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Show 247 "Oh no, a broken heart I'm sure," said Jonathan. "They just didn't want to say so on the stone." It was the wrong conversation. The chicken was off the grill, on a tray, ready to be served as soon as Julia returned from the kitchen. Entirely the wrong conversation, Philip would have to change it. He studied the ex-monk, small eyes set too far back in a meaty face. There was something unsavory about him, something disreputable; something that made the man sweat hard even when the sun had set and the temperature had dropped. "Jonathan?" he said. Philip felt strong. "Yes?" said the ex-monk. "I've been wondering . . . meaning to ask you . . . don't know why I didn't ask you before . . ." "Yes?" "What was your book about? The one they kicked you out of the monastery for?" Rain, drought, dust, for a moment none of it mattered. Philip settled comfortably into a chair. He was going to make things go his way. "Dogs," said Jonathan. Dogs? Philip floundered, sat forward before he had fully sat down. "Dogs?" "There was a strange-looking dog in the cemetery," said Tia. "A big red one." |
