"Let's talk about your cure," said Sir Emeric.

"Oh, must it be all business?" Dr. Yves chuckled. "No 'are you married?' No 'what do you do for fun?' Straight to the cure..."

Fulk grunted in displeasure

"We're plague doctors," Sir Emeric responded, his hands folded on the table. "It's our job to stop the plague. If your medicine can do that then that is our primary concern."

Shlomo chimed in, "We can talk about your personal life later, my friend."

Dr. Yves shrugged. "Very well. What do you want to know about the cure?"

"Does it work?" Sir Emeric asked.

Again, Dr. Yves shrugged. "Depends on what you mean by 'work.' Yes, it removes plague from those who take it, but in a few of my patients I have seen some rather nasty side-effects. Some leading to insanity, some leading to death. I assume you agree with me that it does no good to cure a disease while also killing with poison. So, I'm trying to figure out if it really is something about my cure that caused those side-effects or if those cases were unrelated. For that, I need more patients."

"More people to experiment on, you mean?" Sir Emeric said, a hint of disdain in his voice.

Dr. Yves raised an offended eyebrow. "How do we cure sickness if not through experimentation? Yes, I know that there are magical means... saints and witches and whatnot, but you people failed to protect your saint and burn witches at the stake. When magic fails, science must--"

Dr. Yves had not yet gotten the words fully out of his mouth before Sir Emeric stood from the table and seized him by the collar of his shirt. Useless stood as well, his hand on his sword's pommel. Fulk rose and took a step back, his mace in hand.

"Watch yourself!" Sir Emeric snarled through the steel of his mask.

Dr. Yves raised his hands in surrender. "I... I suppose that was insensitive of me. You must still be in mourning for dear St. Giradin..."

"We did not fail," Sir Emeric snapped, his voice wavering. "We were betrayed."

"Of course..." Dr. Yves said, clearly fighting to suppress a smirk. "And that's entirely different from failure."

Sir Emeric's eyes rose from the alchemist and glanced around the tavern. All the patrons there had drawn daggers, clubs, and a variety of other commoner weapons and had their eyes fixed on the scene. Sir Emeric wasn't sure why these people had such a vested interest in this alchemist (whether it was just because of his medicines or because of something more sinister), but he knew that if he persisted in this path he would have a bigger fight on his hands than he was prepared to deal with. Even Caleb's immense strength couldn't keep them alive in such a brawl.

Sir Emeric released Dr. Yves and sat back down. "My apologies for that outburst. You're right. This is still a sore subject for me."

Fulk reluctantly resumed his seat, as did Useless, and soon the patrons of the tavern put away their weapons as well.

"As I was saying," said Dr. Yves, adjusting his collar, "Where magic fails, science must prevail, and science requires experimentation. I need more patients. I don't suppose you could help with that?"

Sir Emeric shook his head. "No. We're not providing you with people to experiment on."

"Why not?" Caleb asked.

Sir Emeric's beak snapped toward the tallest Crow at the table. "What do you mean?"

"If it will help people, why not give him sick people to try his medicine on?" Caleb asked.

"Because it's cruel," Sir Emeric said.

"Crueler than just letting them die of plague?" asked Shlomo.

"I..."

Shlomo raised his hands. "Don't misunderstand me, I hate the idea of experimenting on people, but the good alchemist here is asking for patients. People who are infected with the plague and doomed to die."

"But to just give them over to this madman..."

Shlomo chuckled and shook his head. "And what makes you think he's a madman? Sure, he seems eccentric, and he's quite insensitive, but other than his hair I see no hint that he's out of his mind."

"What's wrong with my hair?" Dr. Yves asked, pulling on the end of his tangled beard.

Shlomo ignored the question. "When we take in patients who have the plague we could ask them if they'd rather try experimental medicine or merely drink poison. I think I already know what most will choose."

Sir Cristoff raised his hand. "I have a question before we decide on anything." All went silent, which indicated to him that he could ask his question. "Dr. Yves," he asked, "How did you come upon this cure?"

Dr. Yves nodded. "A fair question. I admit, the work was not entirely my own. A woman named Lillith sold me the notes of a previous physician. Once I decoded the notes and translated them from Arabic, I realized that the man who'd written them was so very close to the cure... it only needed a little more work from another brilliant mind."

Fulk stood from the table suddenly and shook his head. "Sir Emeric, we need to talk. Outside. Now!"