Chapter 2.6

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Some hours passed. Jason and Ison cleared a piece of floor between them, emptied their pockets of copper coins, and settled down to a game of spin-dice. Charles commandeered the writing desk, pulled a dog-eared prayer book from his belt, and worked on memorizing the Lord’s prayer. "In case I run into a demon," he told me, before returning to the book. I unpacked my harp, which had been carefully wrapped in a Silent Monk’s robe, checked it for damage, and practiced scales. Evening shadows thickened around the window, then curled in with sunset.
Jason was about to search for a candle when someone scratched on the door. It was a servant of some low sort, his hair uncombed and tunic ripped, and he mumbled something. In response, Jason buckled on his hunting knife and Charles belted on his sword.

Ison stayed as he was. "Ah’ll guard tonight. Jest send back some bread, some wine, and a tight, round wench!"

"If any are left," Jason said. "Charles and me get first pick."

"Don’t ye go fergetting that tomarrow ye’ll be sittin’ here!"

"Ah’ll send back what ye would send to me," Jason assured him.

Charles motioned for me to go ahead of him. I shrugged and turned up my palms in question.

"Sup-per," he said loudly, so that the uncouth servant looked up. Charles pointed at his mouth. "E-at."

I growled at him, and he laughed.