Nostrum (The Scourge, Book 2) Read Free Page B

area?”
    Peter thinks about this for a time. “There is a horse near the Lutons’ manor house.”
    “A living horse?”
    “Yes. We have seen it through the window of the stables. Osbert says I must get the animal. But there are demons.” He covers his mouth with a filthy hand and shakes his head. “So many demons.”
    I have heard of Lutons Place. It has changed hands many times over the last twenty years. One of the owners was a friend of that Chaucer poet Elizabeth is so fond of. I think the manor is owned by Thomas Clopton now. I met Sir Thomas in London once, but I have never been to Lutons Place and I do not know its precise location.
    “Can you show me where the Lutons’ manor is?”
    “No!” He shakes his head and backs away. “No, the demons are there!”
    “I don’t want you to take me there,” I say. “Just tell me the way.”
    “No!” He crosses himself. “You will lead them here! You will bring them down upon Osbert and me! Our work is too important!”
    I study him for a time. People talk about this new sickness, this scourge that turns people into mindless demons. They call it the second plague. But no one talks about the third plague, this affliction of madness that has swept England.
    I decide to try a different approach. “I didn’t want to explain all of this. It would have been better had you never known. But God is upset with your progress, so He sent me to help you. My first duty is to find two horses.”
    He looks at me without expression for a long time. “God is upset?”
    I nod slowly. “Not terribly. Annoyed, really. A bit irritated.”
    “Osbert never said that.”
    “I’m sure Osbert didn’t want to worry you,” I say.
    Peter paces back and forth with such speed that I think he might wear the grass away. He halts and stands perfectly still after a few heartbeats. His gaze rises, one brow arched. “How do I know God sent you?”
    “Faith.”
    He thinks on this, then walks toward the stable. “I must ask Osbert.”
    Perhaps Osbert has more sense than this poor creature. I follow Peter into the stable, staring at my wrist as I walk. The stalls reek of urine and feces and rotting flesh. It is the kind of smell that only shit and decay and dampness can create when exposed to day after day of warmth. I understand now why the plaguers have not found Peter and Osbert.
    A massive silver crucifix, tarnished and soiled, leans against the rear wall of the first stall. Next to it is a small etching of the Virgin Mary. The etching stops me.
    Mother Mary was a constant companion throughout our journey from Bodiam to St. Edmund’s Bury. Silent and ever present. And, it seems to me, not always kind to us. Wherever our travels took us, we found her churches. Whenever anything went horribly wrong, I felt her touch. Perhaps she is trying to tell me something. I’ll be buggered if I know what it is.
    Peter walks down the center aisle and I follow. We have to squeeze past a carved wooden pew with velvet seat cushions powdered by straw dust.
    “Do not look into the stalls,” he says.
    I nod to him and look into the stalls as we pass. Each one contains a melting candle and a cage made out of woven branches. All of the cages are empty except one, which holds a half-starved hedgehog.
    “Where are the animals?” I ask.
    Peter spins toward me and puts his hands to his face. “You should not have looked! I told you not to look!”
    “I thought you said you had a lark and rabbits,” I say. “And a chicken. What happened to the chicken?”
    He groans and pulls at his hair, then screams loud enough to make me back away. “ I have to eat, do I not? How can I do God’s work if I do not eat? Why does no one understand that? ”
    I hold my hands toward him, palms up. The cut on my wrist catches my eye again. “God understands, Peter. It is a difficult thing He asks of you. That is why He sent me to help. But He truly needs to know where the Lutons’ manor is.” I hope Peter is far gone