Chapter 10
When Izzy returned to consciousness, her first thought was that she was floating through a vast ocean of inky darkness. Her second thought was that the surface below her was much too hard to be water.
Slowly, with an effort that felt like hauling up sunken treasure, Izzy pried open her eyes. She found herself on a narrow bed in a sparse chamber. She studied her surroundings warily, afraid to find another gruesome sight awaiting her. But there was only calmness here, amongst the minimalist furniture of two chairs and a rickety desk cluttered with parchment scrolls, quills stained with ink, and neatly stacked books with cracked spines.
Where was she?
Her body felt light, as though she had been hallowed out from the inside, and her head was filled with a numbing heaviness. How long had she been out? She squinted against the dim light that drifted in from the single tall window across the room. It looked like early morning.
Izzy swung her legs over the edge of the bed, wincing at a sudden wave of dizziness. She clung to the edge of the cot until it passed, then gingerly stood up.
She moved towards the window, trailing her hand along the uneven stone wall to steady herself. She gingerly opened the shutter and peered through. Outside, lay a kitchen garden divided into neat squares filled with winter vegetables. Men in long gray robes silently worked the space with hoes, spades and rakes. The bucolic scene was such a stark contrastto what she’d seen in Hodwell’s abattoir district that for a timeless instant, she just stared, trying to figure out exactly what was going on.
Behind her, the door rattled and she spun, heart leaping into her throat. Snaffles came bounding in, closely followed by a thin elderly man in a gray robe.
“Ah! Ye are awake!” the man said in a cheerful voice.
Izzy said nothing. Snaffles ran over to her, yelping excitedly and back end waggling madly. Izzy sank into a crouch and threw her arms around his neck, breathing in his reassuring hound smell.
“Thought I’d better let him in before he broke the door down,” the elderly man said, putting a tray down on the cluttered desk. “It was all we could do to keep him out last night but ye needed yer rest and Magnus thought it was best.”
Magnus? She looked at the door expectantly, but he didn’t enter. “Come, my dear,” said the elderly man, waving at a chair. “Come eat. Ye need to get yer strength back.” He lowered himself into a chair, folding his robe over his knees.
Carefully, Izzy made her way across the room, Snaffles at her side, and sat in the chair opposite the old man. He watched her with a wide, warm smile. He looked to be in his seventies at least and was skinny to the point of emaciation but this did nothing to detract from the intelligence in his deep brown eyes or the warmth of his smile. The robe he wore was threadbare and nondescript, and his feet were covered by a pair of leather sandals. He had a shaved round spot amidst the wispy white hair on the top of his head.
“You’re a monk!” Izzy exclaimed.
“Am I?” the old man blinked, running his hand over his tonsure. “Well so I am! Nobody tells me anything these days!” He chuckled heartily. “What did ye expect to find in Saint Bartholomew’s Monastery?”
Monastery? She was in a Monastery? She looked around, gazing at the sparse room that was clearly a study of some kind, through the window at the other monks working in the kitchen garden, at the elderly man seated opposite her. There had been a monastery outside Hodwell. Was that where Magnus had brought her?
“I...I...I...” she stammered.
The old man smiled. “It’s normal to feel a little disorientated, my dear. I’m Abbot Oswin. Magnus brought ye to us last night. Ye’ve been asleep since then. Now, eat, my dear. Ye look like ye could do with it.”
He gestured to the tray. On it, Izzy saw a bowl of pottage, a thick wedge of cheese, and several round flat breads. Her stomach growled.
“I...um...thank you.”
Reaching across the table, Izzy picked up a piece of flatbread. It was studded with grains and seeds, which had been baked to a golden brown and it had a rich, yeasty aroma. She tore off a chunk, stuffing it into her mouth. Snaffles nudged against her leg, whining. She tore off a big piece and handed it to him, stroking his sable fur as he gobbled it down eagerly. She might be in a world entirely different to everything she knew, but some things didn’t change.
Abbot Oswin watched her with a faint smile as she ate. He seemed in no rush to fill the silence and sat with his hands resting on his knobby knees, seeming content.
“Aren’t you having any?” she asked around a mouthful of bread.
“I ate after Prime, my dear.” He leaned forward. “How are ye feeling now? Ye were a little faint and overwrought when Magnus brought ye to us.”
