After an afternoon of waiting, the two monks keeping watch from the tavern attic had received the people Green had assigned to help and the order to inform the professor. But the professor and his assistant still hadn't returned.
Lights came on in the clinic. The aroma of food drifted out, then faded, and the carriage that traveled daily between the Academy and the clinic never came back.
"I don't think anything's going to happen today."
His partner had switched places with Robin, who was sitting on the bed, tearing open a crusty loaf of bread that was slightly burnt on the outside and eating it with a slice of cheese.
"Could you not?" Robin swallowed the crumbly, dry food and took a gulp of water to wash away the sawdust-like feeling stuck to the back of his throat. He could see why the clinic needed its own cafeteria. "Pay attention. You could've waited until tomorrow morning to say that."
"Fine." The man on watch fell silent and kept his eyes peeled, while the one on break resumed his struggle with the hard dinner, making a creaking sound like flimsy wooden furniture wobbling.
The noise was nothing much at night. The tavern downstairs was still open, and men who'd finished a day's work were immediately spending part of their earnings on one of their only two daily pastimes.
Alcohol numbed the mind and temporarily shut out exhaustion, while also giving rise to more emotions and noise.
The clinic across the street, however, seemed like another world. Its brightly lit rooms were quiet, and every so often someone carrying a tray or jar walked steadily past a first-floor window.
Based on what they'd observed over the past few days, the staff were probably working overtime. The less time the professor spent