They haven’t stopped staring at each other for an hour now, each one glaring at the other across the cold stone dungeon. The only movement in the room comes from the thin pillars of steam rolling through the musty air from kettles between. One of them, a skinny man with long blond hair, a short beard, and a brilliant blue coat, sets down an empty teacup onto its dish, a mass of wet tea leaves sticking to the bottom in the shape of a whinnying horse. He squints at the image, then sets an empty mortar face down on the table and slides his cup over for his counterpart to see. 

The other man tilts his head and leans forward in his chair to look, his expression unreadable under his feathered crow mask. Black-clad arms seem to unfurl out of the folds of his robes as he slides the cup back along with his own. He crosses his arms as he sinks back into his seat, his shrouded form seeming to meld with the shadows of the damp stone dungeon. The other man raises an eyebrow at the shape in the leaves, blue eyes taking in the image of a man bleeding in a bed. He looks up to meet his reflection in the masked man’s empty black goggles.

     “So the leaves claim that you were either with a patient or you murdered this man,” says the blond man as he slides the cup back.

     The masked man turns down his beak to look at the thin porcelain cup before him, eyeing the image as he drums his gloved fingers on his arm.

     “So it appears,” he replies in a low and silky voice, “and by the expression on the horse’s face, it was either scared or running hard,” he turns up to look the man in the eyes, “Markus, are you not renowned for your riding skills?”

Markus steeples his fingers and rests them on his knee, “That I am, but anyone can startle a horse if they catch it by surprise.”

     “True enough, but if you came in by boat for the quarantine, when would you have seen a horse in the past three days? That’s how far back these teas are supposed to see and they’re never false. You’ve been locked in the abbey for a week have you not?”

     “Are you saying I stole one, doctor?” Markus asks as he reaches for an empty cup and slides his first one to the side.

     “One was reported missing,” the doctor says with a nod as he does the same.

     “Yet they are susceptible to this plague are they not?” Markus asks as he leans forward to examine the lines of wooden mortars on the table between them. 

    “That they are, which is why they have been banned from use until the disease dies down, otherwise they could take the infected from town to town or spread the plague themselves.”

     The doctor eyes the contents of his two remaining mortars, the dried blue petals, and ground orange seeds reflect in his goggles. Both men reach for the petals in mirrored unison and dump them into their fresh cups, then do the same with the orange seeds for their third and final drink. A hiss of steam releases a rich floral and citrusy scent into the air as the men douse the petals and seeds with boiling water. Markus grins as the plume of steam fogs up the doctor’s goggles.

     “Then could it not have died in town like the man in your past presumably did? Your profession gives you an excuse for death does it not?” Markus asks as his blue eyes tilt up to stare at the doctor.

     He gets no read however as the man wipes the moisture from his goggles, “One could say I deal with death, but that doesn’t mean that I’m responsible for what happened in town as of late. I followed the infection here, but what brings you to this seaside hamlet?”

     “To escape from the pressures of my court,” Markus says, playing with his golden hair as the blue petals dissolve, “they’ve been hounding me about the plague for a month, but there is nothing I can do to cure it. Nature goes where it will.”

    “Nature?” the doctor asks as he unlocks a section of his mask, letting a flap fall open to reveal a hole, “From what I have seen there is nothing natural about it. It’s been planted here or so I’ve been told.”

     The doctor lets his words linger as he plucks a thick wooden straw from the table and places it in the hole in his mask. He dips it into the tea and begins to drink. Markus smiles and takes a sip from his own cup of navy liquid.

     “How could a plague be planted? No one has survived its grim embrace,” he says as he eyes the shifting grit at the bottom of his cup, watching it swirl and shape itself as he drinks.

     The doctor sets down his cup, “It’s hard to say, but it jumped from one side of the country to the other in a fortnight with no spread in between. In my professional opinion that’s hardly natural.”

     Markus finishes his tea and smiles, “Is that why the town has quarantined us together, to create a conspiracy?”

     “We are the only outsiders in town and the plague spread at the time we arrived,” he points to a green copper tube jutting out of the cobblestone wall, its mouth splayed out like a trumpet, “they’re wanting to hear from us both.” 

     “We don’t even have signs of infection. What does stuffing us underground really accomplish?” Markus asks as he slides his cup across the table.

     “It serves as a safe place to seal up if we die. They won’t be taking risks,” says the doctor as he does the same.

Markus looks into the cup and his face falls into a frown. 

     He turns the cup to the doctor to reveal a soggy blue outline of a dead horse, “For someone who talks of stolen horses your past doesn’t look favorable.”

     “I found it on the road here, its mouth was foaming with blood,” the doctor replies, “Tell me, are you a romantic?”

     Markus raises an eyebrow, “As much as any other renaissance man.”

     “Then tell me,” the doctor says as he slides the cup back across the table, “why would you be with the baron’s daughter?” 

     Markus stares into the tea to see an image of him kissing a woman. He blushes, “These drinks aren’t ones for privacy are they.”

     “They shouldn't be,” the doctor says as he dips the wooden straw into the cup of orange seed tea. 

     Markus chuckles and follows suit. The seeds swirl under his lips as he drinks, the citrus stinging his tongue as he gulps down the amber liquid. He sets down the cup and stares at an image of a hallway filled with dead men, each one laying in a pool of blood. The doctor waits for a moment, watching the blood drain from Markus’s face. 

    “What is it now? Something scandalous?” the doctor asks as he taps his foot on the cobblestone floor.

     Markus takes a deep breath and runs his hand through his hair as he lets it out, “Yes and I’d prefer not to share.”

     The doctor tilts his head like a bird, eyeing Markus in silence until he splays his hand out towards the teacups, “We swore ourselves to a simple game. A tea for each day of the disaster and a conversation for all to hear. Our freedom is on the line, so allow me to show you mine.”

     He slides over his cup to reveal an image of the baron’s daughter coughing up blood with Markus sitting in a chair behind her with his arms crossed. Markus feels his stomach lurch.

     “She caught it from you, correct?” the doctor asks, “Like the horse on the road and the apothecary you rode it to. The whole abbey is dead and we’re the prime suspects. What’s in your cup Markus, the carnage of that night?”