He called down to her. “Sally?”

She stopped singing and came up. “Did you need something?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Isaac said. “Would you be willing to spend more time here, with me? I could use your help in the library. And perhaps you’d be interested in studying some Latin, or Greek?”

Her jaw dropped. “You mean it? Yes! Oh, thank you!”

She hugged him. I’d never seen anyone so happy about learning Greek.

“I’ll come whenever you like,” she said. “Every day.” And she went back downstairs, singing a merry tune.

“That was easier than I’d hoped,” Isaac said. “Though there is one thing that worries me.”

“What’s that?” I said.

“At some point, Sally is likely to want to marry, and have a family. Any suitor would have to be someone of impeccable trust.” He looked at me speculatively. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever considered…?”

Tom fell off his chair, laughing.

While Sally remained to look after Isaac, Tom and I took the carriage to Blackthorn, on the hunt for Master Benedict’s arthritis remedy. Henri was in the shop as usual, snoozing on the stool behind the counter. Upstairs, we heard a pair of voices singing an old French folk song, neither one particularly well.

In my bedroom, we found Simon, lying on his stomach, and Dr. Kemp, sitting beside him, chair leaning against the wall. On the bed between them was Master Benedict’s chessboard, a game in progress.

It didn’t look like they’d got very far. Both were drinking, a squat-bottomed bottle between them, the source of the brandy in their cups—and, no doubt, the song in their hearts, as well.

“Ah!” Dr. Kemp said as we squeezed our way through the book stacks. His eyes were a little red from drink. “The boy apothecary returns.”

“I hope you don’t mind, Christopher,” Simon said. “The doctor here spotted the board in your workshop and offered me a game.”

“Not at all,” I said. “Who’s winning?”

“I am,” they said in unison, and laughed.

“I hope you don’t mind us raiding your stash of brandy, either,” Dr. Kemp said.

“That’s not mine,” I said, puzzled.

Too late, I saw Simon put a finger to his lips. Dr. Kemp saw it, too.

“What?” he said to Simon, with an outrage I wasn’t entirely sure was genuine. “You said the boy ordered it. For medicinal purposes!”

“It is medicinal,” Simon said casually. “Boredom kills.”

“Blaming it on a child. I should have known better than to trust a Frenchman.” He stood, snatching the bottle away. “I’m taking this as punishment.” He winked at me as he left.

Simon shouted after him. “You’re taking it because you’re a quack—oh! Ow.”

“Lie down,” I said.

“I keep forgetting my back,” Simon said. “Then I move, and it reminds me. Would you ask Henri to return to my room at the inn? I have a few more bottles of brandy left. I finally understand why my uncle loved the stuff so. Helps the pain, you know.”