the very burlap cloth they hooded Blessed Leibowitz with before they hanged him. And with what for a belt? A
rope. What rope? Ahh, the very same?a” He paused, looking at Cheroki. “I can tell by your blank look that you
haven’t heard this yet? No? All right, so you can’t say. No, no,cheap world of warcraft gold, Francis didn’t say that. All he said was?a” Abbot
Arkos tried to inject a slightly falsetto quality into his normally gruff voice. “All Brother Francis said was?a’I
met a little old man, and I thought he was a pilgrim heading for the abbey because he was going that way, and he
was wearing an old burlap sack tied around with a piece of rope. And he made a mark on the rock, and the mark
looked like this.’ ”
Arkos produced a scrap of parchment from the pocket of his fur robe and held it up toward Cheroki’s face in
the candle-glow. Still trying, with only slight success,buy runescape money, to imitate Brother Francis: ” ‘And I couldn’t figure out
what it meant. Do you know?’ ”
Cheroki stared at the symbols and shook his head.
“I wasn’t asking you,” Arkos gruffed in his normal voice. “That’s what Francis said. I didn’t know either.”
“You do now?”
“I do now. Somebody looked it up. That is a lamedh, and that is a sadhe. Hebrew letters.”
“Sadhe lamedh?”
“No. Right to left. Lamedh sadhe. An ell, and a tee-ess sound. If it had vowel marks, it might be ‘loots,”
‘lots,cheap eve isk,” ‘lets,” ‘lets,” ‘latz,” `litz’-anything like that. If it had some letters between those two, it might sound like
Lllll?aguess-who.”
“Leibo-Ho, no!”
“Ho, yes! Brother Francis didn’t think of it. Somebody else thought of it. Brother Francis didn’t think of the
burlap hood and the hangman’s rope; one of his chums did. So what happens? By tonight, the whole novitiate is
buzzing with the sweet little story that Francis met the Beatus himself out there, and the Beatus escorted our boy
over to where that stuff was and told him he’d find his vocation.”
A perplexed frown crossed Cheroki’s face. “Did Brother Francis say that?”
“NOO!” Arkos roared. “Haven’t you been listening? Francis said no such things. I wish he had, by gum; then
I’d HAVE the rascal! But he tells it sweet-and-simple, rather stupidly, in fact, and lets the others read in the
meanings. I haven’t talked to him myself. I sent the Rector of the Memorabilia to get his story.”
“I think I’d better talk to Brother Francis,” Cheroki murmured.
“Do! When you first came in, I was still wondering whether to roast you alive or not. For sending him in, I
mean. If you had let him stay out there on the desert, we wouldn’t have this fantastic twaddle going around. But,
on the other hand, if he’d stayed out there, there’s no telling what else he might have dug out of that cellar. I think
you did the right thing, to send him in.”
Cheroki, who had made the decision on no such basis, found silence to be the appropriate policy.
“See him,” growled the abbot. “Then send him to me.”
It was about nine on a bright Monday morning when Brother Francis rapped timidly at the door of the
abbot’s study. A good night’s sleep on the hard straw pallet in his old familiar cell, plus a small bite of unfamiliar
breakfast, had not perhaps done any wonders for starved tissue or entirely cleared the sun-daze from his brain,
but these relative luxuries had at least restored him to sufficient clarity of mind to perceive that he had cause to
be afraid. He was,l2 power leveling, in fact, terrified, so that his first tap at the abbot’s door went unheard. Not even Francis could
hear it. After several minutes, he mustered the courage to knock again.
