"Mondragon? Ye going to tell me?"

"No," he said, but not like he was talking to her. His arm came up, hard, and she flung herself aside and down below the rim of the mattress for a second, till the arm fell and he twisted aside, making havoc of the sheet and blankets. She grabbed them on the retreat and pulled them back again, him with them, and tucked the edges under. Which caught one arm, if not the other. "No," he said.

"You shut up!" she snapped at him. "d.a.m.n ye, lie still, ye d.a.m.n fool, ye d.a.m.n near hit me!"

"Jones?" he mumbled, as if he knew where he was again. "Jones?" And the coughing bent him double again on his side.

"What'd Kalugin want, d.a.m.n ye? Where you been, ye come home like mis?"

More coughing. He could not get it stopped. Jones reached after the cup and held it for him and held his head up, heart pounding in fear.

He managed to drink. The spasm eased, and he lay still when she let his head down, all curled up and quiet. She wanted the answer, dammit, but talking made him cough and the spasms put her all too much in mind of how her mother had died.

" 'S all right," he managed to whisper finally, staring off past her, eyes half-closed. " 'S all right, no trouble."

"Ye're a d.a.m.n liar! Are ye safe here? is anyone looking for ye?"

That jolted him into thinking. She saw the rapid flicker of his eyes in the lamplight, gla.s.sy as they were. "Be all right," he whispered. "Be all right, Jones."

"You want me to go ask Kalugin?"

**No!" That came out harsh, out loud, and he coughed again. "Oh, d.a.m.n, let me die."

Joke, that was. She was sure. She sat back down in her chair and clenched her hands till they ached.

WAR OF THE UNSEEN WORLDS.

Leslie Fish

It was coming on night as Jones tied up outside Moghi's, fingers fumtHing in the chill shadows that fell early this time of the year. Cold, and due to get colder, and after steaming hot all day. The sky threatened rain for the night, probably another steam-bath fog tomorrow. Rotten weather, rotten season, rotten Merovingen anyway.

A familiar whistle tickled quietly at the edge of hearing.

Jones lifted her head and looked around slowly. Aw, not again. Not now.

It was.

Long dark hair held back with a kerchief-headband, big dark eyes, sharp features, hungry-hawk look and all. Rif leaned against a wall, half fading into it in her dark hair and cloak, points of metal twinkling faintly at her belt and boot-tops. She looked as if she'd put in a hard day or two, but she was smiling. d.a.m.n that smile.

"Go "way," Jones snapped. "Don' want none o' yer business t'night."

"Ain't for tonight," Rif promised, gliding away from the wall. Her voice was shaped to that quiet, carrying pitch- aimed at Jones' ears only. "1 wants- take you up on that offer 109.

110.

Leslie Fish WAR OF THE UNSEEN WORLDS.

ill from Festival. Take me an' my harp an' some . . . little things . . . around town tomorrow."

Jones. .h.i.tched her shoulders higher, remembering that little trip last Festival, and her too-reckless promise afterward. "Sure, an' how many holes 'm I gonna get shot in my boat this time? No thanks. Go 'way." Besides the risks-and with Rif, who coutd tell what those were-the work might take all day. When would she sleep, or keep watch on Mondragon?

"Hey, 1 paid all right, didn' !?" Rif crouched beside the skip, her cloak making a pool of darker shadow on the wharf. Her trained singer's voice coaxed so sweetly, it was hard to see the hidden hooks in the words. "It ended up right, after all. Why'd ye change yer mind?"

Jones glared at her, angry with raised and dashed hopes, tired enough to be a little reckless. "All that d.a.m.ned trouble- the hole in my boat an' the stink after, an' 1 don't just mean that stuff in the water-an' fer what? You said you were gonna kill the fever in the water, ney?"

Rif flinched, then rolled her eyes skyward. "This again?" she muttered to herself. Then, louder; "s.h.i.tfire, all J said was 'no Plague'-an' there's been no Plague! It's just the Crud. for Ja- Lordsakc. n.o.body dies of the Crud!"

"Just my man, maybe!" The words slipped out before Jones could catch them. She tried to s.n.a.t.c.h them back, and choked on a sudden, explosive sob. d.a.m.n! Tired, worried, miserable-now I'm getting careless too!

"Aww . . ." Rif edged closer, voice gone soft and kindly. "How bad's he got it? How long? Y'had a doctor see 'em? Got medkine?"

Jones nodded quickly, gulping back treacherous tears. "H-he's no worse, maybe a little better . . ." And maybe not. Raj was good at nursing, and May's herbs had proved good too-so far. Still, how much could they really do? No worse, but no real change . . .

"Well, there." Rif slid a comforting arm around Jones' bent shoulders. "So, he'll get over it soon. Just the Crud."

"But it's been near a week!" Shut up. Jones kicked herself again. d.a.m.n that woman's kindness, loosening tongues. "...

An* he's from out o' town, not used to it . . ." Yes, that was the worst: not knowing where his body's weaknesses were, whether he could survive the Crud, if May's herbs and Raj's care would help at all or had only slowed the inevitable.

"Hey, 1 know this really good doctor." Rif squeezed her shoulder, a bit absently. "She c'n cure d.a.m.n-near anything. One more patient won't hurt . . ."

"What'm I supposed to' pay 'er with?" Jones muttered, gouging tears out of her eyes. A fool's question: it meant she was seriously weighing Rif's offer, asking the price.

"Don' worry 'bout that," Rif soothed. "Where's yer man staying?"

Careful! Jones froze, balanced on the knife's edge. Tell Rif where Mondragon was, and maybe she'd sell the knowledge. Then again, Rif most likely didn't know who Mondragon was, or would much care. Besides, she wanted a favor, some more work done-and wanted it bad.

Take her doctor, take her job . . . And you know what some of her work is.

"... And who some of her friends are.

Rif s doctor just might be good enough to guarantee that Tom Mondragon survived.

"Petrescu. South-east corner, top o' the waterline-stairs," Jones gave in. "Got a kid there, watchin' 'im . . . Hey, you know Raj?"

Rif laughed. It sounded like the first good laugh she'd had in days. "Right," she yukked and gasped. "Oh h.e.l.l, yes, I know that kid. h.e.l.l yes, everything's gonna be all right."

"Ye wouldn' laugh if it was yer friend sick," Jones grumbled, covering her retreat.

"Could be worse, believe me." Rif sobered instantly, eyes looking on something far off, out of sight. "You could have a sick enemy. Or ... ally."

Jones barely heard, digging out her coins and counting them. Plenty there: enough for whatever was on the fire tonight at Moghi's. Her belly rumbled at the thought. Eat now, go to work after. Maybe buy some punk-charcoal and run another batch of fuel-brew through the kettle tonight.

112.

Leslie Fisfc Bundle up beside the stove and keep warm, maybe catch some sleep by Mondragon's bedside in the slack hours after midnight. And tomorrow . . .

"When an' where do 1 meet ye tomorrow?" she asked, resigned.

Rif waited a moment, glanced back down the hallway, then rapped twice at the featureless door. Pause, then three knocks more. Wait and listen.

Footsteps within padded close. A pinp.r.i.c.k of light gleamed for an instant through a tiny hole in the wood, then shadowed, then gleamed again. The door swung open.

"Come to help us pack?" Rattail asked, giving her partaer a look that suspected otherwise.

"Not exactly." Rif slipped inside, pushed the door shut and relocked it. "Uti, m'sera, 1 got another job for ye."

In the room beyond, a short gray-haired woman paused with a half-folded shirt in her hand, and rolled a disbelieving eye at Rif. "Rafaella," she sighed, not quite yet in exasperation, "You know we have to finish this tonight."

"Well, there really ain't that much. Rat could do it up while ye'r out."

It was Rattail's turn to roll her eyes. "If you think you're gonna leave me with-" she started.

"It's important," Rif plowed on. "Y'know I wouldn' haul y'away from this if it weren't. Somebody's sick, bad."

The older woman finished folding the shirt and slapped it down on a pile of clothes. "1 can't go to every sick person in the city. That's one reason why we started the school, remember? Go to Yarrow when she finishes cla.s.s."

"Ah, this is more'n just a sick-call. It's gonna need a ... good political eye, I think." Rif chewed her lip a moment, then looked to Rattaii. "It's Altair Jones' man-and a friend o' Raj."

Rattail raised both eyebrows. "What's the kid's connection with Jones?" she asked. "1 hadn't heard about this."

"Dunno yet, just that Raj's keeping watch on Jones' man. That's prob'ly where he's been all week. Besides . . ." Rif WAR OF THE UNSEEN WORLDS.

113.

turned back to the older woman. "1 been trying t'get you an' Raj together, ever since 1 found out he's got a secret wish t'be a doctor. This is yer only chance t' check him over, see if he's right for the school."

Rattail opened her mouth, then shut it again, shrugged, looked away.

The gray-haired woman rubbed a brown-sleeved wrist across her forehead, and frowned at Rif. "I really appreciate the recruiting," she grumbled. "But at this late date . . ."

"How long could it take? He's over at Petrescu. Old Min's skip could take us there fast, n.o.body t'see." Rif flicked another glance at Rattail. "She's tied up under the bridge here right now, ain't she?"

"Yes," Rattail admitted. "I don't suppose anybody'd notice or recognize Doc in this light, not down on the water . . ." She grinned wickedly. " 'Specially not if you lent her that dark cloak of yours."

Rif shrugged, yielding the point. It wasn't worth arguing about. "Right. And you could finish the packin' and mind the store while we're gone."

The gray-haired doctor rocked back and forth on her toes, balanced, considering. "Suppose something goes wrong, any little thing that keeps me from getting back here, or on the ship tomorrow? We're so close now, Rif . . . There's so much more to this, to be honest, than one man's life or one boy's career."

"M'sera . . ." Rif raised her right hand as if taking an oath. "If ye're stopped somehow, going or coming back or whatever, I swear I'll take the package upriver myself. Just tell me where."

The woman looked doubtful, but stopped her indecisive rocking. "And what if you get stopped too? It has to be on that ship tomorrow morning."

"Then I'M do it," Rattail sighed, throwing a poisonous what-are-you-getting-me-into look at Rif. "I suppose I can get the details from Yarrow, right?"

"Oh, all right," the doctor yielded. She went to a cabinet and took out a large, dark, oilcloth bag. The contents clinked 114.

Leslie Fish as she picked it up. "I just hope this man's better tempered than the last one you dragged me off to see. Such a b.i.t.c.hing, bullying, mean-mannered oaf I never met in my life."

Rattail whooped with laughter.

Rif shuddered. "Could've been worse," she muttered. "He could've been . . . really upset."

Rattail was stiil laughing as the other two padded out the door and down to Mintaka's tie-up.

A little after midnight Jones tied up under the water-stair at Petrescu and climbed to the door at the stairs-end, walking slowly, saving strength. Not much sleep last night, long day ahead, n.o.body but the kids to watch Mondragon while she was gone, and even that meant that Raj or Denny had to miss a day's work. Excuses could be made, of course, this being fever season. Money was another problem, but remembering how well Rif paid she could make it up to the boys on her own. Persuading them shouldn't be too hard.

It was Raj who let her in. He rolled an eye at Jones, shushed her and pointed to where Denny lay asleep on a tangle of blankets in a comer. He padded back to the bedroom. A quick glance as she came in showed Mondragon likewise sleeping, near-buried under more blankets. At least his breathing didn't sound too bad.

Raj filled the cup with reeking herb-mix and set it aside, watching as Jones closed the door. "M'sera," he whispered, "Did you really send that doctor that came last night with Rif?"

Jones froze, hand still on the door. "When's that?"

"A little after dark. Rif said you'd sent her, so 1 let them in. Just the same, I didn't think I should use those medicines until 1 checked with you."

"Yey, I sent 'em." Jones pulled away from the door, tiptoed to the bed and spent a long moment looking down at Mondragon's sleeping face. No better, no worse. d.a.m.n, his hair looked so pretty, spread out on the pillow every which way . . . "That Rif moves fast."

"She's all right. Just her friends ... I don't know." Raj WAR OF THE UNSEEN WORLDS.

115.

picked up a small dark gla.s.s jar and a smaller box of hand-pressed pills. "1 can use these, then?"

Jones read the labels, shrugged. Probably just what they seemed to be. and expensive if so. Rif still wanted her work done. "Go ahead. Cain't hurt. What'd the doctor say?"

"That he'd be all right. That May's herbs are good for this. That . . ." Raj caught his lip in his teeth for a moment. "That I'd make a good doctor, and . . . and there's a way."

d.a.m.n again. Jones sat down on the chair and leaned her back against the wall. d.a.m.n that Rif, getting another hook into her, this time through the kid. Didn't have to threaten people, no; just find a way to offer their dearest dreams. "Say it,"

"There's a school for doctors, very new. very quiet. Won't even cost much. I'd just have to ... take an oath, and no breaking it."

To the Janes. Jones closed her eyes, seeing where this led. No, the Janes hadn't been idle these past weeks. A new medical school, and Ancestors knew what else, and now they were recruiting. Raj, and maybe even me.

If so, they worked with a light, deft touch.

"Jones?" Raj's hunger stood in his eyes. So did a solid fear of what he could be touching. "You know it's what I want, what I'm good at. But 1 don't know . . . these people."

He'd said it. He'd guessed. Jones took a deep breath and opened her eyes again. "They done no harm as I can see. Maybe some good, even. Lord knows, there's worse ye c'n fall in with."

Raj ducked his head, shivering. No need to mention what worse, or who. "I know. Believe me, I know. And 1 don't want to deal with religious fanatics, ever again. But ..."

Jones felt obliged to add: "1 ain't seen 'em push hard on anyone yet. Ye could always back off, draw the line, if y'wanted to." Like I could've backed off this job. And won't.