“I think we can manage that,” says Brother Fergal. “We’ve watched you work on this with something approaching awe, Grim; it feels as if you’ve become part of this community. Why don’t you join us for a meal this evening? You’d be welcome to attend the service first.”

Know what they mean when they say your blood turns cold. Feels like mine’s draining away. I shake my head. “Thank you, but no, I’d best get back to Lady Geiléis’s place. Haven’t seen Flannan around, have you?”

“He’ll be in the infirmary,” says someone. “Wrestling with his translation.”

“Or with Brother Eoan,” says someone else. “He was waiting for a bird to come in. I’ll take you over there if you like.”

Thing about thatching is, it’s messy. End of the day, you’re filthy from head to toe. “I’d better have a wash first,” I say. “Don’t worry. I know where the pigeons are.” Back at Geiléis’s, I’ll have a bath, change my clothes, get properly clean. But I’ll put my head under the pump and wash my hands before I go looking for Flannan.

The bells start ringing. My helpers head off to the chapel, grubby as they are. Come to think of it, God most likely wouldn’t care if a man was clean or dirty, as long as his heart was in the right place.

“Be doing it on your own soon,” I tell Tadhg as we splash under the pump. “You learn quick.”

He blushes again, a surprise. “Thank you, Grim.” After a bit he adds, “You’re a good teacher.”

Got nothing to say to this. It makes me feel happy. And it makes me feel sad. Makes me think of the life I could have had. The man I could have been.

“There’s Flannan now,” Tadhg says, looking across the garden.

Flannan’s coming out of the pigeon loft. Got something in his hands; looks like he’s reading, though it’s too small for a book. Little scroll of parchment, I’m guessing. Must have got that message he wanted. Wonder what it says. Must be interesting. He stumbles over a rock and just keeps on walking. Then I think, ah! Maybe he’s got a friend somewhere who speaks Armorican. Or who knows codes. Maybe he’s got the answer.

He’s a couple of strides away before he sees us. Almost walks into us.

“Grim! Brother Tadhg.” He’s lost for words. For him, that’s unusual.

“Got your message, then?” I try to be friendly. Fact is, I’m worried. Not just about Midsummer Eve, but what comes after too. Him and her. Flannan and Blackthorn. Got a feeling he’s not going to say good-bye, nice to see you again, and head off on his travels.

“Who told you about that?” He just about snaps my head off. I give him a bit of a look, wondering what it is I’ve said—thought I was being polite—and Tadhg mutters something and makes himself scarce.

“One of the brothers.” I keep my voice easy. Seems Flannan’s as jumpy as the others about Midsummer Eve. “Mentioned you were waiting for a bird to come in. Hope it’s helpful.” I nod toward the little scroll.