Dunstan sighed.

“I wish I could come,” Dunstan sighed.

“I suppose you’re still a little young for such a trip, sprout,” Malcolm said.

“I guess I was his age when I went,” Bertie said.

“Well – perhaps. But Dunstan is too little even if he’s old enough. Little runt.”

'But Dunstan is too little even if he's old enough.'

“Don’t call me that!”

“Why not? The King does.”

“The King calls everybody runt,” Dunstan giggled.

“Not me. He calls me a cutthroat,” Malcolm said proudly.

“He calls you a potlicker,” Bertie laughed.

'He calls you a potlicker.'

“Shut up, Bertie-​​boy, or I’ll call you something you won’t like. Oh, Baby! You’re terribly quiet of a sudden.”

Iylaine sighed.

The children were lying on the soft, fresh bedding of an empty stall in the King’s stables. Dunstan, Iylaine, and Sigebert had ridden over with Egelric, for Egelric and the King were in the last stages of preparing for their trip to Scotland. But at present the King had been waylaid by Father Brandt on the far side of the building.

“Well, what are they saying, Baby?” Malcolm growled.

'Oh, they're only talking about the church.'

“Oh, they’re only talking about the church. Father Brandt is complaining that there is a leak in the roof.”

“Keep listening, that’s a good girl.”

“But they’re not telling anything interesting,” she whined.

“You leave your old cousin to be the judge of that. Just tell me what they say.”

Iylaine sighed again, dramatically, and said, “Father Brandt is saying that the roof is leaking on the side of the catacomb stairs, and His Majesty is saying that he will send a man to fix it, and blah blah blah…”

“Don’t blah blah me, Baby. Just keep talking.”

'Don't blah blah me, Baby.'

“Father Brandt is always complaining about something,” Bertie said.

“That’s because he’s a priest,” Malcolm said importantly. “He’s not allowed to be happy about things.”

“How come?” Bertie asked.

“Now the King is talking to one of the men, and telling him to go over to the church to see whether any water has gone into the catacombs,” Iylaine droned.

“The devil!” Malcolm said. “I wish I could go down for him!”

“Don’t talk about the devil,” Dunstan scolded.

'Don't talk about the devil.'

“Why not?”

“Because it’s blasphemy.”

“No it isn’t! It’s only blasphemy when you talk about God, like your father when he calls my father the Lord God. But I didn’t blaspheme, because I was only saying what your father says.”

“Now father Brandt is telling him that the key is in the sacristy,” Iylaine said.

'Now father Brandt is telling him that the key is in the sacristy.'

“Wait a moment!” Malcolm sat up suddenly and grabbed Iylaine by the ankle. “A key for what?”

“I don’t know. Wait…” She listened a while longer. “A key to get down into the catacombs I guess.”

“Baby! Where in the sacristy?”

'Where in the sacristy?'

“Malcolm…” Dunstan warned.

“Shut up, stupid sprout! Let her listen.”

“He said it is in the tall chest, top shelf,” she said, sitting up as well. “But Malcolm…”

“Oh, Baby! I’m not wondering for myself. But you never know… what would happen if Father Brandt were to die suddenly, God forbid? Then no one would know where the key could be found.”

“I guess that man would know,” she said.

'I guess that man would know.'

“Perhaps he would die too. You can never be too careful.”

Bertie snorted.

“Besides, Baby, you know I am leaving tomorrow or the day after. By the time I return I shall probably have forgotten all about it. So don’t you forget, my wee girl,” he said, winking at her. “After all, I might die suddenly, too.”

“God forbid!” she said and patted his brown hand.

'God forbid!'