Kitrini stirred, opened her eyes, and gave him one unthinking smile of recognition. Then—it was obvious from her face—she remembered where she was and who she was with, and she frowned quickly to mitigate the effects of the smile. “Where are we?” she said.

He pointed. “Within sight of Gold Mountain. I think we’ll be at the station in a couple of hours.”

“Are you ready?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Not even.”

She rose to her feet, off to the women’s necessary room. “Hold on to that thought,” she advised.

When she returned, he had cut up some fruit and sliced bread from a loaf, and they ate for a few moments in silence. Then Nolan shook out the day’s ration of pills for her.

“Oh, not again,” she said impatiently. “I’ve told you—”

“And I’ve told you,” he said. “You don’t want to be sick.”

“But I won’t be sick. I have immunities.”

Nolan looked at her seriously, willing her to believe. “Two months ago,” he said, “three blueskin businessmen returned from a visit to Geldricht. All three of them were sick with a fever the doctors couldn’t identify. Two of them died. A week later, another blueskin died two days after he’d returned from Gold Mountain. Same symptoms. No one’s been able to identify the illness.”

“I haven’t heard anything about this,” she said, frowning.

“It hasn’t been in the news. Ariana Bayless is afraid to create a panic. But if you worked at a firm that traded with the gulden, you would have received a detailed memo that outlined your health risks. And a prescription for pills just like these.”

“If they don’t know what caused the fever—” she began, but Nolan interrupted her.

“Wide-spectrum antibiotic,” he said, shaking the capsules in their case. He was getting in deeper with every lie he told, but he did not think she knew enough about drugs to be able to contradict him. “Preventative. It’s possible it won’t protect you fully, but your chances become a whole lot better.”

“Oh, all right,” she said ungraciously and held out her hand for a pill. He watched to make sure she didn’t just pretend to swallow it. That would be even more disastrous.

“How’s your foot?” he asked.

“Feels pretty bearable this morning.”

“Probably all this sitting the past couple days has done you good.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” she said, and there was a sarcastic edge to her voice. “This whole trip has done me no end of good.”

So of course he had no response to that.