There was a faint, watery itching in Gerin s eyes and throat. He felt suddenly, ineptly weak.

He forced it down. No time for that now.

Those march-masters not tasked with the fires began the lengthy business of feeding and watering their charges. They moved outward among the slaves in ones and twos, dealing out the odd casual kick or blow to open passage. The men overseeing Gerin s coffle at least seemed in rough good humor as they went around, slopping cold stew into the shallow wooden bowls with reasonable attempts at accuracy, taking the trouble to hand out the chunks of stale bread rather than just throw them, here and there grunting the kind of gruffly soothing words you d offer a well-behaved dog. Gerin put it down to Barat s absence with the troublemaker off the chain and left to rot, there d be no more unwelcome attention from the overseers, and that had to be good. Now they could all, slaves and march-masters together, get on with the practical business of reaching journey s end in peace.

Gerin forced down mouthfuls of the gelatinous stew, gnawed at a corner of his bread. He swallowed hard, breathed, swallowed again, and

Abruptly, he was choking.

Choking thrashing flailing hard in his chains, so the manacles gouged at his wrists and ankles, and the men around him panicked back as far as their own restraints would let them. Clamor went back and forth.

What the

Look out, look out, he s having a fi

Fever! It s the coughing fever!

Get him the fuck away from m