'This current situation is more complex than that,' snapped the old man. 'You are a novice; don't presume you are in possession of all the facts. Now, enough of your chatter. Show me to this inn where your cousin is.'

Mayel opened his mouth to argue, then remembered who he was talking to and clamped it shut again. He pointed down the street, and Abbot Doren pushed past and begin to make his splashing way through the puddles. His bag, which held his few possessions – two

MORE books and a strange, pearl-inlaid box that Mayel had never seen until the night they fled – held tight to his chest. The abbot hunched over low, his eyes on the ground, trying to protect the bag from the rain.

'You don't fool me, old man,' Mayel muttered. The wail of the Weather drowned his words, but if the abbot had turned round, he Would have seen a coldly calculating look that had no place on the face of a novice. 'There's something in that box that Jackdaw wants. He killed Brother Edin for more than madness. The prior wouldn't be following us for just a few dirty old books, so why won't you tell me what's in that box? It's got to be worth something if Jackdaw wants It so badly – enough to buy my way into my cousin's gang. If we do survive this, you'll be carrying these bloody books back to the island yourself, old man.'

He scowled at the abbot's back, then hurried to catch him up, at the last moment swinging his own bag around to his chest to shelter It somewhat.

from upper reaches of the monument where the abbot had been sheltering a soft voice spoke over the sound of the rain. 'He has the Skull with him, I can feel it.'

'We must sacrifice that for the greater prize. The old man is not as frail as he seems, nor as unprotected. Be content that he has done as

we wanted. Now the next act of our play can begin.'