Women could certainly summon a tone from the ether. What was he doing down there? He almost said something arrogant. It was his, after all--well really it was Cellar Master Gauftun's, but Ithacles had been sitting next to the squirrel for half his life now. Instead he merely fought the urge to glower.
Evidently he failed. Rauld stood with a surprising spring to his weight, and the short bald monk bent himself into a bow. He was already quite dim with ale and whatever goodbye he said seemed slurred. Actually it was just in Albrecht, but that tongue was difficult to understand even if someone only drank spring water. He vanished off into the shadows.
"Well," Ithacles calmed himself with the soft word. "The squirrel and I were having a few tankards. I figure if alcohol doesn't freeze it's best to put some of it in me before bed."
He leaned back on his tall stool and pressed his shoulders into the lacquered boards behind. Small flames sputtered in their iron sconces on either side of his head.