Olga Shuisky Drinks a Glass of Cold Water

Feev climbed over the terra-cotta partition outside the garden and dropped, breathlessly, to the ground next to the alstromeria. He paused, straightened out his robe and cloak, and looked around. There was only his own sweating self, and the quiet babble of a brook. There were columns of stone with trays of fire on the peak. The air smelled sweetly of ferns and a wooden bench called to his posterior to sit and meditate upon the Lord.

"Mayhaps I should sit... just for one moment. To pray." And he knelt, praying and cupped a mouthful of cool water into his hands.

"Fivim! Why aren't you at the monastery?" sang a joyful voice from a bank of reeds. "As this was said, a singularly handsome and youthful face was thrust through the opening in the leaves" (Deerslayer p 19)

"Olga Shuisky! Would... can I get you a glass of cold water?" he said, thrusting his hands at her.

"Thank you kindly Feev. I might as soon ask you if you've had breakfast?" she stepped out of the reeds, alongside a tiny bard with ringlets of gold and a serious expression.

"I have... who is this, so serious?"

"This is Princess Isabella, from Castile. She has been sent as an envoy from Henry IV."

"I'm firsty."

And lo, FVMMA did give Princess Isabella a handful of cold water. And it was good.

"I... I need to speak with you... alone!" quoth Feev, looking nervously at the cherubic visitor.

"Of course, Fivim. What is it?"

FVMMA took Olga's hand and drew her abrubtly into the reeds from which she had come.

"I hear word of spies abroad, possibly from Dmitri himself!"

"Why, Dmitri is always sending spies. There's nothing so awful about such news. But enough of that! Why did we leave the Princess behind?"

"I was concerned about her... that she might be a ..."

"A spy?! Fivim you are too bold! She's a child! A three-year-old. Have you ever heard of a spy too young for schooling?"

"I've not heard of such, Ma'am. Your excellency, your..."

"Are the vespers upon us at the monastery? I don't want to keep you?!"

"No... it was with news that I sought you out."

""of spies, and babes-in-arms. You need some breakfast, mayhaps."

"No! No... I met a fellow on the highway from the Red Ermine. From Boston or some such..."

"English, then?"

"From farther west he said. In the ocean I imagine. He is your spy! I fear. I fear he is your spy. Be careful Lady Olga. I must avaunt."

"Does this spy have a name, or an appearance?"

"Das Brick. He is bald, and wide in girth. He wears cotton breeches and a red cotton El Pelon shirt. And a coat of fur, and a plaid cap."

""How do you know he's a spy, Fivim?"

"Because he's from Boston. Farewell!"