To be honest, Kraft was even a little grateful to whoever had called him out.
Judging by the serving order, he was sure to get a generous portion of that "Pursuit of Truth" on his plate.
As the guest of honor, refusing it would be rude, but even a single bite would be an insult to his own digestive tract.
Just as he found himself caught between a rock and a hard place, someone had offered him a convenient excuse to leave. It was heaven-sent.
He would have been even happier to see them if they hadn't been wearing dripping-wet hooded robes, looking like Ringwraiths just off their shift with Sauron.
Frances watched uneasily as the two sides murmured to each other in private. She worried they might come to blows right there; after all, the Inquisition and the medical academy had never exactly enjoyed cordial relations.
If the visitors hadn't repeatedly insisted they meant no harm—and been so unyielding about it—she might never have let the dripping-wet lot set foot on the carpet inside.
In an age when religious inquisitions had been out of fashion for years, even if they were certain a host had committed blasphemy, they rarely demanded entry into a noble's private estate without good reason.
It could easily be taken as a provocation against the entire group—and perhaps it wasn't a misunderstanding at all.
Hoping to avoid trouble, the estate's owner decided to let them finish their conversation, but would separate them at once if anything seemed amiss.
The situation was unexpectedly amicable. The professor stood by a half-open corridor window and spoke with them for a while. He seemed to receive some important information, then nodded in understanding.
Outside, the storm raged. Lightning flashed through the clouds, illuminating the professor's half-turned figure by the