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It’s magicked to keep those who carry it from getting sick.” This box she placed on the table. “They’ll send us a new one every day.”
    Rosethorn then took square and bag pairs from the top part of the box, holding them by the edges as she placed five on a black stone plate. Handing the plate to Briar, she returned the top tray and its contents to the large metal box. “Don’t touch anything,” she warned Flick as the girl looked inside the metal container.
    Flick blinked heavy-lidded eyes. “No, Dedicate,” she said obediently. “How does all this work?”
    “To craft spells that unlock the nature of this disease, a mage needs samples of matter from the sick person. It’s drawn from the inside of the mouth, sores or sweat, blood, dung, and urine.” Rosethorn sat next to Flick. “For you, the blood part is easy.” She pressed a cloth square to Flick’s mouth, where a crack in her lower lip bled sluggishly. “Bag,” Rosethorn told Briar.
    He took the small bag that came with the square by the edges and held it open. When Rosethorn dropped the square in, he pulled the drawstring tight. “Stick out your tongue,” Rosethorn ordered Flick.
    Briar watched, holding and closing the bags, as Rosethorn pressed a square to Flick’s coated tongue and made her blow her nose into another. She helped the street rat into the privy for dung and urine. Once the last sample had been gathered, Rosethorn placed all of Flick’s bags on the table and lifted the ink and brushes from the box. “You can do this,” she told Briar. “Write the name of the person who gave the sample on the tags, and the date. Be neat.” She picked up another stack of bags on a stone tray. “I’ll get my samples now.”
    As she went into the washroom, Briar began to fill out the labels, grinning. All winter, as he struggled to learn to write clearly, Rosethorn had insisted on doing her own labels. That she wanted him to do them now meant his work finally pleased her. Carefully he inscribed
Flick, Fifth Day, Sap Moon, KF –
for after the fall of the Kurchal Empire, the calendar used by all residents of the Pebbled Sea – 1036 on each scrap of parchment. Flick, her head on her arms, watched Briar with sleepy fascination.
    “Ain’t you never seen a market scribe do this?” Briar wanted to know.
    “Everybody expects
them
to write. I never knew anybody myself that could.”
    Briar grinned. “It ain’t easy, but it’s fun,” he replied, unable to resist a small boast.
    Rosethorn watched as he labeled her samples, then gave him more squares, bags, and a tray. “Your turn,” she ordered. “Use the thorn to get blood, do your best with your dung and urine. Don’t take forever. I want these to reach Winding Circle before dark.”
    Briar frowned at the tray. “What about them soldiers in the other quarantine?” he wanted to know. “Do we get theirs?”
    Rosethorn shook her head. “They’ve been trained specially for times like this. They do their own. Now hop to it.”
    When he returned, Rosethorn placed all the samples in the smaller box, then replaced the lid. It clicked into place as she slid it onto the bottom half of the container. When she tested the lid, it refused to come off. The box shone bright silver in Briar’s eyes, a sign that the strong protection spells had gone to work.
    “How will they get at the samples?” he asked as Rosethorn carried the box to the inside door.
    She rapped on it hard. “It’s a lock-spell,” she replied. “When this is delivered to Winding Circle, those who study the disease have the counter-spell to open it.”
    “Scorching,” murmured Flick. “Wish we’d had a lock-spell when the Mudrunners raided our den.”
    There was a rattling on the other side of the door, and the lower flap opened. Rosethorn put the small box on the floor and gave it a shove. Once it had gone through the opening, the flap closed. The bolt slid into place as the door was locked again.
    “Scorching?” asked