Connall had skipped going to Evening Songs so that he could talk with the travelers for a while before bed. He did that sometimes. Most of the fraters considered it wrong but Pater Barthis never scolded him for it, so he figured it must not be such a really bad wrong. He sat near one of the windows, watching a big man with a beard take a long gulp from a large waterskin. The traveler noticed him watching and stopped for a moment. “Want a taste?” he offered.
Connall took the skin and sniffed at it. Ale. He wrinkled his nose. “No, but thank you for offering,” he said politely as he handed it back to the man.
“No?” the traveler grinned. “What kind of man turns down my best brew?”
“I’m sorry,” Connall replied, “I don’t like the taste of ale.”
The big man burst out laughing. Connall could never quite understand what was so entertaining about offering him drinks, but lots of travelers liked to do it. Normally, Connall would take a sip or two, just to oblige them, but then anyone else with a bit of drink would start offering him some. Sometimes he exaggerated his disgust because they all thought it was so funny when he didn’t like it. And he really didn’t, mostly. He couldn’t stand the taste of ale or beer, but a little hot mead was alright on a cold night, and once he had tasted a sweet wine that was actually pretty good. Tonight, though, he wouldn’t be amusing the travelers that way. There were a lot of men here with flasks and skins at their belts, and all that drink would only make him sleepy.
Connall couldn’t allow himself to get sleepy. He had plans tonight.
Just then, as if he had willed them there with his thoughts, four fraters came shuffling through the hostel doors. The traveler beside Connall quickly corked his wineskin and tucked it into his pack. He thought about telling the man that the fraters really wouldn’t have a problem with his drink, but he knew it would be no use. Travelers always seemed to think the fraters would judge them harshly for even the slightest wrongs.
Connall watched as the fraters began adding kindling to the fires and stoking them up, then pulling the grates in front of the hearths to darken the room. The travelers all seemed to understand that this was the signal to go to sleep, and they quietly separated themselves into their own little parties and settled onto their cots and mats as if the fraters had cast a sleeping spell over them. Frater Torence raised an eyebrow at Connall as he smothered the candle in a nearby lantern. It was a look he often got from Frater Torence– it usually meant something like, I’ll pretend I didn’t see you doing wrong if you stop right now. Connall grinned at the frater and hurried to the dormitory.
He kept all of his clothes on as he climbed into his bed and pulled his blanket up to his chin. The novices he shared the dormitory with wouldn’t notice, but the frater who came to check on them in a few minutes would definitely know Connall was up to mischief if he saw his clothes. He had taken his shoes off though. It wasn’t really cold outside, and shoes would only make more noise sneaking in and out.
After a while, when the novices had all settled down in their beds, the door opened and Frater Nicken’s head poked into the room. Connall kept one eye open and watched as the frater counted everyone and then peered suspiciously at Connall for a minute. Apparently satisfied, the frater closed the door again and left to find his own bed. Connall waited a long time after that, until everything was dark and the room was filled with the noises of thirty-or-so sleeping youths.
Carefully, he rolled out of his bed and landed softly on the floor beside it. Then he felt along the side of his mattress until he found the hole, reached in, and pulled out the neatly folded strip of yellow cloth that the sorcerer had given him. He tucked it out of sight under the drawstring of his breeches, just in case, and then silently slipped out the door.
Connall kept to the darkest shadows as he scurried toward the garden gate. Once he was inside the garden, he checked to make certain no one was around, and then he pulled the cloth from his waist. He sniffed it. It now smelled a little like the straw from his mattress, but when he unfolded it he could still catch the scents of the forest, and the scent of magic.
He climbed a tree and sat on one of the high branches so that he could see the whole fence. He wondered if the sorcerer would be coming back tonight. Connall had done this for the past four nights since he had first met the wild boy. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but he hoped the sorcerer would come back, and if he did, Connall wanted to be there to see him.
This time he wouldn’t waste all the whole night just watching. This time he would talk to him more. Connall had so many questions. Like How does magic work? And What is your home like? And What do you use those stupid purple flowers for? And You don’t really eat babies, do you? Connall was fairly certain that last one was just a myth, but he wanted to be sure.
Connall waited for hours, but the boy never came. Finally he was too tired to wait any longer, and he stole back to his bed to get some sleep before Morning Songs. Maybe the sorcerer boy would come tomorrow.
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