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He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling. “Mean as an old mule, too. ‘What started you off, you madman,’ Roding told him frankly, as he set about tying his handkerchief around the wound, ‘was being born at all. As soon as he finished a sheet, he tossed it aside and began another. A stiff, formally-cut coat of cinnamon-coloured cloth, with rows of plate buttons, each of the size of a crown piece, on the sleeves, pockets, and skirts, reached the middle of his legs; and his costume was completed by the silver-hilted sword at his side, and the laced hat under his left arm. Was the situation so desperate that he could not pack his best things? She had packed lightly, not wanting to weigh down the carriage they would travel in. “It was inevitable,” he declared. ” “Why not? Your spirits at least should be good.
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