— 28 —
“She’s really rushing things this morning,” I whisper to Alice in chapter. “That’s not like the Pri.”
“I know,” says Alice. “Do you realize she skipped two whole pages of Bede’s Martyrs?”
“Daughters,” the prioress addresses the gathering, “I want to thank our sub-prioress for her faithful leadership while I was away. But I have been gone too long. I am ceasing my travels and will remain at the priory. It is time for our community to come together more than ever before, and each one of you has an important part to play. Saint Christopher’s needs all of us, and so do the sick who are streaming to our gates.”
“She and Agnes could not be more different,” whispers Alice.
After dismissal, I gather the prioress’s books, and Agnes sweeps into the space between me and Prioress Margaret.
“Venerable Mother,” Agnes says with a reverent bow, “I feel that the Lord would have me renew my service to you at this difficult time. Please allow me the honor of carrying your books today.”
Prioress Margaret looks surprised as Agnes takes the books from me. “I would like that, Sister Agnes.”
“That’s a change of character.” I nudge Alice, watching the two women leave together. “What do you think that’s about?”
“If I were to give her the benefit of the doubt,” says Alice, “I’d say she was humbling herself. But…no. I think the Anti-Pri knows exactly what part she wants to play in all of this.”
We stroll slowly through the cloister walk, trying to puzzle it out.
Suddenly I tug Alice’s arm and we duck into an arched doorway. “Alice, I want to know what my part is. It’s been two weeks since I saw that fireball fly across the sky, and there’s no doubt now that it was an omen of this disease. The prioress said it would become clear why I was the one who saw the comet. But I’m lost. Am I supposed to hear a voice from heaven or something? I can’t stop drawing comets, stags, yew trees and streams of water, and now I’m having Mason carve those things in the chapel, too. I’m trying to add it all up—it’s so frustrating.”
“You can’t dwell on it so much. All you can do is stay open and patient until it becomes obvious. That’s what Joan and I are doing with our treatments. Otherwise you’re going to drive yourself mad, Edyth. How about this? When you finish at the scriptorium for the day, come help in the infirmary. If you haven’t caught the fever yet, you’re probably safe. We really need an extra set of hands, and it’ll take your mind off of it for a while. It’s impossible to think about anything else in there.”
“Sure,” I say. “I may as well do that as anything else.”
That night, while Alice and Joan tend to patients, I pound herbs and prepare poultices. It’s a miserable place to be, especially on a rainy night, with the utter darkness outside, the oppressive clay-red walls and soot-stained ceiling, the cries of the dying behind the curtains.
Then the door opens, and Agnes de Guile enters, rain dripping off her black veil into her face, like its own little tempest. Joan turns away and rolls her eyes.
“Good evening, Joan, Alice,” says the sub-prioress, ignoring me while she scans the shelves. “I’m looking for something to help me sleep. All this excitement, you know. So many things to juggle. Might you have a bottle of something I can take before bed?”
“Certainly, Sub-Prioress,” says Joan, feigning concern. “Alice, what should we recommend to help the sub-prioress have a restful slumber?”
“Tincture of melissa,” says Alice, taking down a small glass jar from the shelf at the end of the infirmary hall.
“Good,” says Joan. “Please prepare a dose.”
“Make it extra strong, Alice,” says Agnes. “I want it to work quickly. Oh, is that a new book?” she asks, looking through the folios on the table as Alice mixes the tincture with honey and distilled wine.
“Yes, Brother Timothy’s herbal compendium,” says Alice, handing Agnes the jar. She watches Agnes flip through the folios, and side-eyes me. “It has Dioscorides and Bald’s Leechbook, both. And even some of Hildegard’s Physica.”
“Ah,” says Agnes, distractedly examining the pages. “Good, good to have those.”
Abruptly Agnes turns to leave, glimpsing a man in the first cell. He’s lying catatonic and contorted on the bed in nothing but his braies. The sub-prioress shudders.
“Many thanks to you,” she calls to Joan, and rushes out into the rain with the jar.
Alice shuffles pages back into a neat pile and gives me the ingredients for Joan’s next concoction.
* * *
—
After the morning burial, which is becoming disturbingly routine, Alice catches up with me and grasps my elbow as we head to the church. “Slow down,” she says. “We need to talk.”
The sisters enter the calefactory door, and Alice and I slow our pace and fall behind.
“Something’s not right, Edyth. The Anti-Pri—she’s up to something.”
I stop and look at her. “What are you thinking?”
“You know when she came to the infirmary asking for that sleep remedy? I thought I saw her put something under her scapular. It might’ve been a page from Brother Timothy’s herbal. I’m not sure which one. And, Edyth, she’s been in three times this week asking for stupid little remedies, when we’ve got people there in their death throes.”
“Are you sure she took it?” I ask.
“No,” she says. “But wasn’t she shifty?”
“She was in quite a hurry to leave.”
“What about the nonsense with that insane Dragon Nun,” Alice continues, “blabbering on about seeing demons? Did anything happen after you left with them?”
I shudder and recount Felisia’s “prophecy” about Agnes “steering the ship.”
“That makes horrible sense,” Alice responds. “If any of us had pulled one of Felisia’s stunts, it would have been ten switches,” she muses sardonically. “Oh, Edyth, I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s all right, Alice. What do you want me to do?”
“You’re going to see Mason tonight, right? Ask him to watch her, even follow her. She won’t suspect him; workers are invisible to her. The three of us will keep an eye on the Anti-Pri and find out what’s she’s up to.”