The Bean-Nighe’s piercing scream was harrowing and unnerving. She was so light that she felt almost like nothing in his arms. It was a trick, no doubt, meant to convince people they’d not actually taken hold of her so they would release her without their demands being met and their survival secured.

She squirmed and screamed at him, in what language he knew not.

“I’ll not release you until you meet my demands,” he said firmly and authoritatively.

Her voice crackly and grating, she said, “And what are your demands?”

He recalled perfectly what Sorcha had told him of this part of the interaction. “You must answer three of my questions, and then I will release you, and you will allow me to leave unharmed.”

“Someone has taught you our ways.”

Unsure if conversation was permitted, he simply repeated himself. “You must answer three of my questions, and then I will release you, and you will allow me to leave unharmed.”

“Very well,” she said. “You must answer three of mine in return.”

He knew that would be required of him. “Very well.”

The Washing Woman ceased her wriggling and wailing.

“My first question is this: How do I cure Donella’s illness?” he asked.

“And my first question is this: How do you define ‘cure’?”

He held his peace a moment, remembering what Sorcha had told him of the woman’s cleverness. The way he defined the word, he didn’t doubt, would change the answer he received. “I define it as treating an ailment or injury or other such difficulty in such a way that the person being treated makes a full recovery.”

“Then my answer to your first question—How do you cure the girl’s illness?—is this: through great difficulty.”

She had, indeed, answered the question, but she’d not done so in any helpful way. He had to think of a different manner of posing his question so that she could not escape answering it. “My second question is this: What are the precise means, methodology, and anything else necessary to the accomplishing of it, that will cure Donella?”

“You learn quickly.” The Bean-Nighe sounded none too pleased. “My second question for you is this: How much are you willing to risk for this cure?”

Not wanting to give her reason to make his efforts more dangerous than they had to be, he was careful in his reply. “My answer to you,” he said, “is to observe our current situation and allow that to serve as your answer.”

She growled in her throat. “Then my answer to you is this: You must travel to the churchyard in Carrifran and gather water from the mouth of the gargoyle. If the girl drinks it, she will be cured according to your definition.”