The red-kestrel harp was left on the bed. As deeply as he longed to take it with him, smuggling it out of the chellé would be impossible. Anyone seeing him with it would ask questions.
The robe hood was the only advantage he had.
Down to the end of the empty corridor with the room closed behind him was simple. The guard would not return for at least another thirty minutes.
Down the staircase, down, down, to the ground level where, from the tolling of the bells of St. Maicel’s, the noon hour Gathering in the chellé would soon be at hand. Eridel looked behind him, up the stairs, with a scowl. The novice, most likely, would have left he and Dhóri alone to attend the Gathering with the others in St. Kóráhm’s. Someone one would miss him sooner than they would miss Dhóri. Someone would look. Someone would find the two unconscious men in the cell-like room.
Eridel had to hurry.