The Devil's Disciples
“He was in the conclave, a pleasant chamber that adjoined Michaelhouse’s hall and that was the accepted domain of the Fellows. ‘Agatha says the meat she bought this morning is already fly-blown. And you know what that means.’ ‘More onion soup?’ Bartholomew was standing at a window, staring absently across the courtyard below. ‘Spices to disguise the taste?’ ‘Worse,’ moaned Michael. ‘Reduced rations! She says some is so green she would not even give it to students. Still, the last of them left th...is morning, so there are fewer mouths to feed now.’ ‘Who is left?’ ‘The Fellows and Mildenale. Oh, and Deynman, who does not trust us to look after the library.’ ‘It feels strange,’ said Bartholomew, unsettled by the silence and empty rooms. That morning, breakfast had brought back painful memories of the plague, when the scholars’ ranks had thinned because of sickness. ‘I do not like it.’ ‘It is only for a week, and now we can concentrate on finding Carton’s killer – along with those responsible for digging up Margery, putting blood in our font and taking Danyell’s hand.MoreLess
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