My informal class ended earlier than usual. The questions were slow, and most of them supplied by Jamie and Ian. Geoffrey’s questions had left everyone else preoccupied.

“Well, we’ve got an early one tomorrow, tearing down the stalks…” Jeb mused after yet another awkward silence, making the words a dismissal. People rose to their feet and stretched, talking in low voices that weren’t casual enough.

“What did I say?” I whispered to Ian.

“Nothing. They’ve got mortality on their minds.” He sighed.

My human brain made one of those leaps in understanding that they called intuition.

“Where’s Walter?” I demanded, still whispering.

Ian sighed again. “He’s in the south wing. He’s… not doing well.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“Things have been… difficult for you lately, so…”

I shook my head impatiently at that consideration. “What’s wrong with him?”

Jamie was there beside me now; he took my hand.

“Some of Walter’s bones snapped, they’re so brittle,” he said in a hushed voice. “Doc’s sure it’s cancer—final stages, he says.”

“Walt must have been keeping quiet about the pain for a long while now,” Ian added somberly.

I winced. “And there’s nothing to be done? Nothing at all?”

Ian shook his head, keeping his brilliant eyes on mine. “Not for us. Even if we weren’t stuck here, there would be no help for him now. We never cured that one.”

I bit my lip against the suggestion I wanted to make. Of course there was nothing to do for Walter. Any of these humans would rather die slowly and in pain than trade their mind for their body’s cure. I could understand that… now.

“He’s been asking for you,” Ian continued. “Well, he says your name sometimes; it’s hard to tell what he means—Doc’s keeping him drunk to help with the pain.”

“Doc feels real bad about using so much of the alcohol himself,” Jamie added. “Bad timing, all around.”

“Can I see him?” I asked. “Or will that make the others unhappy?”

Ian frowned and snorted. “Wouldn’t that be just like some people, to get worked up over this?” He shook his head. “Who cares, though, right? If it’s Walt’s final wish…”

“Right,” I agreed. The word final had my eyes burning. “If seeing me is what Walter wants, then I guess it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks, or if they get mad.”

“Don’t worry about that—I’m not going to let anybody harass you.” Ian’s white lips pressed into a thin line.

I felt anxious, like I wanted to look at a clock. Time had ceased to mean much to me, but suddenly I felt the weight of a deadline. “Is it too late to go tonight? Will we disturb him?”

“He’s not sleeping regular hours. We can go see.”