“The infirmary? Why?”

“Scriptorium’s been damp, with the roof and all. Most stuff was already over in the infirmary. Now it’s all there. Right conditions for the manuscripts, that’s what they said. Not in with the sick folk, of course. Out the back, in an old part. Space for the writing tables and suchlike. But the scholars want their scriptorium back. Better light. Roof’s going to keep me busy till midsummer. Hope that’s all right with you.”

I looked at him closely. “You don’t really want to do it, do you? This thatching job?”

“They need it done. I know how to do it. Told them I’d help. Rather be here, true. But not up to me, is it?”

“You don’t have to do what I tell you, Grim. There’s no doubt it will be useful to have you at St. Olcan’s, especially if you get close to some of the monks and they decide to confide in you. But you look . . . you look unwell. Disturbed. I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong.”

“Head hurts a bit, that’s all. No surprises there. Thing in the tower must have a monster headache from its own screaming.” He waited for the space of a breath. “Tip out this water in the yard?”

“Leave it for Senach’s people to deal with. We’re guests here, and we’re both tired. We’d better make an appearance for supper and find out what’s in this mysterious manuscript. I hope it is the story of the monster. That would mean we could stop looking for answers that don’t want to be found, and get on with doing whatever has to be done.”

“Mm-hm.”

At supper, Flannan was aglow with scholarly excitement. It reminded me of old times, when he and Cass would get into fierce debate over some obscure point of scholarship, often late into the night. For all my reservations, it was hard not to be caught up in his enthusiasm. We heard the tale of how the old box had been discovered within the wall—somewhat belatedly, he acknowledged Grim’s part in that—and how the monks had asked him, Flannan, to take a look at one document in particular.

“Brother Ríordán is the head archivist,” he told us. “He’s a respected scholar, and most particular about the preservation of the collection, which contains many rare items. The moment he set eyes on this document he was intrigued; firstly because it was extremely old, and secondly because it was in a tongue unknown to him. He thought I might recognize the language. I’m familiar with many, but I had never seen this one before. It seemed somewhere between Latin and Gaulish—Armorican, perhaps?—but scrambled in some way, almost as if the writer had applied a code. The title of the document included the word Bann, and another word I interpreted as tower.”

Was I the only one who heard Geiléis suck in a shocked breath when he said Armorican? What did that mean to her? Two spots of red had appeared on her cheeks; she put a hand up to her face, as if to shield her expression.