"The good news is that none of you show signs of the plague - yet." The elderly physician, whose name was Mattheus, he had said earlier, adjusted his thick woolen gloves and pulled them farther up his wrists. "The bad news is that I can't be certain with your Resistant friends here that they're untouched. My medical spells are the only reliable way to know for sure, but with them, I can only approximate by the symptoms they exhibit."
"Fine, but what's wrong with Cicera, then?" Vica demanded, speaking from behind her own mouth covering that she'd been told to wear. She pointed at the two tents pitched for them on the grass off to the side a short distance away. Through the open flaps, she could see Dresden in one and Cicera in other, dozing on makeshift cots made of stacked linens. "Look
