‘Yes.’
‘Every room?”
‘I do not know. I cannot be quite sure. You see it is very confusing inside.’
I hesitated. ‘Did you go round the outside of the buildings?’
She shook her head. ‘Why should I? I was searching—’
‘Most of the rooms will have windows, or at least gratings. They will have hung something out to attract attention.’
She stared at me, her face suddenly lighting up with hope. ‘Oh, why did I not think of that for myself. Quick. There is a way through to the back by the entrance they went in.’
I limped after her, the mule following at my heels. But the clip-clop of his hooves ceased just before we reached the archway. I looked back. He was standing in the middle of the road, his ears laid back, sniffing at the smoking cinder-heap of the lava. ‘You stay there, George,’ I said. ‘We’ll be back later.’
Hilda was running across the courtyard as I passed under the arch of the entrance. The stone square of the courtyard was beautifully cool after the heat of the lava-blocked streets. I glanced up at the windows. They were sightless eyes staring down at me unwinking. No sign of a scarf or handkerchief or anything to show that the others were in any of those rooms.
I entered the monastery buildings. It was almost dark inside and full of the damp coolness of stone. I felt suddenly fresh and full of vigour. Hilda called to me. I crossed a big refectory room with high windows and a long table laid for breakfast. Then I was in a wide stone passage and the walls were echoing the limp of my leg. Hilda was calling to me to hurry and a moment later I passed through a heavy, iron-studded door into the monastery grounds. There was a small flower garden and then vineyards flanked with orange-laden trees. I joined Hilda who was staring up at the monastery.