“There were no jeweled covers in the box,” said Flannan. “Only the sheets of parchment. A few scraps of gold leaf on some of the others, but nothing worth stealing.”

“Thing is,” said Grim, “some fellows, some monks, they mightn’t see it that way. This hidey-hole, it could be for one man’s precious things. Precious just to him, I mean. He might have done the writing or the pictures. Set the story down, whatever it is. Could be the work that earned a scribe his job. The picture that showed what was in his heart, hidden away. The story everyone loved to hear, back when he was young.”

There was a silence.

“But what would I know?” he muttered, looking down at his hands.

“Master Flannan,” said Geiléis, “you said this document was old. How old?” There was an edge to her voice; she was desperate, I imagined, for this parchment to contain what she needed: a step-by-step guide to getting the monster out of the tower. Unlikely, in my opinion. But if it was the original tale, it would at least explain why the creature was there in the first place. I had always believed that was the key to driving it away.

“It’s difficult to judge,” Flannan said, “but the state of the parchment, the fading of the ink and, above all, the style of script suggest more than a hundred years. It may be closer to two hundred. Its very age makes this a valuable piece, even before we start to consider the contents. It was no wonder Brother Ríordán was reluctant to let it out of his sight. If you want to see it in person, Lady Geiléis, I believe you’ll need to come up to St. Olcan’s. And even then, it might not be possible. Ríordán might refuse to let the document leave the temporary scriptorium.”

Which, of course, would be out-of-bounds to women. “Since it’s in code, there’s no value in any of us seeing the original,” I said. “What we need is your deciphered, translated version, as soon as possible. But there is something you could do to help, Geiléis.”

She looked at me, brows lifted. A little muscle twitched in her jaw.

“You have some influence with Father Tomas, I think? You could pay him a visit and mention how useful it would be for Flannan to have access to this particular document for a few days so he can make a copy. I imagine Father Tomas can overrule the head archivist. You might remind him of the favor you’re doing St. Olcan’s by letting them have Grim’s services while he is a guest in your household. Rethatching a roof is no small task.”

Geiléis narrowed her eyes at me. I stared straight back. “You are a devious woman, Blackthorn,” she said.

“I prefer the term strategic thinker. We’re running out of time. We all need to work together. If you imagine I’ll be happy to hack my way through the thorn hedge that killed one of your men and wounded another, then climb the tower on my own not knowing what sort of creature I’ll find when I reach the top or exactly what I’m supposed to do with it, you most certainly underestimate my good judgment. Let’s find out what’s in this document, and do so quickly. And while Flannan’s deciphering it, and Grim’s continuing his very generous work for the monks, I . . .” I’ll be going out into the forest on my own to seek out the little folk and hunt for ogham messages. “I’ll go out as planned to invite the community to the cleansing ritual. We must go ahead with that regardless of this new discovery. After all, the document may prove to be no help at all. Or Flannan may fail to decipher it in time.”