Three more unhappy people waited in the solar for their supper, standing far apart in the chilly room as if to avoid breathing one another’s air. Juste, shivering in her pink blanket; Lady Verr—or Mionet—with an expression of resignation, and to Ophele’s surprise and displeasure, Adelan the butler, still bundled up against the frigid walk from the cottages.
Hands on her hips, Ophele stood in the doorway and glared.
“All of you ought to be in bed,” she said distinctly. “I will bring food to everyone. I will not hear it!” she added as everyone sought to object at once. She was getting a little tired of this. “I am perfectly healthy, and I dare just one of you to sniff at me right now.”
None of them did.
“Then Tounot shall bring up our meals tomorrow, and I will divide them up and bring them to you,” she informed them, determined to crush all resistance immediately. “Genon sent up several jugs of medicine, and he said all of you should rest and stay in bed, so that is what you shall do, or I will give you the medicine with sleeping elixir in it. And he said no one with a cough should be going outside, at all.”
This was for Adelan in particular, who was old, but Ophele felt a pang of fear for Magne and Azelma, who were even older. And there was the new head laundress, Naisenne, who was gray and had wrinkles and must surely be at least forty.
“And Genon said everyone who is ill should not be left alone overnight. I am here, if any of you feel terribly ill,” she said, looking sternly at all of them. She felt a little foolish, to be telling people so much older than herself what to do, but when Remin woke up, she wanted to be able to say all was well. “I shall never forgive you if you do not, and something dreadful happens.”
“It is not as dangerous as that, my lady,” replied Justenin hoarsely. “But we will obey, so long as you promise you will not venture out alone, no matter what. Let Emi manage the dishes, and Tounot will take them back to the kitchen tomorrow. Stay with His Grace and keep the door locked. Do not open it unless you know the person on the other side.”
“Oh. I will,” she promised, blinking at the crocks and trenchers, another problem that she had not anticipated. Eversince she had come to the manor, all her dishes and cups had taken themselves away as if by magic.
This was why she needed to think. Once she had distributed supper and many small beakers of medicine, she went back to work, making a separate list for the operations of the manor. It was strange and unsettling for the house to be so quiet, and more than once she started at some imagined sound outside the door. But the only visitor that night was faithful Emi, tapping at the door a little after sunset.
“Everyone’s eaten and had their medicine, Your Grace,” she reported, without opening the door. “I’ve done as you said and kept my face covered and washed my hands every time I touch Peri. So long as I’m well, there’s no reason I can’t help.”
“That is very good of you. Please leave the dishes on the bench in the entry hall,” Ophele said gratefully. “If you’re still well in the morning, come up to my dressing room and we’ll see what we might manage.”
Was it normal for an illness to fell so many people so fast? Was it the change in the weather, as Justenin had said? She didn’t know. But everyone kept saying how smart she was, so surely if she thought very carefully, she could work through this problem, too.
But Remin immediately gave lie to the idea. When he started awake a few hours later, his eyes were bright and dazed and Ophele had to help him to the privy, dismayed how unsteady he was on his feet. She got a few bites of porridge into him, along with another dose of Genon’s medicine, but he hardly seemed to know what he was about, and every time he tried to say more than a few words, he lost his breath and started coughing in huge, violent spasms.
“Don’t, don’t,” she said, alarmed. “It’s all right, don’t talk. Let’s get you back to bed.”
His eyes were dull, and she caught his hand as he sank between the covers. Genon had said much that alarmed her, but the worst had been his cautions about delirium.
“Remin, you do know me, don’t you?” she asked, looking anxiously into his eyes.
“’Course,” he rasped. “Wife.”
“What’s eight plus eight?”
“Sixteen. Stop fretting,” he mumbled, and drifted to sleep again.
Feeling lonely but reassured, she went back to work, and then put herself to bed in the furthest corner of the mattress. She had gone over her lists a dozen times. She had thought so carefully, walking through the map of Tresingale in her mind, picturing every house, every occupant, every feverish face. She had even planned her morning for maximum efficiency, down to the location of her boots.
Ophele closed her eyes, and dreamed of missing lists.
***
Her excellent plans only lasted as far as the stables.
“Frechard?” she called the next morning, turning in a slow circle and wondering uneasily if the stable boy might have died in the night. Was it just too early? For a moment she waited, shifting on her feet, and then gave herself a shake. She knew where the saddles were. Picking one that looked approximately like the one she had used the day before and went to confront Dancer. For a long moment, horse and lady considered each other.
Horses were sobig.
“Like a hand, lady?” A gravelly bull’s voice spoke behind her as Ophele was teetering on a bale of hay, attempting to swing the heavy saddle up onto Dancer’s back, and she almost threw herself off the bale with the saddle.
“Oh! Oh, Sir Jinmin,” she said, turning and trying to recover. “I don’t know where Frechard went…”
“The stableboy?” The massive knight lumbered forward, holding out a hand to take the saddle from her. “Tounot said you’d be up at the house.”
“Oh, I was helping Emi…”
