In the years since she had served him merely as a scribe-interpreter, Master Melilot had changed but little He was portlier, admittedly-the satin robe he splashed with grease as he gnawed at the carcass of his third wild duck stretched smooth across his ample paunch-but his suety face was equally innocent of wrinkles and would no doubt remain so till his death
Most certainly of all, his inner nature had not altered Though he was a great deal richer than of yore-Jarveena knew that for a fact, having put several immensely profitable deals his way, and having laid the foun- dations of a fortune for herself-the outward signs of his prosperity were few He was still reluctant to part with money save when it was unavoid- able, food still came to his table from the fire shared between the kitchen and the bindery adjacent to the scriptorium on the entrance floor, and those who clambered up and down the ladderlike stairs with wine jars and full and empty dishes were still the same sort of apprentices, not engaged just now in copying or studying A thousand others would have flaunted their wealth by buying slaves, or installed one of the hoists of late so popular in Ranke, which delivered food piping-hot by way of a shaft sunk in the wall Not Melilot He knew that an excessive display of worldly goods was a sure way to attract the interest of thieves, and he had no wish to be at the expense of hiring armed watchmen It was cheaper to rely, by day, on the constant vigilance of his staff, and by night on the geese he had installed on the roof, in what formerly had been the nauseous dwelling of the drunken nobleman whose ancestors had built this once fine mansion. He had gone to his repose; now the geese could be trusted to disturb everybody’s at a nocturnal shout or footfall, a com- plaining bolt, or the creaking of a shutter jimmied open.