Bridges, capital of the Lowlandic principality of Seesel: even as the boat was being secured at the foreigners' quay, Roween leapt off and ran. The customs guards let her through, were more interested in what she'd left behind on the fishing vessel, contraband, magic. She hit the back streets and sprinted for the Womansway.
        Ten minutes, she reckoned. Then five minutes explaining to Ihann, fifteen minutes to get back in a carriage - surely the fishermen could stall for half an hour? Conley would have to be checked over medically, if only so the officers could prove she was ill enough to lose rights of entry. Gods, I hope I have time!
        She swerved to avoid a barrow, kept her balance. It was around here somewhere, she knew it! A right, then it's on the left, she skidded to make the turn. What if he isn't home?
        The plaque read: "Ihann Gefson, Physician." She didn't knock, just flung back the door, staggered in. He was talking to a patient leaving his consulting room, saw Roween, froze.
        "You've got to come," she panted, hardly able to speak. "I've got a friend, she's dying."

        When they arrived at the quayside, the boat was still there with Conley still in it, guards standing around discussing what to do. They looked more than relieved when Ihann showed his licence, were happy to heed the authority in his voice and let him take her to hospital.
        Roween gave the fisher-folk all her remaining rubies.

        "So you were expecting me?" Roween bit into the biscuit, was hungrier than she'd realised.
        "Sometime this month, yes," he replied, "although with all ferry services currently suspended I was wondering quite how you'd make it."
        She smiled, half-heartedly, looked away.
        He leant forward, touched her arm with an elegant, gentle hand; she met his eyes. "Conley will be fine, Roween, I promise. Those hospital doctors are the best."
        A nod, shaky. "I know, it's just, well she means so much to me."
        "She means so much to all of us." He sat back, sipped at his coffee.
        "No, I don't mean as part of the plan, it's, well I've grown to like her as a person. She's a friend, a companion. I feel responsible..."
        His expression didn't change. "Will that alter things?"
        She sighed. "No, no, I guess it won't. It'll just make the job even harder - as if it wasn't impossible enough already."
        "It has to be difficult, or it wouldn't work. You told me yourself, two years ago, remember?"
        "`Demanding and distant', yes, I remember. But it took nearly three weeks to convince you!"
        He chinked his cup on the saucer. "You know that you had me won after fifteen minutes, I'm sure you do. The rest of the time, you were straightening it in your own mind, telling yourself that this was the way to do it, that it would work."
        "Perhaps I still am?" She shook her head. "I often think of my stay here, that never-ending Summer, the freedom before the responsibility, youth's last days."
        He finished his coffee, nodded. "Those were good times, Roween. Safe for both of us."
        "All times are good when they're passed."

        So the spell she'd cooked had taken away Conley's symptoms, but not tackled their root cause. The Purian infusion the moon priest had supplied probably really was capable of keeping the illness under control but only if taken daily, otherwise there would eventually be a relapse. These Lowlandic drugs the doctors were using now would cure her once and for all, however the side-effects were horribly unpleasant, hence the decision to use narcotics.
        Ihann was explaining. "She's probably over the worst of it, but she may be delirious. She could seem to say things - cruel things she doesn't mean. Just ignore them, don't hold them against her. She's had a terrible time with this illness, and it's her body's way of releasing some of the anxiety."
        Roween smiled at his concern. "I've seen her that way before, Ihann; don't worry, I won't be embarrassed."
        Conley was murmuring when the nurse opened the door to her room. White walls, white sheets, white vase holding the flowers Roween had sent. She looked much better than she had when Ihann had pulled her from the boat, carried her to his carriage - the last time Roween had seen her.
        Ihann approached the bed. "If she was awake, she'd have scrambled vision, a piercing ringing in her ears, cramp-like muscle pains, and the sharpest headache you could ever imagine. As it is, she can't feel any discomfort, but the abnormal sensory stimuli she's experiencing may induce mild hallucinations."
        Roween peered at her, timid, from the doorway. "What's she saying, Ihann?"
        He held his hands open, hunched his shoulders. "Who knows?"
        "Can I stay with her awhile?"
        "If you wish. Come to the main ward when you're finished, I'll be with Dr Huulder."

        After ten minutes, Roween was bored. It was good to see Conley on the mend, but she couldn't talk to her, tell her how sorry she was, that it was she who had caused her this suffering. Conley wasn't silent, but to Roween her words were meaningless.
        "It's me, Con, Ro. Can you hear me?" Of course she couldn't. Even if she were awake, she'd be all but deaf from bells in her ears.
        She waited another twenty minutes, then went to find Ihann.

        On the fifth day, she arrived by herself. The nurses knew her now, were amused by her eyes in a friendly sort of way, found them endearing. She didn't know how much this was costing Ihann, but suspected he was paying in kind, doing specialist work for free in return for the hospital's treating Conley. He didn't seem to think there was anything odd about that, working all the day's hours so as to help someone he'd never met, but Roween felt deeply indebted to him. Lowlanders were almost all personable people, accommodating, easy to please, generous. Tolerant, too. Comes of living on land still owed the Cold Sea...
        When she closed the door after entering, Conley seemed to respond.
        "Con?"
        "No, please, don't hit me..." Blurry, child-like.
        Roween took her hand. "It's me, Con, Roween. I'm not going to hurt you. Is it the dream?"
        "Dream, bad, listen, listen..."
        "I'm listening, Con." Or was she addressing herself? "Are you listening?"
        "No, I'm not listening." Her eyes were darting beneath her lids, but otherwise she wasn't moving, maybe breathing quicker, that's all.
        "Why aren't you listening, Con?"
        "I don't know, hear, I can't hear, hear. Don't hit me..." She pulled a face so imploring that Roween could almost feel her torment, real in her mind.
        "I won't hit you, Con, it's Roween, I'm your friend."
        "Roween, Ro-ween. I've found her, in her big coat."
        At least this time she was using real words. "Roween is very sorry she made you ill."
        "Why don't you love me?"
        What? Roween dropped Conley's hand like it was dead, instinctive. No, wait, she doesn't mean you, she's jumped again. "Why doesn't who love you, Con?"
        "Mummy doesn't love me, either."
        Her father? But she thinks he does love her, doesn't she?
        "I'm a good girl..."
        Were Conley's thoughts ones her waking self dismissed? Or suppressed? They're ones she refuses to accept. Perhaps this was the prelude to her nightmare? Or was it simple nonsense, like Ihann had warned her to expect?
        "You don't have to hit me."
        "Why not, Con?"
        "I just want to live..." Very slurred.
        "You will live, you'll be alright." Will live? Maybe she means...
        "No, let me be me..." Strangled, hardly audible. Her eyes stopped their movements.
        From then onwards, just incomprehensible. But it had been enough.

        Roween told Ihann that Conley seemed to be able to hear her, and that she was talking. He nodded, didn't ask what she'd said. He suggested it was good that Conley had spoken, that it meant her illness was burning out. Roween had her reservations, but trusted his judgement.
        She did, however, persuade him to look after Conley himself during her recuperation, rather than leave her in the hospital. The treatment they were likely to prescribe so as to make recovery easier for her, although well-meaning in its motivation, Roween vehemently considered completely undesirable. Not unless Conley was fully conscious, and consented.