“Heading back early,” I tell him. “Job’s finished on the roof. For now.”

“Finished.” He’s seeing me now. Question in his eyes.

“That’s right. Planning to help Blackthorn with some moves this afternoon. So she’s as ready as she can be tomorrow.” Shut it, Grim, I tell myself. Babbling on, trying to put off the time when I open the scriptorium door, because my stupid mind’s telling me what I’ll see inside is a pile of dead men. “I’ll be off, then. Just got to pick up a bundle of reeds. Make the creatures for the top, you know?”

“So it’s not finished,” says Flannan, though why he’d care one way or the other I can’t think.

“All but. Make the creatures tonight, put them on in the morning, early. Then it’s done. Back down to the tower in time to keep an eye on her.” Can’t seem to stop talking.

“I see. Please wish Blackthorn the best of luck from me,” says Flannan. “I don’t suppose I will see her now until it’s all over.”

What? He won’t even come down to see her tonight and wish her well? Her old friend that she relies on?

He turns his back and walks away, with Ripple alongside. Just as well, since I was about to say something God wouldn’t like me to say in a monastery.

I fetch the bundle of reeds. Good thing these fellows had the supply all gathered and sorted and stored; made the job a whole lot easier. A thing I like about the life in a monastery. Well organized. Tidy. You always know where you are. Until something goes so wrong there’s no putting it right. Not ever.

Pretty soon I’m on the path back down to Geiléis’s house, bundle on my shoulder, heart down in my boots somewhere. Just couldn’t do it. Just couldn’t make myself go in there, even though I know it’d only be monks writing. Even though Brother Ríordán’s invited me to see Brother Galen’s book. Even though I want to see that book so much it’s like a pain in my insides. Fact is, alongside Blackthorn I’m a craven coward. Look what she’s gone through. Husband and son burned to death before her eyes. A whole year in that cesspit of Mathuin’s. There’ll be other stuff too that she hasn’t told me about. Thing is, every foul name she’s been called, every hurt, every blow has made her that bit stronger. Strong like one of those winds that comes up and sweeps everything clean. Or a fire. A hot, angry fire roaring, Get out of my way!

This is how it is. Big fierce warrior with a weapon doesn’t scare me. What scares me is the things in my head. Things that come out of the blue. I can be walking along and suddenly it’s my worst day ever all over again and I’m seeing what I never wanted to see for the rest of my life. If Blackthorn could make a cure for that I’d thank her till my dying day. I know potions can’t fix it. Not unless they’re the kind that kill a man. Something I have to sort out myself. Thought I was going to do it today. Nearly sure of it. Failed again.