Consequences

Two days.

That's how long it was before Tamson Smythe and his guards marched right in the open gates.

I never knew who his spy inside the walls was; I'm only sure, because I can say it, he had one. He knew I wasn't welcome in Bernard's domain, and instead spent most of my time debating the godliness of the mosquito (and other topics) with the Weavers and Tailors while we worked.

He opened the door, and his eyes locked immediately upon me.

"That beast." he said. "I'm here for it."

"The child?" one of the female monks asked.

Yes, women shave the tops of their heads bald. Then they wear skullcaps of flax and wool to keep the top of their heads warm. She made me feel how smooth her head was, seemed proud of it.

I can only partially relate; beyond a certain length, hair becomes unruly, messy.

"Child," she asked, "what is your health?"

"Thirty six of forty maximum." I said. "Close enough. Thank you for..."