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Quinn's been thinking for a while, and he's finally come to what he hopes is a reasonable conclusion about his situation. There's a brief, quiet conversation with the Bar, after which he puts up a sign on the message board:

If there are any human or human-looking physicians, medics, or other emergency medical practitioners who are both willing to work in an extremely low-tech situation and are capable of dealing with advanced burn trauma, I would appreciate the chance to talk to you. My name is Quinn Abercromby. A physical description follows, as he doesn't have a photograph of himself. Thank you.

PS: No magic or psychic healers, please- it won't work.

That being done he heads to a seat by the fire with a cup of coffee, and tries not to look too worried about the situation back home.

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He matches the description, anyway, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything. Instead Nanny produces a pipe and starts unwrapping her baccy.

"Bit nippy out, isn't it? Wouldn't have thought it was Summer, would you?"

"Oh, I don't know," Quinn says. "It's not much warmer than this back home, and it's the warm bit of the year there. Mind you, winter tends to start early up where I live."

"Does it now?" she asks. "You live hubwards of your world, then?"

Quinn blinks. "Dunno about hubwards," he says, "but we're fairly far north- and it's been getting colder all over the world, all the time, since I was a boy. Not that we don't get heat in the summer, it's just not as much and it doesn't last as long."

"Ahhh," Nanny says knowingly. Because saying 'ahhh' knowingly is what one does when one doesn't know what's going on. "We had a helluva time with our Winter this year. You ain't seen pictures of gels in your snowflakes have you?"

"Not that I know of, no," says Quinn. "Although the kids like to look for shapes in the clouds and the down-drafts, when it's safe to go outside."

"Oh yes?" Nanny asks, only partly about kids looking for shapes in clouds. "Why ain't it safe to go outside?"

"We've got dragons," Quinn says. "Big, nasty ones. Generally two or three times a week."

"Oooooh," says Nanny with perhaps too much interest. "Them big ones, not the little ones they has down on the Sto Plains? I thought they was all extinct."

"The- I've never heard of the Sto Plains, ma'am," says Quinn. "I think we might be from different worlds. This lot's the sort where the head's easily as long as a man is tall, for what that's worth." Remembering Captain Laurence, he adds, "Fire-breathers. Bright enough to hunt, smart enough to backtrack would-be dragon slayers to their fortress, not smart enough to talk."

"Great big fire-breathing flying lizards isn't something you'd want to run into anywhere," Nanny says, firmly.

"We had them, but they went away. Can't say I envy you."

"We're hoping they starve to death. They're starting to get desperate," Quinn says.

Then it occurs to him: "My name's Quinn, by the way."

"That might work," Nanny agrees. "Pleased to meet you, Quinn. I'm Mrs Ogg, but everyone calls me Nanny."

"Nanny it is, then," says Quinn. "You'd be a witch, I take it?"

"That I would," she replies happily. "It's the hat, isn't it?"

"It's a very distinctive hat," Quinn agrees. "D'you wear it all the time, or just when you're out and about? We haven't got any witches back home, so I'm a bit on the rusty side about that sort of thing."

"Most of the time," Nanny explains. "It's like a wossname. Badge of office. So people know to come to me if they needs witchcraft doing."

Quinn nods. "Makes sense. It's a bit like-"

Well, honestly, it's been years since anyone's really had to wear a badge of office back home. But... hm.

"A bit like Colm the blacksmith's leather apron back home, I suppose," he says. "What sort of things do you do in witchcraft, anyways? I don't remember ever meeting a witch before, now that I think about it."

(Not other than the kind that wore pentacles about their neck and talked about raising cones of power and got eaten by dragons very early on.)

Nanny knows those kinds of witches, too.

"Oh yeah, like that," she says, and doesn't start talking about her Albert mayherestinpeace and her Jason. "I looks after people, you know. Advice on when to gather the harvest and sew seeds. Consultation with mysterious forces that man was not meant to know. Midwifery. Vetin-wossname. Doctoring."

"Well, I don't know about mysterious forces man was not meant to know," says Quinn, "but we've got about a hundred and fifty people back home, and a hundred and fifty more who just showed up out of nowhere saying they were out to kill some dragons and would we give them a place to stay for the night. And they did get one killed, but sixteen people got burned pretty badly, so I'm looking for people who can lend a hand. We've only got one doctor at the castle, and one dentist."

Nanny looks at him for a second, and heaves a resigned sigh.

One of these days she's going to remember to bring her Bag with her. Not the birthing bag, but you don't get to be a witch without a number of bags on hand for whichever emergency you're called out for.

And a supply of emergency supplies in your knickers.

"Well, lucky you found me then, isn't it?" she says. "Unless their teeth all got burned."

"Lucky indeed," Quinn says. "I won't be going back for a bit- I've got to buy up supplies and such here, since there's not as much to work with as I'd like- but if you're willing, I'd be glad to have you along. Or anyone who knows what they're doing, 'cos I don't want to tax any single person too much. I can't offer you much on my side of the door, but here in the Bar I can at least buy you- what time of day is it, anyway?"

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