"Put your backs into it. Bring it this way, and don't hit the bottles by the corner." The newcomer directed the hired laborers carrying the goods around the odds and ends on the floor as they hauled the heavy crates upstairs. This was already their third trip that afternoon.
Lucius sat on a crate by the wall, holding a cup of water and blowing on the steam. Kraft had given it to him. The famously fastidious man didn't trust the well water on Elm Street, and insisted on boiling it before handing it over.
Even after spending the better part of half an hour explaining things by the well until his throat hurt, Lucius could only sip at it. It was hard to tell whether he'd swallowed more water or blown away more of his own spit.
Today's errand hadn't been too difficult. A nobleman with a sword, staking his family's reputation on it, was quite persuasive when asking people to use two newly dug wells nearby. All they had to do was walk a little farther for the time being and draw water elsewhere.
On top of that, the strange "sleeping sickness" had already left everyone in a panic. Rumors were spreading everywhere, more pervasive than the salty breeze and more numerous than barnacles on the reefs. Naturally, plenty of them claimed the wells were to blame.
Having an Academy man of noble birth explain that there was something wrong with the well water had at least eased people's fear of the unknowable.
Of course, the people living here had no idea what could be wrong with well water that would leave someone sleeping and unable to wake. They knew nothing about the Academy's research, either, and understood even less about the differences between nobles.
But at least most