now.”
Phrantzes opened his mouth, closed it again, said, “I can go?”
“Not quite,” the abbot replied. “But you can wait out here in the corridor instead of in a cell. Progress of a sort, I’m sure you’ll agree.”
A guard came in and stood over Phrantzes; he took the hint and stood up. His left foot had gone to sleep, and the pins and needles made him wince. He walked to the door, suffering agonies because he daren’t hobble. Then he paused, because there was one question he had to ask, come what may.
“How did you know to search my house?” he asked.
The abbot beamed at him. “Now that,” he said, “is a really good question. Goodbye.”
They’d been given a different room to sit in. This one had at one stage been a salle d’armes. It still had the polished oak floor, scuffed and shining, the pale oak-panelled walls and the high windows, placed to catch the early light. But someone had filled it with chairs and put in a fireplace, a huge grey stone affair rather ineptly carved with the arms of the Guild. At the far end was a large board, inscribed with dozens of columns of names in small gold script. Giraut guessed they were the past winners of some prize or other, but he couldn’t be bothered to look.
At least their shared misery had got them past the sulking stage, though they still weren’t talking much. The girl had lent Addo her book (he recognised the title; a two-hundred-year-old verse epic of forbidden love and high-minded anguish among the ruling elite of the Eastern Empire, written by someone who’d never been there), and he was sitting in the far corner reading it. The girl had found a stack of blank writing paper, and was carefully folding each sheet into the shape of some stylised animal, before slowly tearing it to pieces. Suidas was doing his midday exercises, a revolting sight. Not for the first time, Giraut considered the probability of there being a guard outside the door; but even if there wasn’t, where would he go, and what on earth would he do for money?
Suidas completed his course of fifty one-arm press-ups and started doing star jumps. This, apparently, was more than Iseutz could bear. “Do you have to do that?” she snapped, and he stopped, scowled at her and then suddenly grinned.
“Sorry,” he said. “It’s just, when I’m feeling like shit, I exercise.”
“That would explain why you’re so healthy,” Iseutz said. “I vote we go out into the corridor, find someone and demand to know what’s going on. Well?”
“You can if you like,” Suidas said.
“Fine. How about you?” She hadn’t aimed the question at anybody in particular. “You,” she said, turning in Addo’s direction. “Mister Born-in-the-Purple. Well?”
Addo looked up from the book. “We could do,” he said. “If you think it’d help.”
Iseutz clicked her tongue. “How about you? Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Giraut. And no, I don’t think it’d serve any useful purpose.”
“Fine. We’ll all just sit here till we die of old age.”
“Or starvation,” Giraut said. “I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.”
“Well, there you are, then.” Iseutz stood up. “Let’s go and find young Mister Giraut something to eat, before he fades away. There’s got to be a kitchen or something in this place.”
Addo said, “I’m not sure we ought to just help ourselves without asking.”
“Who’s going to stop us?” Iseutz laughed, rather high and scratchy. “We’re the finest swords in all the Republic. We’ll cut our way through to the kitchen if we have to.”
“It’s not midday yet,” Suidas said. “The angle of the sun through the window,” he explained. “I’ve been watching it, and I make it about an hour before noon.”
“Please yourself, then.” Iseutz sat down, folded her arms and scowled at the floor. “At least they could’ve given us a chessboard or something like that.”
Addo looked up. “Excuse me,” he said. “Do you
Phrantzes opened his mouth, closed it again, said, “I can go?”
“Not quite,” the abbot replied. “But you can wait out here in the corridor instead of in a cell. Progress of a sort, I’m sure you’ll agree.”
A guard came in and stood over Phrantzes; he took the hint and stood up. His left foot had gone to sleep, and the pins and needles made him wince. He walked to the door, suffering agonies because he daren’t hobble. Then he paused, because there was one question he had to ask, come what may.
“How did you know to search my house?” he asked.
The abbot beamed at him. “Now that,” he said, “is a really good question. Goodbye.”
They’d been given a different room to sit in. This one had at one stage been a salle d’armes. It still had the polished oak floor, scuffed and shining, the pale oak-panelled walls and the high windows, placed to catch the early light. But someone had filled it with chairs and put in a fireplace, a huge grey stone affair rather ineptly carved with the arms of the Guild. At the far end was a large board, inscribed with dozens of columns of names in small gold script. Giraut guessed they were the past winners of some prize or other, but he couldn’t be bothered to look.
At least their shared misery had got them past the sulking stage, though they still weren’t talking much. The girl had lent Addo her book (he recognised the title; a two-hundred-year-old verse epic of forbidden love and high-minded anguish among the ruling elite of the Eastern Empire, written by someone who’d never been there), and he was sitting in the far corner reading it. The girl had found a stack of blank writing paper, and was carefully folding each sheet into the shape of some stylised animal, before slowly tearing it to pieces. Suidas was doing his midday exercises, a revolting sight. Not for the first time, Giraut considered the probability of there being a guard outside the door; but even if there wasn’t, where would he go, and what on earth would he do for money?
Suidas completed his course of fifty one-arm press-ups and started doing star jumps. This, apparently, was more than Iseutz could bear. “Do you have to do that?” she snapped, and he stopped, scowled at her and then suddenly grinned.
“Sorry,” he said. “It’s just, when I’m feeling like shit, I exercise.”
“That would explain why you’re so healthy,” Iseutz said. “I vote we go out into the corridor, find someone and demand to know what’s going on. Well?”
“You can if you like,” Suidas said.
“Fine. How about you?” She hadn’t aimed the question at anybody in particular. “You,” she said, turning in Addo’s direction. “Mister Born-in-the-Purple. Well?”
Addo looked up from the book. “We could do,” he said. “If you think it’d help.”
Iseutz clicked her tongue. “How about you? Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Giraut. And no, I don’t think it’d serve any useful purpose.”
“Fine. We’ll all just sit here till we die of old age.”
“Or starvation,” Giraut said. “I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.”
“Well, there you are, then.” Iseutz stood up. “Let’s go and find young Mister Giraut something to eat, before he fades away. There’s got to be a kitchen or something in this place.”
Addo said, “I’m not sure we ought to just help ourselves without asking.”
“Who’s going to stop us?” Iseutz laughed, rather high and scratchy. “We’re the finest swords in all the Republic. We’ll cut our way through to the kitchen if we have to.”
“It’s not midday yet,” Suidas said. “The angle of the sun through the window,” he explained. “I’ve been watching it, and I make it about an hour before noon.”
“Please yourself, then.” Iseutz sat down, folded her arms and scowled at the floor. “At least they could’ve given us a chessboard or something like that.”
Addo looked up. “Excuse me,” he said. “Do you
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