Happy times were always brief.
When Jerome awoke from the afterglow of the banquet, the morning sun had already warmed his cheeks. His last memory was of the person beside him handing him a third glass of fruit beer and assuring him that the stuff didn't get you drunk easily.
But now, perhaps thanks to the attendants, he found himself in a spacious, bright room. Windows fitted with white glass kept out the cold mountain wind while letting in plenty of light. As soon as he woke, he could see two neatly arranged forms on the table beside him.
He hurriedly picked them up and skimmed through them. They were schedules for the coming days. Even the earliest activity was set to begin in the afternoon, leaving guests plenty of time to rest.
As expected, most of the events were medical presentations and academic salons, to be held in the main hall and sermon room of the Monastery's main building. The organizers had thoughtfully listed the speakers' names, titles, affiliations, and presentation topics.
Nearly every Medical School worth naming in the north or south of Norse was on the list, with titles ranging from associate professor upward. One entry stood out: a lecturer from an obscure little college named Lucius, presenting on the unheard-of subject of microscopic medicine. His talk had even been placed last in the program, making it hard not to suspect he had some connection to the organizers.
Of course, the list also marked the times for tea breaks, the location of the lounge, and meal arrangements. Jerome silently committed them to memory. They were the only parts he could understand or make use of.
At the bottom of the form, a note added at the last minute indicated where he was to go:
[Those in literature