Anthea would have worried about how long it took for the queen to answer her letter, but she was far too busy.
Dr. Rosemary and the other scientists were manufacturing the vaccine as fast as they could. They tested it on the riders who were sick, to see if it could heal as well as prevent the disease. It was too early to tell, Dr. Rosemary said, but none of the ingredients could hurt them.
Keth was anxious for them to give it to his mother. Nurse Shannon had gotten steadily sicker, and he confided to Anthea that he was worried it was his fault.
“How could that be?” Anthea asked when he told her this.
They were in the stables, the horses tied in the aisles so that they could go down the line and groom them all. Anthea had Florian and Campanula at the end, so that she could do them last and spend more time on them. They had been very upset with her after the trip to Parsiny, and she was still apologizing a week later.
She finished up with Castor and moved on to his twin, Pollux. Keth coughed and moved to poor Hercules, whose rider had died three days earlier.
“Because of that,” Keth said, pointing to his mouth and coughing again. “This stupid cough! I should have been put in quarantine immediately! Instead I kept on sleeping in our tiny cottage and letting my mum take care of me!”
“I thought they tested you and it wasn’t the Dag,” Anthea said. She did her best not to take an involuntary step back, all the same.
“Yeah, but a week ago they didn’t know the Dag and ring pox were the same, either,” Keth said.
“But your mother definitely has the Dag,” Anthea argued.
She had helped Dr. Rosemary sort the samples taken from the riders and other residents of the farm just the day before. Two of the riders actually had pneumonia from riding too hard in wet weather, and not the Dag at all, and had been moved to one of the cottages to be treated by Dr. Hewett.
“You’ve had the Dag,” Anthea pointed out. “Well, its cousin anyway. You made me look at the scars on your shoulder.”
It had become like a secret society around the farm. Those who had had ring pox had taken to flashing their scars at each other, which made Anthea highly uncomfortable. She had never seen so many men’s stomachs, and had actually happened upon Keth and Finn comparing scars in the stable. Both of them had been shirtless, and while Keth was rather gangly, Finn most certainly was not, and Anthea had been caught staring at the muscles of his back and shoulders, and then run off, blushing furiously.
“But how do they know?” Keth said.
“They know,” she said firmly. “These are some of the finest scientists in Coronam. They have been studying the Dag for months, using all the newest methods. Your mother will be just fine. You’ll see.”
Keth relaxed a little, nodding his head, and Anthea patted him on the shoulder the way she would a horse.
Jilly came in from taking her turn with the scientists, and grabbed a brush and comb from a bucket of supplies. Anthea and Keth had left Caesar and Buttercup for her, but she went over to Pollux.
“You’d better do Florian,” she said under her breath. “I can tell he’s still upset.”
After giving Pollux a final pat on the rump, Anthea moved down the line to Florian. He was standing with his head down, his tail and ears limp. Anthea put the brush on the top of a half door and put her arms around his neck.
My love, my love, she whispered to him. My love, my love, forgive me.
It had been a week, and Anthea had asked Florian to forgive her every day. He said that he was not angry with her, but something was clearly still wrong. Bluebell had nipped at Anthea’s hair, but then she had settled down to her usual self, and Goldenrod and Campanula had acted as though there was nothing to forgive. But something was still wrong with Florian.
You must tell me, darling, Anthea said, picking up the brush and beginning to sweep it down his shoulder. What is wrong?
That man upset you, Florian said.
And I am sorry that I was too upset to take care of you, Anthea replied. But I am all right now.
You are not all right, Florian countered. You are still upset, my beloved. And … and there are others. Something is not right.
A thrill of fear went through Anthea. Beyond Florian, Bluebell and Leonidas whickered and stamped.
What do you mean? What isn’t right? Anthea stopped brushing. Tell me!
Something is very wrong, Florian said. But I … Theophilus!
“What?” Anthea said aloud.
“What?” Jilly called out to her. “Did you say something?”
“Theophilus?”
“Gregory and Theo are supposed to stay at their posting,” Keth said. “He won’t be back for weeks.”
Anthea paused. She remembered sending Major Gregory and Theophilus and his group, the Theos, off. She reached out now, with the Way, looking for one of the horses from that group.
Theophilus was coming up the road, but she couldn’t find any of the others. Anthea slipped Florian’s lead free of the ring on the wall and gave a little tug, but he didn’t need it. They walked quickly out of the stable together, and then Anthea scrambled up onto his back so that she could see over the fences.
Theophilus came down the lane at a quick walk, with Gregory hunched over his neck. It looked like the major was tired, and no wonder. He had been positioned the farthest south of any of the riders, and if he had ridden straight back, both horse and rider must be exhausted. Anthea saw that Theophilus had a little hitch to his walk. She couldn’t believe that Major Gregory would keep going if his horse was lame, but maybe he really was asleep in the saddle.
Florian went rigid. He was facing into the wind, and he suddenly pointed with his nose toward Theophilus and his rider.
Blood. This is what is wrong.
Anthea urged the reluctant Florian forward until she could see Theophilus clearly. He was dark with sweat, his eyes visibly white-rimmed, and Gregory was slumped on his back like he was going to fall off at any moment. He wasn’t asleep, he was … gray.
Blood, came the impression from the horses in the nearest paddock. The iron tang of it filled Anthea’s nostrils as the stench reached the horses. At the center of the farm in his private field, Constantine reared onto his hind legs and screamed.
Anthea leaped down from Florian’s back and ducked out of the paddock. She hurried to Major Gregory, along with everyone else around who had the Way. They must have all gotten the same impression from the horses. When she reached Theophilus’s head and caught his reins, she saw that Gregory’s left side was dark and slick with blood.
“Major Gregory! Major Gregory!”
Anthea held the reins in her left hand and shook the man with her right. To her relief, Gregory groaned and tried to straighten up.
“Hold on, I’ve got you,” she told him, and began leading Theophilus toward the barn, where all the scientists were working.
Caillin MacRennie came charging onto the scene, took one look at the blood coating Gregory’s uniform, and took command.
“Get the surgeon! Get Hewett, I say!” he shouted.
He reached for Theophilus’s reins, and Anthea was more than willing to give them up, but Theophilus pulled away, and a clear impression of Anthea struck them both. It seemed that, distressed, the horse preferred the familiar touch of the girl who gave him carrots to the loud man shouting for a surgeon.
Hewett came limping out of the barn, his face already grim with concern. One of the scientists trailed behind him, still holding out a vial that he had been working with, but he shook his head at her and pointed to Theophilus. Anthea saw the woman’s mouth form an O, and she ducked back inside.
Hewett rolled up to them with his bent-legged gait and grabbed at Gregory’s coat. The heavy wool parted, and Anthea nearly fainted at the sight of the flesh underneath: bruised, bloodied, and with a large round hole that seeped more blood with every one of the major’s breaths. The blood looked dark and thick, and Anthea wondered if that meant something. Something bad.
“Shot,” Hewett announced. “Some filthy old musket, by the size of that hole. Get him down and into my house.”
Hewett’s house was one of the little stone cottages next to the Big House. When they reached it Finn was suddenly at her elbow, taking the reins from her. Theophilus didn’t seem to mind Finn, so she gave them up, and was wondering what to do with herself as two men dragged the unconscious and bloodied Major Gregory off the stallion’s back.
Good boy, Anthea said to Theophilus. Thank you for bringing the major home.
“Come along,” Hewett barked, and after a moment Anthea realized that he was talking to her. “I need assistance.”
The front room of the cottage was dominated by a long worktable, scrubbed pale and holding several books and a large candelabrum, since the only gaslights at the farm were in the main house. Dr. Hewett swept the books onto a chair and put the candelabrum on top of a china dresser in the corner.
“Lay him there,” he ordered the men carrying Gregory. He stuck his head back out the door. “Make sure that poor Theophilus gets the care he needs. Brave lad,” he said under his breath as he turned around. “Somebody light the candles.” He waved at the box of matches, and Anthea hurried to light the candelabrum and any other lamps she could find.
Carefully the men stretched Gregory out on the table, which was exactly the right length. Gregory gasped a little, and his eyelids fluttered, making Anthea cringe. She wondered how much pain he was in: Would he start screaming or thrashing about? She didn’t know if she could maintain her poise in such circumstances. She barely remembered her own injury and recovery from the year before; she had never been good around sick people or blood.
“Theo?” Gregory whispered.
“He’s fine,” Anthea whispered back. “He brought you safely home, and he’s about to have extra oats and a nice rubdown.”
“The scissors, Miss Thea, just there,” Hewett said as he washed his hands in a basin of water. He pointed to a heavy pair of shears on a side table. “Use them.”
“Use them to what?” Anthea went to the scissors, but didn’t pick them up.
“To cut off his coat,” the surgeon said.
“Um,” Anthea said.
“Come on now,” Dr. Hewett said. “I thought Rose Maidens were supposed to soothe fevered brows?”
“This isn’t—”
“You faced down Constantine, you can do this!”
Anthea closed her mouth, took the scissors in shaking hands, and went to Gregory’s side. He moaned as she began to gingerly cut through the blood-saturated wool of his coat. His eyes fluttered open and he stared at her as though he had never seen her before.
“Major?” Her voice was barely a whisper. She asked the question that had been on her lips since she’d seen the blood. “Who shot you?”
For a moment she thought he wasn’t capable of answering. His eyes closed, and his grayish lips moved without making any sound. Then his voice, thin and thready, followed.
“They did.”
“Who did?”
“The people.”
“What people, Major?” She leaned in close.
Beyond the injured man she could see Dr. Hewett filling a syringe with something … morphine probably. His face was twisted in a cynical expression that said he already knew the answer.
“The people in the village. Threw the medicine in the midden. ‘Horse-tainted,’ they said. Tried to get it back … tried to … save it. Shot me.”
The scissors dropped to the tabletop with a clatter. Now Anthea felt her own mouth stiffen into an O. She looked from the major, who had slipped into unconsciousness, to the surgeon, who stepped forward to give the wounded man the shot.
Dr. Hewett looked at Anthea’s pale face and smiled grimly.
“You didn’t honestly think that people were using the medicine, did you? You know what they’re like better than any of us. They’d rather die than touch anything ‘horse-tainted.’ ”
“But we can stop the Dag!” Anthea sputtered. “We can stop people from dying!”
“None of that matters if you trot into town on the back of a horse.”
“They shot him,” Anthea said later, for what was probably the hundredth time.
Her uncle handed her a glass, and she tossed back the water like it was whiskey and slammed the glass down on the table for emphasis.
“They shot him,” she choked out. “And he was delivering medicine for their children!”
Through watery eyes she saw Caillin MacRennie and her uncle exchange glances. Jilly, lounging in a chair nearby, perked up, clearly sensing a secret. Even Perkins stopped drawing maps to look at her uncle, expectant.
“Everyone deserves to know the truth,” Caillin MacRennie said. “The lasses should know what’s becoming of our work.”
“What is becoming of our work?” Jilly was on her feet now. She prowled over to the table to stand at Anthea’s shoulder.
“We reckon that over half of the medicine and supplies we drop off goes unused,” Uncle Andrew said bluntly. “Some places don’t even let us drop it. They chase our men away, threatening them if they leave so much as an eyelash on the road, let alone a package.” He sighed.
“I’m sure Dr. Rosemary can wave her samples goodbye. I wondered if we should wait for the king to make an official announcement … but Queen Josephine’s letter arrived first, and she gave us the go-ahead …” He smiled faintly. “She wants to believe people will get used to horses as badly as we all do, but I just don’t think it’s going to happen.”
“But they’re wearing uniforms,” Anthea said.
“It doesn’t matter, Thea,” Uncle Andrew said. “Think of how you felt when you first came here. The Coronami fear horses far too much.”
“The king has done his work well,” Perkins said bitterly.
“What do you mean?” Anthea said. “He’s made announcements, he’s trusted us to deliver coded messages! He is just too sick to make an official statement about the medicine …”
She trailed off, seeing Perkins shake his head, and Uncle Andrew and Caillin MacRennie exchange looks.
“Sandwich teapot bunny slippers?” Perkins said with a sneer. “Biscuit dragon turnip stew? Those weren’t real messages. They were just a big test. Which we failed.”
“What?” Jilly screamed it in Anthea’s ear.
Anthea was too shocked to do more than slide sideways in her chair, however. Jilly used this as an invitation to cram herself into the seat next to Anthea, one arm squeezing her cousin’s neck.
“What are you talking about?” Jilly demanded.
“You think I hate everyone,” Perkins said. “And you might be right. But it’s with good reason.” He picked up some papers on the table and rolled them into a tube, smacking it into his palm over and over again.
“The king wanted to make sure that we were reliable, and to test our speed and accuracy and all those things,” Uncle Andrew said before Perkins could open his mouth to release what was sure to be a violent rant.
“Which we knew,” Andrew said pointedly. “What we didn’t learn until very recently was that it was all a test. We never were given any real messages. And the king decided after only a week that the cost of feeding riders and horses was greater than our usefulness.”
“A week?” Anthea was aghast. “We were living rough for months!”
“I bet the queen made him keep us working,” Jilly said dully.
“Yes,” Uncle Andrew said shortly. “Josephine hoped that he would come around eventually. But I don’t think he has. I think he’s pretending to be sick, or too busy, to answer my letters now, which is why I didn’t wait to begin distributing medicine.”
“Now I hate everyone, too,” Jilly said to Perkins.
“Except the queen,” Anthea said, loosening her cousin’s grip on her neck.
“Except her.”
“I had no idea they would hate us so much they would refuse medicine,” Anthea went on. “That’s … insane.”
“It’s not so much the medicine as the way of it,” Caillin MacRennie said. “The vaccines are so new … people are wary of it. Don’t like needles.” He shrugged. “Then somebody on a horse rolls up, with a bag of needles, says they want your blood in exchange for medicine that takes more pokes and prods to give out … well!”
“I still hate everyone but the queen,” Jilly said.
“And me,” Anthea said.
“And you. And everyone in this room.”
“Do you think Major Gregory will be all right?” Anthea had to change the subject. It was just too depressing to think of all the time and medicine and work wasted. “I think that was worse than the time I got shot.”
“If he doesn’t get an infection, he’ll be fine,” her uncle said.
“A collapsed lung,” Perkins broke in. “A smashed rib—”
“He’ll be fine,” Andrew repeated.
“There’s no sense coddling them, Commander,” Perkins continued, with a look on his face like a man prodding a bear with a stick.
“I’m not coddling them,” Uncle Andrew said in icy tones. “I’m coddling myself. Trying to convince myself that my life’s work hasn’t been completely in vain. That the people of Coronam aren’t going to try and kill us when we’re attempting to save their lives.”
“It’ll take the southerners a while to get used to us,” Caillin MacRennie said in an attempt to soothe Uncle Andrew.
“Speaking of southerners,” Perkins said, even gloomier.
“Shut yer flap,” Caillin MacRennie barked at the man.
“Kronenhof? Are we at war?” Jilly’s face was puckered with worry.
“Is it happening?” Anthea’s voice squeaked.
“Possibly,” Uncle Andrew said.
“The horses, on a battlefield?” Anthea felt her stomach drop.
“You know that they’ve been trained,” her uncle reminded her.
“If Florian … any of them … were killed.” Anthea could barely say it.
“Don’t worry,” Perkins said. “People won’t take medicine from us, they’re not going to let us fight.”
“It does seem unlikely that Gareth would send us to war,” Uncle Andrew said
“We’re finally at war?” Finn came into the room, holding a letter in his hand.
“No,” Andrew said.
“We should be so lucky,” Jilly chimed in. Anthea jabbed her with an elbow.
“Ow!”
“That’s not lucky,” Anthea whispered.
“Um, all right,” Finn said, confused. “I just … I have something I need to do first.”
“What is it?” Andrew said.
“It’s from the queen,” Finn explained. “She wants me to carry medicine personally to her home village.
“Her real home village.”