Parry barely got his arms free from the nightshirt when footsteps from the hall turned into a severe, tight-buttoned woman in her forties, holding several cloths. Her expression betrayed surprise without relinquishing an ounce of self-control. Right through the door, she set the towels on one corner of the bed, brushing them crisply.

"So you're up, and lounging about." She had a voice used to equal parts obedience and frustration. Nurse, schoolmarm, administrator? Librarian? She could be any or all of them. "How do you feel?"

Parry's instincts had him looking past her tightly bunned hair to the hallway behind, checking for anyone else, but she seemed alone.

Pointing to his throat, Parry made faint croaking sounds and shook his head. He mimed trying to speak, puffing out a few breaths, then shrugged pitiably.

"Lost your voice? Unusual for ochre fever, I'll tell the healer." She cleared the room in two steps, a cool palm scented with witch hazel pressed to his forehead.

"No fever, but let's have you back in the bed. It won't be on me if you relapse. Back with you, now."

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

Turning his shoulders, Parry made his way under the sheets, forcing himself not to grin. This trick might buy him a day or two to listen and learn. If he couldn't talk, he couldn't make mistakes, reveal some costly ignorance or worse. With a little luck, he could overhear some conversations and orient himself.

Sadly, this prim matron wasn't in the mood for a soliloquy. She put the fresh towels in a cubby Parry hadn't noticed, gathered the stub of a candle from the mantle (another clue, candles were a luxury, like glass in the window), stirred the coals on the hearth, and after favoring him with a long stare, she left, letting the door settle closed behind.

Now you know more, what have you learned?

It would be hard to place the woman's clothing. Not a uniform, without badge or indication of rank, and nothing much in the way of cut or color, she could have been a helper or mistress anywhere from a local farmhouse to a merchant to a church dormitory. 'Ochre fever' wasn't familiar, but what area didn't have its own pet names for any of a thousand diseases?

The candle was spent, the fire banked down, so the slanting light at the window was dawn, not dusk. Good.

Parry strained to hear anything else from the hallway. He caught the sound of the woman moving into other rooms and back, but quickly, without any hint of conversation. Empty ward? A few moments of silence gave him time to unclench his hands.

Things happen during the morning, you may not have long to yourself. Check your memory.

For the thousandth time (who knows how many?), Parry tried to remember everything.