rs gold clapped a meaty hand on his shoulder
“Wha-a-at?” Fingo swung a hairy shin over the jackass and dropped a few inches to the ground. He towered
over Brother Francis,rs gold, clapped a meaty hand on his shoulder, and peered down into his face. “What is it; the
jaundice?”
“No. He thinks I’m?a” Francis tapped his temple and shrugged.
Fingo laughed. “Well, that’s true, but we all knew that. Why is he sending you back?”
Francis glanced down at the box near his feet. “I found some things that belonged to the Blessed Leibowitz.
I started to tell him,fiesta gold, but he didn’t believe me. He wouldn’t let me explain. He?a”
“You found what?” Fingo smiled his disbelief, then dropped to his knees and opened the box while the
novice watched nervously. The monk stirred the whiskered cylinders in the trays with one finger and whistled
softly. “Hill-pagan charms, aren’t they? This is old, Francisco, this is really old.” He glanced at the note in the lid.
“What’s this gibberish?” he asked, squinting up at the unhappy novice.
“Pre-Deluge English.”
“I never studied it, except what we sing in choir.”
“It was written by the Beatus himself.”
“This?” Brother Fingo stared from the note to Brother Francis and back to the note. He shook his bead
suddenly, clamped the lid back on the box,swg credits, and stood up. His grin had become artificial. “Maybe Father’s right.
You better hike back and have Brother Pharmacist brew you up one of his toad-stool specials. That’s the fever,
Brother.”
?20 312168 3
Francis shrugged, “Perhaps.”
“Where did you find this stuff?”
The novice pointed. “Over that way a few mounds. I moved some rocks. There was a cave-in, and I found a
basement. Go see for yourself.”
Fingo shook his head. “I’ve got a long ride ahead.”
Francis picked up the box and started toward the abbey while Fingo returned to his donkey,fiesta power leveling, but after a few
paces the novice stopped and called back.
“Brother Spots?acould you take two minutes?”
“Maybe,” answered Fingo; “What for?”
“Just walk over there and look in the hole.”
“Why?”
“So you can tell Father Cheroki if it’s really there.”
Fingo paused with one leg half across his donkey’s back.
“Ha!” He withdrew the leg. “All right. If it’s not there, I’ll tell you.”
Francis watched for a moment while the gangling Fingo strode out of sight among the mounds; then he
turned to shuffle down the long dusty trail toward the abbey, intermittently munching corn and sipping from the
waterskin. Occasionally he glanced back. Fingo was gone much longer than two minutes. Brother Francis had
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