more had already hatched and new victims were appearing all the time.
  "Still no breakthrough, no sign of a cure?" he said, knowing the answer even as he asked.
  She shook her head. "I'm increasingly convinced that there is no cure, that this isn't a medical problem at all but is talent-related."
  He nodded, her words anything but a surprise.
  "I feel so useless," she continued. "All those years of training and dedication, all my skills, and I can't do anything to help people when the biggest challenge of my life appears. I'm reduced to watching folk die and making them more comfortable in their final hours."
  "I'm sure that neither those people you and your staff help nor their relatives consider your efforts to be useless, not by a long shot."
  Small comfort, he knew. Jeanette had been pushing herself hard throughout the crisis with little concern for her own health. "You look exhausted," he told her. "You should go and get some rest."
  She guffawed. "That's fine advice coming from you. Have you looked in the mirror lately?"
  "I try not to." The Prime Master knew he'd been driving himself just as ruthlessly, but he had his reasons. There wasn't much time left to him. He'd already lost sensation and most of the mobility in his left hand and the right was only a little better. Before long, he'd be just one more victim of the bone flu; though he intended to take matters into his own hands before that actually came to pass.
  "I'd better be getting back to my patients."
  She rose and headed towards the door, but stopped part way. "Oh, one more thing."
  "Yes?"
  "Why are you wearing gloves?"
  He hesitated. Almost, he told her, but shied away. She had enough burdens without him adding to them. "A skin infection, nothing serious."
  She stared into his eyes, not fooled for a second, he felt certain. "Of course it is. If you want me to have a look at it, or just to talk⦠you know where I am."
  He nodded, once. "Thank you, Jeanette."
  She gave a thin, worried smile and left.
  For long seconds he simply stared at the closed door, abruptly overwhelmed by a surge of despair. Life was filled with so many regrets.
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FOUR
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They lounged in comfortable chairs and there were no desks in sight but Tom wasn't fooled for a minute. The goddess, facing them, was the teacher, and they were there to learn.
  "How did you first become aware of your talents?" Thaiss asked.
  Tom hesitated, needing a few seconds to frame his reply. Fortunately Mildra stepped into the breach, evidently happy to answer first.
  "Small things, when I was a little girl. A cut or a bruise⦠If I closed my eyes and concentrated, I could sort of sense what needed doing to heal them, how the blood vessels could be repaired and the escape of blood staunched, the pressure eased and the skin knitted together. It wasn't ever a conscious process, just something I could do at an instinctive level. When I was older, somebody I cared about was murdered in front of me, and I thought I was going to be next. I was spared, but the experience traumatised me and I went to one of your temples seeking⦠I'm not really sure what; advice, solace, reassurance⦠maybe a bit of all those things. A purpose most of all, though; a reason to go on.
  "The Thaistess sensed something in me and suggested I apply for the priesthood. She was very persuasive, answering my questions with patience and warmth, smoothing away all my reservations. I took her advice, applied, was accepted, and immediately knew that this was where I belonged. I loved it. For the first time I received formal training in healing and the other aspects of my talent."
  Thaiss nodded. "And Tom?"
  "Hiding," he replied. "That's all it was. From bigger boys, from market stall holders I'd nicked things off, from razzers who