The courtyard was older than the flagstones were sunken and moss-greened, half-swallowed by the creeping ivy that clung to the damp limestone walls.
In the center, an ancient stone basin caught the intermittent drip of a dry-stone fountain, the water below dark and still enough to reflect the bruised gray of the late afternoon sky.
Morgan leaned his forearms against the weathered granite rim, his gaze drifting over the water's quiet surface.
"Have they asked to speak with me?"
"Not directly," Merlin replied. His voice was lower than the wind that rustled the upper branches of the courtyard's single gnarled oak.
"Yet."
"Precisely."
Morgan shifted his weight, his boots scraping softly against the moss.
"What do you intend to tell them?"
"That my investigation is ongoing."
"And if they ask what I've told you?"
"That you remember very little."
Morgan studied him, his dark eyes level.
"That is all?"
"Would you prefer I invent something more interesting?"
"No."
