How many hours has it been? I do not know how long I have been at the Boar's Tusk. Or how many bowls of wine. What does it matter? As long as I have the coin, it is no one's business.
Eleanor is talking to Gilbert again. She looks my way and ticks her head…God's blood! Gilbert is coming over–
Ah. Never mind. Gilbert has a good soul. He sat across from me and made as if to scold me. Instead, he nodded and said very quietly, "While Eleanor watches, I am supposed to admonish you that you have drunken too much. Nod at me as if I were telling you some sage advice." And so I nodded.
Gilbert stayed a while until Eleanor was satisfied and then he rose. "For the sake of the wife," he told me, "do finish up and go back to your home, Crispin."
I nodded as I filled the bowl again. He scowled at me and left the table. I watched him depart for the kitchens. Gilbert is my friend. My friend my friend. So is Eleanor but she is a woman. She doesn't understand like a man can.
The wine is sour in my mouth. Or is it merely my mouth. When I am here I can forget. Yet being here, I am reminded that I am here and cannot leave here even if I do leave.
I read that last sentence again and confounded myself.
It is safe here. My haven. If Eleanor ceases to curse me with her scowl. Ha! I shall ignore her–God's blood! There goes the ink. No wait, I have managed to salvage most of it. It comes so dear. The parchment even dearer. Why do I waste the money? The money the money. It all concerns money i do not have nor can earn but what does it matter matter natter patter…
Geoffrey isn't the only one who can rhyme.
This is a vexxxing task, this murder. Who killed him who killed him and why kill him and where is my money money how i hate the sight of it
Jack. Jack's come to fetch me. I like Jack. He's a good boy. Good bouy Jack. He tries to yank me to my feet by I am still writing writing writing helps me think go home and think and sleep go home____________