Flick got off her litter and sat on a cot, looking around. The guards spoke briefly to Rosethorn, then left. Briar listened as they first barred the outer door behind them, then walked into the second room that opened on the porch. He could hear them moving in the next room, settling in. He realized that in taking care of them the guards had already exposed themselves to disease and would have to place themselves in quarantine.
Going to the door that led outside, Briar opened a small speaking-window set in the wood at adult-eye level. It was covered by two lengths of finely woven sheer cloth, one fixed to the inside of the opening, the other to the outside. Both screens radiated a touch of magic. Holding his hand palm-out to the closer one, Briar found that someone had written magical figures on the cloth, the signs for health and purity. Smart, he thought. This way folk that’re cooped up here can talk to outsiders without making them sick. He drifted over to the door that led to the inside of the house. It too had a smaller speaking-window, as well as a large sliding door set into the base. When he tried the sliding door, he found it locked from the other side.
“Bath time,” said Rosethorn, gripping him by an ear and gently tugging him to his feet. “In there.” She pointed to the washroom. “Get soap from the cupboards, wet down, lather up, stand under the grate, pull the rope. Clothes go into that.” She pointed to a closed chute in the wall. “You’ll find fresh new robes on the bench inside. Flick, I know you don’t feel well, but cleaning up will help.” She guided Flick to the other side of the partition that separated one of the rough overhead showers from the other.
Once he had scrubbed thoroughly and rinsed, Briar found the new clothes Rosethorn had mentioned. The chief item was a loose garment like a robe secured by a cloth belt. He also found a fresh belly-wrap, a pair of gloves, and a cloth mask. Holding gloves and mask, he went into the main room and made a happy discovery: while they were washing, someone had slid food trays through the big lower flap on the door.
He carried the trays to a table. There were warm flatbreads, hardboiled eggs, and a pot of lentils stewed with onions and bay leaves. There was also a pitcher of fruit juice. Plates and eating utensils he found in a cupboard beside the table. He was just serving the food when Rosethorn and Flick emerged from the washroom, dressed as he was. They already wore their gloves, and their masks were tied around their necks.
“We got to wear this stuff?” Briar asked Rosethorn, pointing to his mask and gloves. “If we’re to get these spots, we already got ’em, right?”
“Wrong. You wear them unless you’re eating or drinking,” Rosethorn told him firmly as Flick took a seat. “No arguments. And please stop talking as if we just dragged you out of jail.”
Briar grinned at her and began to eat.
Flick ate a little and drank as much juice as Rosethorn could get into her. Then the sick girl went to bed. Already bored, Briar washed and dried the dishes. Rosethorn made willowbark tea. When it was ready, she woke Flick again. The girl protested drinking the bitter liquid but didn’t have the energy to stand up to Rosethorn at her most insistent. Once Flick had sagged back onto her mattress, Rosethorn covered her, stood, and stretched.
Someone rapped on the door to the outer stair. The screened grate at adult-eye level slid open. “Rosethorn?” It was Niko.
Briar followed his teacher to the door. Standing close, the boy heard her quietly tell Niko, “You knew. You knew a plague was coming.”
Niko’s reply was a tart, “I didn’t know much.”
“You knew something. Green Man keep us, every minute healers get to prepare—”
“When you experience the absolute welter of bits and fragments that are the picture of time to come, you may scold. I only knew after midnight yesterday what we might face. Might.” The sharp tone in his voice grew sharper. “I also saw fire and riot that may or may not happen, here or elsewhere around the Pebbled Sea—street fights and a rebellion against a king. Shall I take ship and warn every port that something bad will happen this spring?” His voice had risen. He caught himself and fell silent. Taking a breath, he added, “I got most of the things you requested here in the city. Your healer’s oil must come from Winding Circle—why did you not have it with you?”
“I thought all I would be facing was winter colds and pains and a shortage of chilblain salve!” hissed Rosethorn. “Not a brand-new disease! I should be working on a cure at Winding Circle right now!”
“That’s enough,” ordered Niko softly. “I am sorry I questioned you.” He fell silent for a moment. When he spoke again, he did so in a whisper. “My dear, I admit that you will be needed desperately for your ability to unravel an illness and find its cure. Unfortunately, the gods placed you here. I know you dislike nursing above all things—but there is nothing we could have done to prevent it. Which do you think is more important: immediately isolating the few who were exposed to this child, or letting you go, possibly to bring infection to others?”
“Don’t lecture me on the need for quarantine, Niko,” Rosethorn snapped. “In case you’ve forgotten, I wrote the quarantine instructions for Summersea! I know I have to stay here!”
Niko sighed. “Have courage. There are other experts in this kind of work. I am sure that Dedicate Crane will find a way to identify the ailment and its cure.”
“Yours is a happy nature,” retorted the woman. “Crane will need help. With that lordly manner of his, I doubt he’ll manage to keep anyone else for more than a day.”