After an afternoon of waiting, the two monks who were watching in the attic of the tavern waited for the men assigned by Green to help, and waited for the instructions to inform the professor of this, but did not wait for the professor and his assistant to return.

The lights in the clinic were on, the smell of food wafted out and dispersed, and the horse-drawn carriage that traveled between the college and the clinic every day did not return.

"I don't think it's okay today."

The companion and Robin switched places, and the latter was sitting on the edge of the bed tearing open the slightly crispy bread with the crust and eating it with a slice of cheese.

"Can you stop this?" Robin swallowed the powdery dry food in his mouth, poured saliva to suppress the sawdust sticking to the wall of his throat, and probably understood the reason why the clinic had to run its own canteen, "Concentrate, you can say this again tomorrow morning." ”

"Okay." The people at the posts shut up and watched quietly, while the resting ones were able to continue wrestling with the hard dinner, making the crunching sound of unstable wooden furniture shaking.

The sound was nothing at night, and the tavern downstairs was still open, and at the end of the day's work, the men immediately devoted their part of the day's earnings to one of the only two daily entertainments.

Alcohol numbs the spirit, temporarily shields fatigue, and creates more emotions and noise.

The clinic diagonally opposite seems to be another world, with quiet bright lights shining through the windows on the first floor, and from time to time figures carrying trays and cans steadily walking past the window.

Based on the observation experience during this time, it is inferred that they should be working overtime. The shorter the professor's time in the clinic, the longer the lights will be on at night.

A window on the second floor by the street lit up on time, and unlike the ward downstairs, it turned on and off at its own pace every night. Behind the window is a desk that belongs to the girl who often appears near the professor.

Robin had some impression of her, after all, the proportion of women in the college was about the same as that in the church, and the hair on the top of the heads was rarer than that of some bishops and professors, and rounded up to about none.

At a time when ordinary girls of the same age are learning housework with their mothers, and young ladies are full of emotional ignorance and longing, a special person who is gnawing on books is particularly eye-catching.

To use a misnomerical metaphor, Robin feels that she is being groomed more like a man of the moment, as a bearer of some kind of responsibility.

It's paradoxical, and while it's not known if the doctors would be willing to let a person of the opposite sex into their domain, by analogy, there's absolutely no way that the bishops would allow a female bishop to appear.

"Maybe it's a useless act." Companion commented. It reminded him of the time when he was distracted by the spiritual practice, and he felt some admiration and sympathy, and it might be difficult to find a place for him to do so in the future.

"Who knows." Robin walked up to him, glanced at the small figure who sat still without the noise behind the half-open window, and sat down on the bed to rest, "Don't stare at the window, keep an eye on the surroundings, I'll keep watch for the rest of the night." If there's something to do, just do it."

In addition to them, there are people who are staring at the clinic from other angles, but this is not a reason to let your guard down.

"Know, if there is something, blow the whistle to inform them, and when the time comes, half a dozen angry young men who haven't slept late at night will rush out and give a warm welcome to the uninteresting guys." The companion raised the small object in his hand, which was a small piccolo-like object, which was the agreed warning signal.

"Whoever it is, for whatever reason, it's probably going to have a little more color on your face tomorrow morning."

The newly added helper was always reassuring, and Robin was half-lying on the bed, sleeping heavily on the rough straw mat.

The spirit did not sink into complete stillness, but remained in a state of minimal awakening, swaying slightly in the noise and vibrations coming from below, like the supple blades of grass that rippled with the water in the current.

The memories accumulated during the day are like silt deposited at the bottom of the water, rolled up by the subconscious and surging up.

The occasional suspicious figure, dressed in unprofessional camouflage, with eerily uncoordinated long arms hanging at his sides, and strong sunlight smearing the face with blurred reflections and intense shadows.

Like flies, the figures wander around, emerging from the edge of view and disappearing into the corner.

In fact, he did not know whether his report was necessary, because it was indeed difficult to find a decisive doubt that could be described, but instead there was a frequent sense of disagreement in hindsight.

The sensation was accompanied by a half-asleep, half-awake light sleep, until a low-key, penetrating sound appeared in its background, like a sharpened knife slicing through the paper, lightly and unnoticedly dissecting the dream.

Robin opened his eyes alertly, seeing the face of his companion.

"I was about to wake you up." There was no whistle in the other person's mouth, but the low-key whistle that pierced the night had not stopped.

"The whistle, we didn't blow it, what is it?" Robin rushed to the window, trying to discern for a few seconds, only to get a rough sense of the alleyway from the other side of the clinic, the cluster of buildings.

"Quick, let's go!"

Unlike his colleagues who were still a little sluggish, Robin had a big alarm in his head, and after hesitating for a moment at the door and in front of him, he chose to step directly out of the window, and with a cushion on the protruding wooden frame on the second floor, he jumped directly into the street and ran in the direction where the whistle came.

"Be careful. No, wait for me! In the time he was embarrassed, Robin was already rubbing his aching knees, rushing through the streets and disappearing into the dark alleyways.

The guidance of the whistle disappeared soon after entering the alleyway, and after a few beats of slow motion, he realized that he had no lighting on his body, and groped for a while by moonlight, and the light of the light not far ahead helped him meet the person who raised the alarm.

The man with white lips leaned against the wall, biting the whistle, and the dagger and lantern with him fell to the ground.

Robin recognized it as the monk who had been assigned by Green during the day, as one of his arms was bent at an unusual angle, his chest heaving sharply, and cold sweat soaking his neckline.

"What's the situation?!"

The monk who fell to the ground took a deep breath, this action affected the injuries on his body, making his expression even more painful, "At least three people, I don't know where they came from, they still thought I was dead." ”

It seems that the gap between the two sides is huge, and the other party has other purposes. The injured man pointed in the direction with his movable finger, shook his head slightly to indicate that he would not be able to die for a while, and took another blow with the whistle in his mouth.

【Clinic】

Robin picked up the lantern on the ground, and the poured grease burned on half of the lampstand, and the overdrawn light illuminated the narrow alleyway.

A number of different messy wet marks emerged from under an open stone slab, dripping water in the direction of the clinic, emitting a fishy smell of stale fermentation.

"Keep blowing, someone will come soon!"

In an emergency, Robin followed the damp trail with a hot lantern, and the water trail disappeared in the middle of the alleyway next to the clinic, where the trail and its maker seemed to suddenly evaporate.

He looked around nervously, a movement that took his eyes off the ground and saw the reflection on the brick wall.

A string of upward water marks.

"Damn it, second floor!"