“I’ll do my best,” he said with a smile. “I’m confident that I can make some sense of it.”

“Come and tell us the moment you’ve worked it out,” I said. “I’d like to see your transcription of the original as well as the translation, if you can manage that.” Not that I knew more than a smidgen of Gaulish, but I might spot something he would miss; I’d helped Cass more with his work than anyone knew. “Were there illustrated capitals? Any other decoration?”

“A border. Faded almost to nothing. I’ll have a good look tomorrow. I hope I’m right about what this is.”

“Indeed,” said Geiléis. Her voice sounded odd. I glanced at her and was struck by the tight set of her shoulders and the way her fingers were knotted together. Worried, perhaps, that Flannan could not do it by midsummer. Horrified at the thought of having to wait another whole year. Senach moved to pour a cup of ale and set it beside her. She gathered herself visibly. “Thank you, Senach. We’re not doing justice to this fine meal; we should eat. Master Flannan, you’d best stay here tonight. It is too late for a walk back up to St. Olcan’s. You’ll want to make an early start on the manuscript, of course. But I imagine that will depend on persuading Brother Ríordán to give you the key.”

Flannan grinned. “It will.”

“You can walk up with Grim in the morning,” I suggested. “That would be early enough for anyone.”

“And I will make my own visit later,” said Geiléis, eyeing me. “To have a word with Father Tomas. Not to make bargains or interfere in any way with the workings of the monastery. Simply to point out that this document may be the key to ridding the district of the creature. Which would, of course, open St. Olcan’s once more to scholarly visits year-round.”

“Good strategic thinking,” I said. Which was as close as I was prepared to go toward a thank-you. “Flannan, did you tell the brothers where you were going?”

“I did, so nobody will be sending out search parties. I just hope Ríordán hasn’t hidden the document away in some spot known only to himself.”

• • •

“Grim?”

“Mm?”

“I can tell something’s wrong. Badly wrong, I mean, not only an upset stomach and a headache and being tired out. If you want to talk about it, I promise I’ll shut up and just listen. And don’t say it’s nothing and you’re fine, because I can see it’s not and you’re anything but.”

I waited in the darkness awhile, lying still under my blankets. Wondering about a lot of things. Hoping he would be ready to talk. I hated to see that wounded look on his face.

“Thanks. But no. Sometime, maybe. Not now.”

“If you’re sure.”

The only response I got was a grunt as he turned over to face the wall.

“Just don’t wait as long as I did,” I said, more to myself than to him.