Sect Year 1 · ninth month · night of day 9 · the fourteenth life: Brack Quay, his thirty-fourth year
The fever came in the dead of winter, when the harbour froze at the edges and the gulls stopped bothering with the quay. It came up through the net-sheds on the east wind and into the house above them, and it took Nell first, the way it always took the smallest and the most stubborn.
The physician came from the far side of the harbour on the first morning. He was a thin, careful man with cold hands, and he stood at the foot of the bed with his bag held against his coat and looked at Nell for a long time without touching her. Then he touched her. He pressed two fingers under her jaw and her wrist, and listened to her chest with his ear against her ribs while she stared past him at the ceiling.
“Keep her warm,” he said, straightening. “Keep her drinking. Broth, water, whatever she will take. If her breath goes short, send the boy for me, and I’ll come back.” He looked at Ardon, and then at Imre, who was standing against the wall with her arms wrapped round herself. “She’s a strong child. Strong children have a fight in them.”
