Oliver shook his head, with his best don't-ask-me-you're-in-charge look. "I'll do whatever you want me to do," he said. She had no answer for him either. They rounded a corner and saw Leonard standing on the lawn, facing the castle. And singing. He had accompaniment: bored-looking servants playing lute, harp, cymbals, and something that looked like a clarinet but sounded like the moan of a humpback whale. He sang, loudly and off-key: "My love is like a cold, cold frost ... But when I die, she will feel lost..." A dog started to bark, then another, then several. A rooster crowed. Those servants who had to be up earliest and so went to bed earliest banged on the shutters and yelled for quiet. Leonard got louder, to be heard over the racket, and gazed up at what had to be Deanna's bedroom window with a sick-puppy expression. Her legs got quivery and she sat down heavily on the ground. "Deanna?" Oliver sounded worried. He crouched down beside her, but she didn't want to look at him. She crossed her legs Indian style and hunched over in the evening gloom, her arms hugged around herself.
