necessities. With Narcissa, we can even fight plagues beyond basic nursing support. But a mouse population out of control? If the nearest humans are hungry, we can't make food out of moonlight. At least, as far as I know.”

“Probably not that would work for anyone else, anyway.”

“And we can't do anything about the source of the problem. Well, we'll see soon. Are those buildings up there?”

The road slanted downwards at a shallow angle, and eventually began to rise again, and on what passed here for higher land, Tyrel was sure he could see the sharp vertical lines of walls.

“I think you're right,” he said. “That must be the town. How are we going to do this? Narcissa as our great lady and healer, travelling? Lysandra as her assistant or handmaid or whatever, and you and I as her servants to look after the hard work and the boring details?”

“That's worked before, and it'll probably work here. A big part of why Cissa's cures work is because she impresses people and then they actually follow her instructions more closely than they might otherwise. In this situation, people paying attention to what she says might make a huge difference.”

“Then why don't you go back with them, and make sure they're dressed for the right roles? And without knowing what we're going into, it might be better if there's someone with them with more experience and who's able to talk.”

She nodded, and hopped off the cart.

“I just hope we aren't about to find something really grim,” Tyrel muttered. Kieran made a soft sympathetic whuff.

The first buildings they passed were abandoned and showed signs of damage. Some were round, some were square with rounded-off corners, both sorts with the remains of conical roofs that looked like thatch. The walls of the worst were, very obviously, mud brick, a material they'd encountered often in southern areas, though since it had held its structure instead of dissolving into a mud pile, it must have been fired rather than sun-baked. A few were of a pale and rather crumbly stone he figured for the local sandstone, but they didn't look much better. They jutted up in the midst of a sea of that prickly vegetation. Tyrel could reach conclusions on neither what they were built as nor the reason they were in such poor condition.

The light caught a wall at just the right angle, and he noticed something odd: the colour changed a couple of feet from the ground.

“Do me a favour? Take a quick look at one or two of these buildings up close.”

Kieran obligingly leaped off the cart and loped to one they were about to pass, a brick one, then ran ahead to the next, which was stone, sniffing around at everything in reach until Tyrel caught up. The donkeys ignored him as he jumped back onto the cart and resumed his place.

Water.

“Seriously?”

A lot of water.

There were definitely limits to the concepts that could be expressed in canine.

“Flood?”

Kieran whuffed agreement.

“Oh, great,” Tyrel sighed. If the ground the actual town stood on was high enough, it might have been spared direct damage, but the surrounding land flooding couldn't be good. Was that connected to the mice somehow?

Kieran echoed the sigh and laid down beside him, head on his paws.

As they got closer, the road sloping perceptibly upwards, he could see that the buildings of the town proper were in better repair than those outside, but that was only relative. The rounded-square footprint dominated here rather than the circular. That soft sandstone was much more common. Windows had been blocked by wood or fabric or, apparently, anything else that offered itself. Roofs, whether thatch or long thin tiles that rather resembled it, probably leaked in the rain, given the poor repair they were in. Many, as near as Tyrel could tell, had been built as a sort of double structure, of a single-storey building that crowded up close to the walkway and gutter that bordered each side of the street, with a two-storey building immediately behind it. The door of the shorter structure often had a sign over or beside the door, and the remains of large street-facing windows. Shops, perhaps, with living space behind?

Where the buildings were more dense, so were the people, in some semblance of normal town life. Its shadow, at least.

Tyrel had seen people under starvation conditions, and didn't see the signs of it now, but he'd have been willing to bet that food was less than plentiful and had been for some time. Hair looked dull and lank, faces had a slightly hollow look. The number of shawls, wrapped scarves, and other extra layers would have been more understandable in a cooler climate. Movements seemed intended to use as little energy as possible. Some of the clothing looked like it had been expensive not long ago, strongly dyed in elaborate designs, but even the best was fraying at the edges and showed signs of heavy wear. Since male peasant styles were so unfitted, it was hard to judge; the wide belts of the women could only tighten to a limited degree, however, since they laced at either front or back, and in many cases they looked loose rather than gathering fabric snugly for both pragmatic and aesthetic reasons. Not a single woman in sight was carrying an infant slung on hip or back, though that was a frequent sight in this part of the world, nor were any visibly expecting to bring one into the world. That was something he'd observed far too often when food had been scarce for an extended period.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

There were children playing, at least. Even in regions or parts of towns where poverty was common, children still tended to act like children; when they ceased to, it was a very bad sign.

Having a number of them crowd around the cart, begging for food and bringing the jennies to a complete halt, was therefore a mixed blessing.

Narcissa probably would have plans for the best use of what food they had.

But these are kids. And they definitely aren't eating enough.

“Hold on.” He looped the reins around the pole and rummaged in the cart for a basket. Seating himself again, he untied the top. “It's not much, but most of what we have is no use by itself. One handful each, and no pushing.” He scooped out a first handful of mixed tree nuts Kaveri, with sporadic help, had collected some way back. She'd forgive him. He hoped.

Once, Kieran growled, ears going back, gaze fixed on a larger boy a short distance from the cart who was trying to intimidate a smaller child into handing over her share.

“Hey,” Tyrel said sharply. “You got yours, leave her alone to eat hers.”

“Or what?” the larger boy asked belligerently.

Tyrel glanced at Kieran, who jumped lightly from the cart and advanced on the boy. “Or that.”

Somehow, there were no further incidents.

Miraculously, there were still a few nuts in the basket by the time he'd given them each something.

Kieran nudged Iole with his nose and started along the street. She and Phaidra followed him. After all, he'd led them to water, food, shelter, or safety at various times, and he was familiar.

Tyrel left the reins tied off and hopped down so he could approach a nearby man who was watching.

“Excuse me. Who's in charge here? Your town's leader?”

The man shrugged, pausing to set down the leather sack he carried; from the clanking noise, it must be metal, maybe tools. “Hall's straight ahead. Smarter to go right through and keep going.”

“Maybe, but our lady is a healer and wants to see if she can help.”

“Not unless she can do miracles. Keep an eye on your beasts, or you'll be leaving on foot. That's a lot of meat on the hoof.” With a groan, he picked up the sack again. Tyrel winced. He didn't think the man was nearly as old as his stiff movements and leathery skin suggested.

“Where are you going? Maybe we can give you a ride there?”

“Wrong direction.” The man slung the sack over his shoulder and went back on his way.

Straight ahead. Fair enough.

Though a few people were eyeing Iole and Phaidra, Kieran was, for the moment at least, sufficient deterrent to any aggressive action. Tyrel caught up, and laid a hand on Kieran's head to get his attention. “Get out of the sun. I've got this.”

Kieran whuffed acknowledgement, and went back to the cart. Instead of lying down, however, he sat upright, ears swivelling at every sound and head turning to track any motion nearby. If an alert and protective watchdog that size couldn't keep people cautious, Tyrel would be quite surprised.

He stayed on foot himself, one hand on Iole's neck just above the collar.

The road took them to a broad paved area in front of a large three-storey square building. Tyrel wasn't sure he'd ever seen so much glass in one building, forcing the pale stonework into insignificance and reflecting the midday sun in a blinding glare. Many cultures knew how to make it, and they'd invented many uses for it, but this was, well, a lot of rectangular panels, all the same rather substantial size.

“Whoa, that's a bit much,” Tyrel said, wincing and shading his eyes. Blue and purple spots danced in front of his vision. Kieran whined in sympathy.

The jennies shook their heads in protest, harness chiming, and veered to one side. Tyrel was perfectly willing to let them do so, letting them guide him since his own vision was impaired, and hoped Ander would follow.

Outside of the direct glare they stopped, small hooves planted firmly on the pavement. Tyrel circled around in front of them, rubbing a hand under their bridles and behind their laid-back ears.

“I know, girls, I didn't like that either,” he said soothingly. “Thank you for getting us out of it. You're both very clever.”

The wagon halted beside them, and Kaveri climbed down. She'd drawn her gauzy scarf up over her face like a veil, giving her eyes some protection, but she was still muttering curses.

“That thing is a hazard,” she said, checking on Ander, who looked no more pleased by this than the jennies. “All that glass, in this climate? Why?”

“Probably the usual reason,” Tyrel said. “Someone can do something that looks flashy, but doesn't stop to consider whether it's smart as well. I think this is City Hall. I'll go see if I can find someone to announce Her Ladyship to.” He glanced at the wagon, found Lysandra sitting patiently on one seat. Her creamy-coloured long-sleeved Enodian dress was partly covered by a mantle of wheat and buttercup and goldenrod in a sinuous repeating design of spirals. A pale yellow veil was secured over her simply-braided black hair with silver and currently drawn across her upper face with one hand. Striking and elegant, but their healer-princess would take care to outshine her. Narcissa was, after all, very good at being royal.

Tyrel, wincing, stayed close to the building and out of the reflection zone as he made his way to the front door.

The high-ceilinged space within had curtains of woven multi-hued grasses, or something like it, hung across much of the glass, blocking out the sun, though they were ragged at the bottoms and scattered holes allowed lances of light through. Not much surprise they needed the curtains, since it must be hot and far too bright, otherwise. Truly clear and colourless glass was relatively rare, and this glass had no more colour than clean water. Equally extraordinary was the quality: these large regular panels had minimal trace of ripples or bubbles or clouding. The cost of it would have been enough to beggar most cities this size.

Several conversations, multiple repetitions of his explanation of their intentions, and a few firm reiterations of policy regarding the donkeys later, he went back outside with an escort. Tyrel guessed him as being in his mid-forties, usually quite a reasonable age in this part of the world, but he moved with the deliberate care of a much older man, and he kept around him a threadbare but heavy shawl with an angular geometric pattern.

“Can Her Ladyship spare a moment?” Tyrel asked Lysandra.

“I'll see,” Lysandra said, rising gracefully with no haste to go inside, closing the door behind her.

It was Narcissa herself who opened it. She'd changed to her best Enodian mantle, shades of expensive indigo in a repeated pattern of stylized hares, over a spotlessly white Enodian dress with long sleeves, a paler indigo-blue veil pinned over her hair with gold. Nor was that the only gold she wore. One be-ringed hand on the frame of the door, she regarded Tyrel expectantly.

“Welcome to Ilek, Your Ladyship,” Tyrel's escort said. “On behalf of the town council, we would be grateful for any assistance you might be able to offer our people. We've been struck by a series of natural catastrophes over recent months, and it has been hard on everyone. Sadly, our resources are so limited that we're unable to offer you the sort of hospitality a great lady has a right to expect.”

“Thank you,” Narcissa said graciously. “Don't trouble yourselves regarding hospitality, my people are good at what they do and we're accustomed to conditions being less than ideal. All we need is sufficient flat ground for the wagons and our animals and a source of clean water, in a location that will be freely accessible to anyone seeking my help.”

“I understand, Your Ladyship, and thank you. Would an abandoned lot with a well be acceptable? I can arrange for workmen to go over it and clear out anything that might be in the way.”

“My people should be able to take care of any clean-up necessary, as long as it isn't the sort requiring heavy equipment. That should do nicely, thank you. Would you be so kind as to show us the way?”

“Of course, Your Ladyship.”

“What exactly was the nature of this series of catastrophes?”

“A sad story, Your Ladyship, of flooding ruining harvests in the low-lying croplands, and those on higher ground being plagued by vermin. One year of that we could have weathered, but not two. Our neighbours sell us even low-grade rye as though it were finest wheat, and with many of our most skilled craftsmen leaving, the economy struggles to meet the price demanded. People are not starving to death, but there is never enough food. Illness passes through Ilek in great waves, and each carries away more of our people and slows our efforts at rebuilding.”

“I see. A sad story, indeed. Your own healers?”

“Some have died. Others have abandoned us and fled. A few remain and do what they can, but they are for the most part midwives or part-time herbalists or others without the skills to manage the situation.” He did a reasonable job of not sounding completely dismissive, but Tyrel thought he had a poor opinion of them.

Died? Maybe in a major plague, but it's unusual for a lot of healers to die, and even more so for many to leave if they're needed...

Narcissa nodded. “If you'll show us to the site where we can camp?” Without waiting for a reply, she turned back inside, ending the interview quite effectively.