I woke up with my face int he pillow and wven before I opened my eyes I knew something was wrong. My face and my body told me that I was lying on a different pillow, and a different bed; hard, both of them, and crackly. The bed was really uncomfortable. I moved my hip; surely it wasn't even a bed, but a mattress on the floor. Maybe I was dreaming. Blurry with sleep, I turned my head, blinking in the daylight, and saw looking down at me the face of a boy I'd never seen before. He had long curly dark hair down to his shoulders, and black eyes, and he looked worried. "How do you do?" he said. "Is your fever less?" He reached out a cautious hand and felt my forehead. I stared at him. "Who are you? I said. "Harry, of corse. Harry, your new fellow. Have your wits gone Nat? He peered at me. "You look - strange, a little. Thin in the face. But better. Dear Lord, I was afraid you had the plague." I lay very still, with all my senses telling me that I had gone mad. The plague? Nobody's had the plague for centuries.