"I am ever so hungry, Sir Doorkeeper, but you couldn't take Granfer's letter to the Chief Wizard now, could you?" Grimm seemed near the end of his reserves but still determined, disturbingly so for one so young.

Doorkeeper cried, "Now, Grimm, not another word! Not another word, I say! You're nearly dead on your feet, my boy. I absolutely insist that you let me take you to the scullery for some food and warmth. Lord Thorn would be very angry with me if I disturbed him at this time of night-you wouldn't want that, would you? The Prelate usually goes to bed early and is up with the sun."

Doorkeeper sneezed suddenly, scratched his nose and muttered unintelligibly for a few moments.

"I understand, Sir… Doorkeeper," said the boy, his eyes wide. "I wouldn't want the Chief… the Prelate to be angry with you."

Grimm had to admit, even to himself, that the enticing prospects of a warm fire and food had begun to drive all other thoughts from his mind. He had tried, after all, and Doorkeeper seemed such a nice old man.

He took Doorkeeper's proffered hand as the old mage led him out of the sumptuous entrance hall. A rabbit-warren of passages led off from the vestibule, and Grimm felt quite disorientated by the time the pair reached the warm sanctuary of what the old man had called 'the scullery'. A large fire crackled cheerfully at its centre, the gentle, welcome heat suffusing through Grimm's chilled body. A profusion of pots, pans and utensils hung on the walls, and a delicious aroma of cooked meat filled the room. Doorkeeper motioned Grimm towards a threadbare but comfortable chair, and the boy gratefully sank into its creaking, leathern embrace.