Fergus’s frown deepened. “In the water? Ye mean, like worms?”
“Yes, or maybe something else. I am not sure, but we have not been able to identify the cause. And from the patients I have seen today, it does not look like the plague. In any case, I am sure you have killed all the rats by now.”
Fergus inclined his head in confirmation.
“So do you think we can get a sample of the water?”
“What will ye do with it?”
Lilliana thought about the instrument she packed at the last minute. Her father had procured it as a favor, but he never stopped her from using it.
“I do not need a microscope to know that something is wrong,” Lilliana said, kneeling beside the stream as she filled a small glass vial. “What we must do is observe its effects.”
Fergus frowned. “Observe?”
She stoppered the vial carefully. “If the disease is in the water, then the strength of the dose matters. Those who drink it daily grow gravely ill. A single draught, taken once, may only cause a mild affliction… enough to confirm our suspicions without lasting harm.”
“That sounds like a dangerous game, lass.”
“Perhaps,” she relented quietly. “But healers have always learned by trial, have they not? I will not ask the villagers to drink from it blindly. We begin small. Measured.”
She turned the vial slowly in her hand, the dark water catching the light. “If it is contaminated, we will know soon enough.”
Fergus’s eyes widened, and he nodded somberly. “Oh, aye. That is sensible.”
“If it is something in the water, I am not sure what we can do about it, though,” she warned.
“But there is a way to purify it, is there nae? These are living creatures, nay? So, if ye boil them in water, they should die.”
She nodded. “That is true. If they boil the water before drinking it, that will help. We should not wait until we test it. We should tell them to start doing so now. It will save some from getting ill if that is what we are dealing with.”
Fergus nodded. “I will tell the priest to make an announcement at the kirk.”
“Will he listen to an Englishwoman’s advice?” Lilliana frowned with worry.
“Of course. Everyone is concerned about this illness. I am sure the good faither doesnae want to lose any more of his congregation.” He winked at her.
“I suppose you are right. Can I leave it to you to speak to him?”
“Aye,” Fergus said after a moment. “I will speak with the priest. Folks will heed him quicker than they would me—or an English healer, forgive me saying it.”
“I understand,” she assured him.
He gestured to one of the guards. “Come with me. We will gather a few samples on the way.” Then to Lilliana, “Will ye remain here until I return, Me Lady?”
She nodded. “There are still many waiting.”
Fergus gave a short bow of his head and departed, the guard at his side.
Left with the villagers, Lilliana turned back to her work. A young boy sat before her, pale and sweating, though the air was cool. His mother wrung her hands.
“His state worsens each morning,” she whispered.
Lilliana checked his pulse, then asked gently, “What does he eat? Where does he play?”
“Nothing different,” the mother answered. “Only the water. He drinks more than most; he is always thirsty.”
Lilliana’s gaze drifted to the well.
