He stood before me, forcing me to look into his well-defined face. A firm shake of his head, then he was handing me the tub and turning away. He disappeared into the tower alone . . . but I sprinted to the door and slipped a stone into it with my foot as it closed behind him.

I waited only a moment, glancing about the yard behind me to make certain no one followed, to ensure Turner could not immediately be rid of me, then I tried the door. Thanks to the rock, it gave without argument, admitting me into the dark recesses of that tower.

I climbed by feel, flinching at every low moan or clank of metal above. I kept my eyes averted from the other faces peering out at me from the tower cells, focused on what was above—one who needed my help.

“There now. Steady, man.” The voice echoed down, pulling me up toward it.

More groans.

Another turn on the staircase and then the soft glow of Dr. Turner’s candle just ahead lit the way. There was no gaslight at this topmost point, I noticed. I stepped onto the landing and watched the man work. He was dressing the patient’s wounds, carefully smoothing a poultice over the damaged wrists. “There now, isn’t that better?”

A growl, and the prisoner hit the doctor’s hands away, roaring a string of nonsense like an angry bear. Dr. Turner scrambled out of the cell and slammed the door, knocking his candle into a puddle of water. He was panting, leaning against the door he’d just shut.

I stepped forward and spoke to the prisoner. “Kann ich Ihnen helfen?” Can I help?

The room froze as my small voice echoed through the dark, then a match was struck and the candle again glowed in the tower landing. Dr. Turner stared at me across the glow, his face hard with anger. “Why did you follow me? I told you—”

“No one else can see us.” I turned back to the man and repeated the meager German words I knew. “Kann ich Ihnen helfen?”

The silence was taut and I could feel my heart beating. Praying I was right. The wild bear of a man shuffled into the shaft of light from the window and blinked at me from under his mess of greasy hair. I could see the gravity in his eyes. He wasn’t mad—he was a very sane man gone wild with frustration, desperate to be heard in a place where no one listened.

His gravelly voice ground out the words as his eyes pleaded with wild desperation. “Kann ich Ihnen helfen? Bitte.”

I harnessed the few words I knew in his language and asked him what was wrong. After a few awkward exchanges, I turned back to my companion. “His skin cannot tolerate something in your poultice, Doctor. Perhaps eucalyptus—I could not quite understand. The reaction will make his injury worse.”