She winced in her sleep.

“It’s painful,” I accused. “You said it wouldn’t hurt.”

He shrugged. “It hurts some on the open wounds. It can’t be helped. Put it on, no matter how they protest. It’s essential to their healing.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him how he knew that. How he knew to mix eucalyptus, white camphor and ginger root together to make medicine. I held back, sensing I already knew the answer. Those books in his room: Basic Botany, Botanical Gardens, The Secret World of Trees. They weren’t for gardening, as I’d suspected. He was interested in plants for medicinal purposes. Hosea was a healer.

“What’s the draft?” I asked, pushing my luck. By showing me how to tend to the workers’ physical needs, he’d already conceded a great deal.

He hesitated. “The draft is another medicine.”

“Why are you withholding it from the young man over there? The one coughing so badly.”

Hosea led me away from the concentration of patients.

“I’m withholding it because the draft will put him to sleep.”

“He’s exhausted. Isn’t sleep good?”

“Not always. The fever has several stages. During some, they need to cough to clear their lungs. If they don’t, they die. I administer the draft when it’s clear they won’t make it.”

“What do you mean—when it’s clear? What else does the draft do?”

“It allows them to sleep peacefully.”

My brows dropped. “Murder,” I translated.

“If I don’t give them the draft, they will die anyway. Trust me, I’ve watched many go violently.” He gestured to the far half of the room, where I’d studiously avoided looking.

“I don’t want to give up on anyone but, sometimes, peace is all you can offer.” Catching himself, he paused for a long moment. “It seems you were right, Cobane.” He looked down at my schoolbag, then back up. “I judged you earlier, and I shouldn’t have.”

I nodded, accepting his apology.

“But I meant what I said. I don’t want to see that quill out again. No more unnecessary lies. We do it only if it will save a life.”

A part of me wanted to argue—what made their physical health more important than peace of mind? But I held my tongue. “I was only trying to help,” I said.

He placed a container of ointment in my hand. “Okay, then help. If we can get a handle on this early, we might save Cobane from a worse fate.”

“I’ll stay as long as I can.” I bit my lip, thinking of Jones. I wanted to know what he meant by a worse fate, but something told me to let it be.

He gestured to the ointment. “If you’ll bring that to Robin, I’ll take care of Sky and Kiwi.”