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She, of all living persons, could know about him. ~ ~ ~ Why did you do it, Vital? He flailed so wildly in response that he slid off the bench and onto the floor. While he tried to gather his senses and shake himself awake, he looked around the room for the source of the voice, but night had descended while he slept. Who is there? he asked of the darkness, trying to remember if the voice had sounded male or female and trying to sort out whether it was someone from his dreams or someone in the room. Hearing no answer, he pulled himself to his feet and reconstructed the room in his mind. He grabbed his knife and eased his way around toward the door, using the wall for guidance. Before he reached it, the door flew open and the fire of a torch split the darkness. He scrambled to the far side of the room, giving himself time and space to ess the threat. google He could make out three faces peering through the flame but could distinguish none of them. He slashed his knife through the air as a warning. Gaultier, are you safe? He needed several seconds to work out that the voice was Tegridia's, and that the other two figures were Drogos and Vincent. She spoke again before he could answer. Father Drogos was just informed that you were attacked earlier. Drogos, who was holding the torch, stepped forward. He moved the flame off to one side and held Vital's gaze. Were you injured? Vital shook his head and then looked around for the note. After spying it on the floor, he pointed at it with the knife. Drogos picked it up, buy instagram followers read it, and shook his head before handing it to Vincent. The younger priest held the torch steady while the older priest read. Ah yes, the unmistakable spite of Bernard of Cluny, Vincent said. From De Contemptu Mundi. Tegridia held out her hand, and he ped her the note. Contempt for the World. That was one of Tegridia's favorite books. ~ ~ ~ He waited behind what he hoped was the correct column at the rear of the chapel, keeping his eyes trained on the flicker of light from the first wall sconce to his left, willing away the exhaustion of the fast ride back into Paris. He could no longer guess how long he had been waiting, hidden, still unsure instagram when compline would start. He kept his mind alert by recalling everything he could from the single Roger Bacon lecture he had attended buy instagram followers all those years ago and wondering why the esteemed natural philosopher was now little more than buy instagram followers a prisoner in this Franciscan convent. Why had he joined the order in the first place? Then again, how had France's most esteemed builder of cathedrals come to find himself sneaking into that same convent in the middle of the night? The low shuffle of the friars rising from their prayers caught his attention. He watched each shadowy form p under the sconce and waited for the signal. When a hand reached up and tapped the wall below the lamp, Vital stepped out from behind the column and joined the line of friars exiting the chapel in single file, praying he had hit his mark. Another hand on his shoulder, the second and confirming signal, put his mind at ease. He resisted the temptation to turn around and whisper thanks to the young friar who had made the arrangements. When the friar immediately in front of him turned down an alleyway outside the