I tripped over the unfamiliar words. “The typical symptoms of Blood Fever include pustular tonsillitis, pneumonia, pleural effusion, acute pharyngitis and acute rhinitis. If left untreated, survival is grim with death occurring within eight days of the incubation period in forty percent of the known cases.”

Frowning, I read it again. “I don’t understand.”

“Her nose,” he said. “Didn’t you notice the sores around it?”

I thought back. “I didn’t see her nose. She had her face turned down.”

“Retropharyngeal abscess.” He jabbed a finger at another point on the page.

I held up a hand. “Wait, what’s that?”

“It’s an infection in the back of the throat that makes the neck painful to move. Which is why Windy was looking down.”

“And what did you say about her nose?”

“Her nostrils and upper lip were scaled with scabs, indicating rhinitis, or stuffy nose.”

I verified that rhinitis was one of the symptoms. “And what do these other symptoms mean?”

He pointed to each word as he explained. “Swollen and pussy tonsils, inflamed lungs filled with liquid, swollen throat and swollen nasal passages. The victim usually dies of suffocation. They struggle to inhale air, and when they do, their inflamed lungs can’t use it.”

“And you think Windy has this Blood Fever?”

“I can’t be sure, but I’ve seen it before.”

“Where?”

“At the Vine House last year, and Point Landing just a few days ago. It’s killed about a hundred people already. All Kongos.”

I shoved his book away. “You’re a liar.”

“Suit yourself. But, if you’re in the habit of sneaking off to the village, don’t. The fever has spread here. The first case appeared one week ago. I’d bet on it.”

“Going to the village is against the rules.”

He shrugged. “I’m not concerned with rules.”

“You should be,” I retorted. I sounded smug, even to myself. “Rules are what make the work we do in the Kongo bearable.”

He smiled. “Are you suggesting that Record Keepers work?”

I scowled. “Everyone has a role. We might not toil in the field but that doesn’t mean we don’t work. The Compromise—”

He held up a hand. “I’ve heard about as much as I can stomach about the Compromise.”

“What, are you a White-Face Rebel? Part of Voltaire’s Army? What do you know about the New Seed?”

I was hoping to catch him off guard. And, for a moment, he looked confused. Then he laughed.

I hated being laughed at.

He laughed harder. “Obi, Cobane. You’re really hoping I’ll answer—aren’t you? Just like that?”

I glowered. “It’s fine. Don’t answer. I can see for myself. You’re nothing but a lying feral,” I spat.

Still grinning, he leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “You know, there’s an easy way to resolve this. Talk to Windy, ask her if she’s sick.”