A very carefully worded way of saying he taught you all to read. Farilane felt an itch to blurt out that she, too, was a lover of literature, and they were all kindred spirits, but that would likely get her nowhere. The monks hadn’t managed to survive the centuries by being trusting fools.

Farilane had the momentum, but she also had to eat. Hunger won out, and she paused to fill her mouth again. The decision provided her opponents an opening.

With Farilane unable to speak, the abbot focused on Kile for his new attack. “Did you find anything out of the ordinary in the forest, aside from this looping path?”

Farilane stopped chewing as she waited for his reply. He needed to make one, but how much damage might he do? The name of this game was Information. The one who obtained the most, while giving away the least, won. He could reply with “no,” but such a blunt, unfriendly answer would likely foul the waters in which Farilane also fished. Openness—or at least the appearance of such—begat openness.

Kile took a moment to wipe the brown sauce from his mouth, showing no indication of alarm at being called to the front line. Then, as if inspired by a life on the stage, he pursed his lips together, squinted at the clouds, leaned back in his chair, carefully tapped a finger to his lips, and began a contemplative humming. This went on so long, even Farilane wondered at the possibility the man had genuinely forgotten the events of the last few days. “Yes,” he said at length. “But since I’m not a woodsman, a squirrel is a novelty to me.” He smiled, employing the very same innocent expression the three monks had earlier displayed.

Farilane swallowed, and only then did she grasp the absolute genius of his strategy. He had stalled in magnificent fashion. Kile gave an answer, revealed nothing, and he didn’t even lie.

“There’s a monument in Percepliquis to a famous member of your order,” Farilane said, resuming her place at the forefront of the conversation. “His name was Seymour Destone. Sadly, the tribute says almost nothing about the man. I was wondering if you could tell me about him?”

The monks stared at one another, puzzled. More than this, Farilane noted a mild hint of concern at their own ignorance. Either Kile had impressed them so much they upped their acting performance to match, or they were genuinely mystified. Frustrated at her own inability to guess truth from lie, Farilane risked another bite. She left the field open to them, but no more pointed questions were thrust. As far as Farilane could tell, the competition had ended in a draw.