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grace to found a Common Library would never have been proposed in the first place. Tynkell arranged the whole thing slyly, without my knowledge. I was outraged when I found out that he had been making arrangements behind my back.’
    ‘I am sure you did your best to thwart it,’ said Etone kindly.
    ‘Yes,’ agreed Jorz. ‘It is not
your
fault that you were betrayed by your closest friend and other vipers like him.Speaking of vipers, there seems to be a profusion of them this year. We killed three in our grounds only yesterday.’
    ‘Did you?’ asked Bartholomew in distaste. ‘Why? They are harmless if left alone.’
    Jorz regarded him askance, while Riborowe crossed himself. ‘You defend serpents? The beasts whose forked tongues caused our expulsion from the Garden of Eden? That is heresy!’
    Sawtre smiled rather patronisingly. ‘You have overlooked the concept of free will, Jorz. Shall we debate the matter? I happen to be free for the next five or six hours and—’
    ‘We should go home, or there will be nothing left to eat,’ snapped Jorz, turning abruptly and walking away before the philosopher, who was known to be wordy, could claim the rest of his day. Riborowe followed, although not before treating Bartholomew to a final glower.
    ‘My apologies,’ said Etone with a pained smile. ‘They have been trying to invent a fast-drying ink, and it is weariness that renders them testy. They are usually perfectly amiable.’
    ‘You see, Matt?’ asked Michael, when Etone and Sawtre had gone. ‘Your silly library is causing all manner of dissent among our members. But we had better visit this corpse before any more of the day is lost.’
    Bartholomew had not been inside Newe Inn since it had ceased to be a tavern, and looked around with interest as he entered. It was cool, dark and smaller than might have been expected from the street, because, in typical Norman fashion, its walls were hugely thick. It was simple in design: the ground floor comprised a large, low-ceilinged basement that would be used for storage, while the upper floor had two chambers where the precious books would be kept.
    As the storeroom was deserted, Michael aimed for the stairs, to look for someone who could tell them why they had been summoned. Cynric was at his heels, while Bartholomew lagged behind, reluctantly acknowledging to himself that perhaps Newe Inn was unsuitable for a library – it was gloomy, cool even on a warm summer day, and definitely damp.
    ‘Personally, I suspect Dunning is glad to be rid of this place,’ muttered Cynric disparagingly. ‘Donating it to the University brings a princely number of masses for his soul when he is dead
and
a free tomb in St Mary the Great. He has done well out of the bargain.’
    They arrived at the upper chambers to find them in a flurry of activity. Walkelate could have shoved up a few shelves and been done with it, but he had taken his assignment seriously, and the result was a masterpiece. The walls were panelled in light beech, and the bookcases were of different heights and depths to accommodate variation in the size of the tomes they would hold. They were all exquisitely carved with classical and biblical images.
    When he saw he had visitors, the architect came to greet them.
    ‘Welcome,’ he cried jovially. ‘I know we are all sawdust and muddle at the moment, but the chaos is superficial. The main work is finished, and it is just details now. We shall certainly be ready by Corpus Christi.’
    ‘Oh, good,’ said Michael without enthusiasm. ‘It is a—’
    ‘But you have not been here before,’ interrupted Walkelate, looking at Bartholomew and beaming widely at the prospect of a new admirer. ‘Allow me to show you around.’
    ‘Not now,’ said Michael quickly. ‘We were told there is a corpse to inspect.’
    ‘A corpse?’ echoed Walkelate, startled. ‘There is no cadaver here, I assure you!’ He turned eagerly back to Bartholomew. ‘Like all decent libraries, ours