Falconer's Crusade by Ian Morson — Read

Falconer woke with a start, a feathery memory at the back of his mind of a scaly lizard crawling over him, its thin tongue flicking across his eyelids. The room was empty and brightly lit by the sun streaming through the casement. Dust motes danced in the beams of light, which shone directly on the pallet opposite. He was back in his own room in Aristotle's hall, and it took him a little while to recall the events of the previous day. At least it took a while to remember them in a sensible way. He gently lowered his legs on to the straw-covered floor and tried to get up. After a moment of light-headedness, when he thought he might float out of the window, he grew steady and made for the door. He could hear voices in the main hall, and made his way towards them. One was clearly that of Thomas Symon, whose aggrieved tones were admonishing some fellow student. On opening the door, he saw Thomas, and an ashen Hugh Pett sitting opposite each other across the stained and pitted table used for meals.

‘Ahh. I know I am a little late, but have we anything to eat?'