The old man's loud breathing was keeping the boy awake. It was now some hours since they had lain down in the draughty shelter. The supper provided by the monks had been adequate, but not what you would call tasty. Still, the boy had become accustomed to going to bed on an empty stomach, so to have it filled - even with watery soup, without the savour of salt, and a big hunk of rough bread - was better than usual.

But how he wished the snoring, rasping breaths would stop and let him get some sleep! With an abrupt snort, the old man launched into a violent fit of coughing, chest heaving, spasms shaking his whole body. The boy watched as he spat into a stained piece of cloth, then, muttering to himself, settled down again. Soon the painful breathing resumed.

The old man's movements had disturbed his cloak. The night air was chilly, and the boy reached out and gently rearranged the covers. There, that was better; the cloak was quite thick, it'd give some warmth to his chest and -

In the midst of his careful attentions, the boy suddenly caught the glint of metal. The lamplight was reflecting off something tucked inside the old man's clothes, something which, formerly hidden, had slipped out and into view during the coughing fit. The metal of which it was made was smooth and, in shape, a square, a rectangle... a little box? Could it be - was it possible that it was ...silver?

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