The chamber smells of meat and sage. Two bodies lie on couches. A slender apothecary in a dark robe is already at work over one body covering the burns with salve. The un-covered parts of the body are black with ash and mottled white and red like a skinned rabbit.

Meg, Tilly Howe’s friend, leans over a second body, placing linen bandages on one shoulder. I take up a bandage from her stack and press it to my own shoulder.

The Willow Tree holds a kerchief to his nose and assays the room. Just standing so near to him makes my guts feel loose. ‘What’s happened?’ he asks.

The apothecary doesn’t answer, intent as he is on his work. Meg does instead. ‘One of the ladies heard a cry from the bedchamber next to hers and called for help. Took four guards to open the door. The lady inside was saved, but the fire spread to the chamber above. Young lords,’ she nods at the bodies, for it’s difficult to tell who they are. ‘I helped Tilly Howe, Maker keep her soul, with enough births, I’m not bothered by the blood and the . . . the smell.’ A soft moan comes from the man Meg tends.

‘Poppy oil,’ directs the Willow Tree. ‘And snails. Their phlegm pulls heat from the body.’

The apothecary sits back. ‘They’ve had their dose of poppy oil. More’s like to kill them.’ He says nothing about the snails.

I stay as far from the Willow Tree as I can manage in the close space, but my eyes keep finding their way back to him. He may not have killed a babe, but he’s still a witch. I wonder if he made the poppet.

The apothecary stands.

‘Your work is not done,’ says the Willow Tree.

‘There is a third patient, sir,’ the apothecary says back.

‘Oh?’ asks the Willow Tree. ‘Where is he?’

‘She,’ answers the apothecary. ‘The lady whose room caught fire. She was brought to a private chamber for her comfort.’

‘I shall go to her myself,’ announces the Willow Tree. The apothecary wants to argue, but gives in, bowing his head.

Once the Willow Tree’s gone, I let go of a breath. I take a moment to wrap my shoulder tightly in the bandage. It’s sore and throbbing.

‘Meg, fetch a bowl of water, would you?’ the apothecary asks. As she’s leaving, the apothecary goes on. ‘I hope the sin eater will allow us to stay and soothe the injured during her work.’