It is a little more than an hour’s walk to Alnwick, a modest distance to experienced wanderers like Weed and myself. But there is a storm brewing low in the eastern sky, blowing in from the sea. We set off early at a brisk pace, in the hopes of returning home before it breaks. When we arrive at the crossroads, Weed stops.

“North, south, east, west,” he says quietly. “Four directions in which to run away. But now all I feel is how much I would like to stay at Hulne Abbey, with you.”

“I am glad,” I say. The depth of my joy is almost too much to express.

“It seems I have put down roots,” Weed adds as we turn down the southern road.

The closer we get to Alnwick, the more fellow travelers we encounter.

“It must be market day,” I observe, pulling my cloak around my head. “Too bad we cannot stay.”

“Why not?”

I shrug. “Father always taught me to avoid mingling with the townspeople. When I was young, he worried that they might trick me into revealing some of his hard-earned knowledge. Now I suppose he worries that they might think me a witch.”

We cut quickly through the crowds, picking our way over cobblestone streets to Bailiffgate, through which the road to the castle passes.

“Father took me into the keep once or twice, many years ago, not long after Mama died and there was no one to watch me at Hulne Abbey,” I explain. “He comes to use the duke’s library.”

“Why is he permitted to do that?”

“It is in payment for his services. Years ago the duke offered him the old chapel to live in and a yearly income, if the people of Alnwick might have free use of his medical skills. Father replied that, since the chapel was only a ruin, he had no qualms about taking it off the duke’s hands, as long as he would be permitted to plant gardens all around, but he would rather have the run of the library than a salary. Oh, Weed, there it is—look.”

The road has led us to the bottom of a wildflowerstrewn hill. Above and before us is the ancient, terrifying grandeur of Alnwick Castle.

“Yes,” Weed murmurs, his eyes still fixed on the ground. “It is beautiful—very beautiful indeed.”

According to Father’s instructions, the fever remedy is to be delivered to “Mrs. S. Flume, Cook.” We gain entry by showing the guard the parcel and our letter of introduction from Father, which has the duke’s seal on it. Nodding, the guard directs us to the kitchen entrance, which is to the left and down a steep stone stairway.