A chorus of coughing pierced my fog of indecision. It was a child’s cough and it came from the clearing. I moved closer until I could see. The bearded man with the limp carried a small form while a woman followed closely behind.
“Magra!” said the man, pounding on the side of one of the wagons. “Please, help us. Kaitryn is having another spell.”
The storyteller came out, shivering in the cool air. “I don’t know what else we can do. All the herbs perished in the fire. And even if I had my cures, I’ve tried everything.”
“But it’s so much worse now.” The woman who must be Kaitryn’s mother twisted her hands together. “She breathed in the smoke… and it was already bad enough. It’s been such a wet winter.” She took a shuddering breath. “You must be able to do something.”
“The only thing we can do is keep her as warm as possible,” Magra replied gently.
The girl was coughing so hard she could barely draw breath. Her mother started crying in stifled sobs, trying to block them with a fist.
I tried to think of what Mother would do. It was a wet cough, not a dry one. That ruled out steam infused with the essence of needleflower or nightbrace. I’d have to feel her skin to know if she had a fever, and I couldn’t do that without revealing myself. But I could judge by the sound. I ran through all of Mother’s patients in my mind until I remembered one whose cough had sounded similar. It had been a boy a few years older than I, with wracking coughs so severe he had started bringing up blood. She had used some kind of tincture on his chest. I closed my eyes and tried to remember. Eggswort. No, that was red and the tincture had been yellow. I could almost picture her hands as she crushed the herbs. Suddenly, it came to me.
“Essence of wintergreen and spiny meadowvale,” I whispered.
I crept back to the saddlebag, patting Butter as she gave a soft whicker, and rummaged through until I found the bottles I’d snatched from Brother Gamut’s apothecary. It took several minutes of unstopping each and sniffing carefully, but I found the two I needed. Clutching them tightly, I hovered near the edge of the trees.
Someone had fed and stoked the campfire. The man with the limp sat with Kaitryn close to his chest, a blanket wrapped around her small frame. He patted her back gently while the girl’s mother stroked her toffee-blond hair.
It made my chest ache. My mother would have done the same thing, hovered over me, done anything she could for me.… She had done that. Her whole life had been about protecting me. And to see this spirited little girl who had vowed to sail the oceans struggling even to draw breath—I knew I wouldn’t be able to leave things be. I had to help.
After a few minutes, the girl’s coughing eased.
“Best stay close to the fire,” said the mother. “Too cold in the wagon.”
The man nodded and they huddled together, adjusting position a few times before their breathing changed and it was clear they had fallen asleep. It would be near impossible to get close without waking them.
I went back to Butter and riffled through the saddlebag again, this time searching the bottles by size. It was the smallest I wanted, the one that was carefully labeled as producing a deep sleep from one drop of its fumes. I wondered if Brother Thistle had used this concoction to subdue the guards in the prison.
Once I found the tiny bottle, I moved behind the wagon where the man with the eye patch stood watching Kaitryn and her parents with a somber expression. I put a drop of potion on the edge of my cloak and crept with painstaking care toward the sentry, on his right side, where he wore the eye patch.
Just as I was poised to leap forward, he pushed away from the wagon and walked off. I cursed softly, drawing back into the shadows. But if he was checking the borders of the clearing, I would have at least a couple of minutes before he returned. I would have to be fast.
Leaving myself no time to second-guess my decision, I moved to the family huddled by the fire, quickly putting the soaked edge of my cloak to their faces, first the father, then the mother. They were already asleep. This would just make their sleep a little deeper.
I stared at the little girl, so soft and vulnerable, yet so tough in her own way, her body fighting that incessant, tiring cough. I couldn’t risk using the sleeping potion on her with her breathing already troubled. Instead, I shook her gently.
“Kaitryn,” I said softly. “Wake up.”
It took a few more shakes and repetitions, but she finally opened her eyes. “So tired,” she said blearily. “Go away.”
I smiled. “I have medicine to help you breathe better.”
She stared at me with a furrowed brow. “I don’t know you.”
“I’m a friend, I promise. You can’t go on any journeys if you can’t breathe right. Isn’t that so, little sea captain?”
After a few seconds, she nodded warily.
“Good girl. I’m going to put a few drops on your chest.”
She let me put the drops on the clammy skin over her sternum—one, two—and then I tucked the blanket back.
“Breathe now,” I said, conscious that my time was running out. The sentry could be back any second. “Any better?”
She took a few breaths and coughed. I scrunched up my brows, thinking hard. When Mother had treated the boy with the cough, she had me come put my hands on his chest to warm him.
“I forgot, little sea captain. We need heat.” I put my hands on her blanket over her chest. “Is it growing warm yet?”