“Yes, if there are enough cases reported that it’s deemed a contagion, the whole Lower City could be cut off. And you can bet the traders don’t want that. Not on account of a few whores and their brats falling sick. Things are bad enough already. Now you two move on, and see that you wash your hands. I’ve heard it said these sick ones are unclean.”

“If that’s the case, then shouldn’t there be a lot of dead Scavengers and drysians, too?” asked Seregil.

The sergeant snorted. “The Scavengers are bred to filth. Ain’t nothing that kills them but each other. And the drysians have their Maker to protect ’em. Go on, now. You’d best be on your way, my lords.”

Seregil swung up into the saddle and gave Alec a surreptitious wink. “Clearly, there’s nothing we can do for her.”

They rode slowly around the block, giving the sergeant and his men time to move on, then circled back. Alec carried the woman and Seregil led the horses as they took her to the little Dalnan temple where they’d taken the boy. People they passed along the way shied away from them, and some made warding signs against ill luck and sickness.

They rang the bell and, after a time, a sleepy-looking young drysian looked out, then quickly opened the gate so they could bring the woman in.

“How many of these people have you seen?” Seregil asked the drysian when they were inside.

“A boy was brought in yesterday, but I’ve heard of more,” he replied. He took the woman in his arms and led them through the temple, with its stone hearth altar carved with sheaves and fruit, to an inner room beyond. A young boy with dark brown hair and eyes lay on a straw pallet, staring sightlessly at the ceiling.

The acolyte spread a pallet for the young woman and covered her with a blanket.

“I’d like to speak with the priestess, Brother,” Alec told him.

“Of course, my lord.”

The man disappeared, and a moment later the priestess they’d spoken with before joined them.

“This one’s from one of the Hake Street houses,” she said as she bent over the stricken woman. “I’ve cured her of the usual things a few times. I suppose this is a kinder end for her than many she could have come to.”

“You’re probably right.” Alec reached into the purse at his belt and gave her two new-minted silver sesters.

The drysian took them with a weary sigh. “Maker’s Mercy on you, for your kindness and generosity.”

“How long has the boy been here?” asked Seregil.

“His mother brought him to me two days ago.”

“Do you know who he is?”

“Yes, he’s the candlewick maker’s son, Teus.”

“You handle these people without any fear, it seems. No gloves. No bird beak masks full of herbs.”