said Douglas, casting a critical eye over his accomplice. The soup-bowl haircut was good, a little lopsided—Snipe refused to sit still beneath the shears—but seemed all the more convincing for that. And Snipe’s sullen demeanour seemed especially well-suited for the portrayal of a grudging medieval lackey. “I’m giving you a knife, and I want you to keep it hidden, right?” He slapped the youth on the cheek to centre his attention. “Look me in the eye and listen—the knife is only to be used in extreme emergency. I do not want a repeat of last time, hear?” The lad ran his thumb along the blade, drawing a bead of blood, which he licked off. “Yes, it’s sharp enough,” Douglas continued. “Keep it out of sight. I do not expect trouble, but you never know.” He released his servant to finish preparing for the leap and turned to his own disguise. He pulled the coarse-woven robe over his head, adjusted it on his shoulders, and knotted the simple corded belt. His enquiries into the dress and manners of his hoped-for time and place had led him to believe that impersonating a travelling priest accompanied by a junior brother would be unlikely to raise comment or suspicion from the locals.
