Kraft and Yvonne returned to the clinic. By the time they came in, their hair had half dried. At a glance, they looked like a teacher who'd skipped work to take a student camping, slipped into a mountain stream, and hastily packed up to head back early.
He declined the others' offers to help carry their bags. After asking for a late-night snack and a fire in the stove, he quickly disappeared up the stairs.
Kup, who'd hurried over after hearing the news, only heard the bedroom door close.
The Squire and assistant shrugged, set down the instruments they'd been sterilizing, washed their hands, and headed for the kitchen. They asked the cook, who was also working overtime, to make two more bowls of hot soup, with extra cinnamon.
Once their work was done, everyone gathered around the table to share food while waiting for the professor to finish unpacking, come back, explain where he'd been, and hear their reports on the recent work.
As the tight-lipped Yvonne started on her third bowl of soup, Kup realized tonight might be a little different.
If anyone was best suited to leave the table just then, it was him.
So the professor's assistant put down his bowl and got up. He crossed the floorboards, newly repaired with fresh wood, and stopped at the bedroom door. The light was still on inside.
He raised a hand to knock, but stopped a few inches from the door. The room was utterly quiet. There was no sign of anyone washing up or moving around—not even the sound of a brass nib tapping against paper on the desk.
He wasn't sure when he'd become so sensitive. Perhaps it was the techniques he'd been forced to practice repeatedly during the past few days of medical work, training