“You might have moved him to a bed, if you cared about his health,” the physick replied. “For all I know you’re willing to let him die.” He dragged Croy up to a sitting position, then pried the knight’s mouth open to look at his tongue. He felt for Croy’s pulses and put an ear to his chest to listen to his wind. “Has he moved his bowels since he came here? Or passed any water?”

“Ye want to see his piss?” Kemper asked. “What kind o’ sick fella are ye?”

The physick clucked his tongue. “I don’t expect that your sort knows anything of medicine, nor shall I explain myself in detail. But the urine of a man is a great treasury of secrets, to those who know how to read it. I might find traces of extravagant humors in it. There might be blood in it, which would be a very bad sign indeed.”

“Tell ye what, buy me a coupla drinks, I’ll give ye all the urine ye can stomach,” Kemper said with a cackle.

The physick looked like he might jump up and leave on the moment. Malden rushed forward to put a hand on the man’s arm. “Forgive him. He’s little more than a peasant. Sure a man as worldly and learned as yourself can rise above such petty taunting?”

“I assure you, my interest in his urine is purely professional!”

“Of course it is,” Malden said, “and professionals,” he added, taking coins from his purse, “are paid for their services.”

It was enough to make the physick return to his labors.

While he worked, Malden stepped aside with Kemper and spoke quietly. “You don’t care for medicos, hmm?”

“Oh, was I rude?” Kemper said with mock shame. “Nah, lad, I ne’er liked ’em, e’en back when I were reg’lar flesh. ’Specially not then. They’re more like t’kill ye than heal ye, if ye’ve anythin’ worse’n a bruise on yer li’l finger.”

Malden shrugged. “True, but if we do nothing, Croy will die. I at least want a chance to talk to him before that. He had something to say to me, and I can’t afford not to hear it right now. We only have five more days before . . . before Ladymas. Croy is connected to what we’re doing, somehow. I’d like to know how.”

“Aye,” Kemper said, looking almost contrite. “Yer in the right. Just don’t let that butcher near me.”