“It is. When you’re finished, why not come and take a look at that book I mentioned? You know where we are.”

I think about how filthy I am. I think about Blackthorn, and Midsummer Eve being tomorrow, and how we’ll be heading home after. I think about Brother Galen and his little pictures curling up and going to ashes in the Norseman’s campfire. The ridging’s more or less done. I can wash under the pump. And the sun tells me there’s still a bit of time to go until midday. Only one problem. That book’s in the scriptorium. Stupid. She’s ready to go up the tower and kill a monster, and I can’t bring myself to step inside a room full of monks and books, not even to see something Brother Galen’s made with his own hands. Something that’s like a part of him still alive.

“Thanks,” I call back down. “Won’t be long.”

I finish the job neat as I can. Check all along the ridge to be sure it’s perfect. Then climb down and have a good wash. The scriptorium. I see it in my mind, only it’s not this one at St. Olcan’s, it’s the one at St. Erc’s, and the lovely books are torn and broken and all over blood. Monks lying where they’ve fallen, arms and legs askew, eyes staring at nothing, faces like tortured ghosts. Brother Galen. Bathsheba. Don’t think I can do it. Got to try.

I stop to have a word with Brother Fergal in the garden. Know I’m putting off what I have to do. “Won’t be here this afternoon,” I say. “Need to be back at Lady Geiléis’s. Things to get done.”

“Midsummer,” says Brother Fergal, looking solemn. “Yes, I have heard that Mistress Blackthorn will be making an attempt to silence the creature in the tower. Father Tomas is somewhat uncomfortable about the whole matter, and prefers that we don’t discuss it. But please wish your friend our very best in her endeavor.”

“Thanks.” Not sure how much I should say, how much they know. “Wish she wasn’t doing it, to tell the truth. Worried about her. But there it is. I’ll pass on the good wishes. A few prayers wouldn’t go astray. But then, she’s a wise woman, so maybe not.”

Brother Fergal smiles. “God stretches His merciful hand over all of us. The righteous man and the sinner, the faithful and those who have lost their faith.”

“Those who know their path and those who are yet to find it.”

“Ah. You remembered.”

“Liked the sound of that. Only, Blackthorn knows her path. Always did. Straight and true.”

“I will have a word with Him on her behalf. You might consider doing the same. God hears your prayers, Grim. Farewell, now.”

Head for the scriptorium. Halfway there I remember the reeds I’ll need to make the creatures. A few bundles left, stored in the barn. Get them first, makes sense. I turn back across the garden. There’s Ripple waiting outside the pigeon loft, and there’s Flannan coming out the door. Sends a lot of messages, that man. Always in and out of there. I give him a nod. He nods back. Looks as if his mind’s on other things. Same could be said for me.