"Another rebel?" Aldus asks, not stopping grinding whatever noxious leaves are in his little mortar.
"No! Aldus, I think he's a seer!" Wil takes a deep breath, wondering if he should have blurted that out so loudly.
"What are you talking about?" Cyrward's eager voice breaks into their conversation as he shoves aside the curtain hanging over his chamber entrance.
"You're supposed to be too ill to get up," Aldus says, without much reproof in his voice.
"Stuff! Old Ev's asleep and no-one else is going to come here this late." Cyrward's eyes are alight with excitement. "What is it, Wil? What news from town?"
Aldus sighs, puts his mortar and pestle aside, and picks up his medical bag. Then he grabs a spare habit and thrusts it at Cyrward.
"If you're going to insist you're well, you can help," he says. "Here." Cyrward takes the habit eagerly, although Wil can't see how his cousin is going to be able to do much with a broken arm. "Put that on and go out by the back gate," Aldus continues. "Meet us by the old bog oak."