“Have you ever seen someone with the ague?” Dex cried over the rattling of the cart.

Bryar shook his head. “I’ve read about it. Spoken with some of the older priests in the Sepulcher who rememeber the outbreak. Surely you have seen them, though?”

“I’ve not been here but a season,” said Dex. “Came here from Pexate. It’s in a sorry state, you know, but the townsfolk were ready to give me cart duties straight off.”

“I thought I heard a bit of Pexate in your accent,” laughed Bryar. “But why does no one else want to rattle the cart up here? The Cloister needs supplies and they get a stipend from the Sepulcher.”

“Perhaps people worry they’ll catch the ague?” Dex said. “No one’s caught it in ten years, I say, and I’ve no one to depend on me. If I’m caught with it, it just means a life of ease in the Cloister.”

“But even after a season, not a peek at any of them?”

“They don’t flaunt themselves,” said Dex. “Nor should they, I expect.”

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