“Beson said grumpily when he came into Peter’s cell the next day, thrusting the envelope at Peter. In truth, he felt grumpy. The two guilders handed to him by Arlen had been an unexpected windfall, and Beson had spent most of the night drinking it up. Two guilders bought a great lot of mead, and today his head felt large and very painful. “Damned messenger boy is what I’m turning into.” “Thank you,” Peter said, holding the envelope. “Well? Ain’tcher going to open it?” “Yes. When you leave.” Beso...n bared his teeth and clenched his fists. Peter simply stood there, looking at him. After a moment, Beson lowered his fists. “Damned messenger boy, is all!” he repeated, and went out, slamming the heavy door behind him. There was the thud of iron locks being turned, followed by the sliding sound of bolts—three of them, each as thick as Peter’s wrist—being slid into place. When the sounds had stopped, Peter opened the note. It was only three sentences long. I am aware of the long-standing customs of which you speak.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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