"Oh." Merlyn leans over the edge of the rafter, frowning. "It's you. The fellow with the Chimaera in his belly. Do be a good chap and pass me that yarn, will you?" So what if Nitou's twenty feet below him? The so-called 'wizard' is still young. He can throw. And it would save Merlyn either climbing down or conjuring another ball of wool, neither of which he particularly wants to do. Not while he can so easily get the first one back.

Taking out his glasses, he settles them on his nose and squints down at the young man below. "You look rather burnt," he comments, not without some irony. "I must have missed quite some excitement out there." He'd been more concerned with the crows attacking him when the Cornucopia had caught light, and frankly hadn't noticed.