I fish out a handkerchief and dry my eyes. “How did you know?” My voice is a bit of a croak, but not too bad.

Brother Fergal smiles. A good smile, warms up his face, no tricks in it. I try not to see him with his head cloven in two, blood and brains spattered everywhere. “There are no other men in this district of quite your size,” he says. “And I noticed you were studying our scriptorium roof. We would be most grateful if you could help us. You’d be well paid for your labors.”

I find my voice again. “Big job. I can do it. Only got until midsummer, though. Be quicker if someone can help. Need not be a skilled thatcher. A lad with good balance, to hold things and hand me things. I can show him what to do. They said you’ve got the materials.” Then, because now I’ve started I can’t keep my big gob shut, I say, “Walls could do with a few repairs while I’m at it. Maybe re-lay that whole stretch at the foot of the garden. If you want. That’d be a better spot for your compost. I could set that up for you. Double enclosure built against the wall. Fork new stuff in one side, your animal droppings, your kitchen scraps. Fill it up, then leave it to rot down and start again on the other side. Keep it going, you know? Easier to get that organized before I redo the wall, not after.”

Brother Fergal gives me a good long look. “Excellent,” he says in a voice that sweeps away the blood and the brains and the burning pages, for now at least. “I’m sure Father Tomas will want the thatching done first. Our most precious books have been stored away in the building that houses our infirmary, where they can be kept safe and dry. Over there.” He points. “But our scholarly brethren want things back the way they were. They prefer to work in the scriptorium, which they tell me is the only place with adequate light, and which in addition feels like home to them, since it has always housed St. Olcan’s scribes and illuminators. If you can render the place weatherproof again, you will be every scholar’s friend.”

“Might make a start today,” I say, thinking I’d be no friend to them if they knew my story. “Clear out what’s in there. Then strip off the old thatch—looks too moldy to leave underneath. Start straightaway, better chance of finishing in time. That’s if the weather stays dry. If it does rain, I could work on the wall. Only if you want.”

He smiles again. “I feel certain Father Tomas will say yes to the wall. But I should ask him. Thank you, Grim. Do I have your name correct?”

I nod, yes.

“I will not pry. But if you want to talk, to lay your burdens down for a while, please seek me out. I and my two helpers—novices of this order—are often in the garden. I could at the very least provide a listening ear. Are you of the Christian faith?”