Chapter 9
One day Mongan and Duv Laca were playing chess in their palace.
Mongan had just made a move of skill, and he looked up from the
board to see if Duv Laca seemed as discontented as she had a right
to be. He saw then over Duv Laca's shoulder a little black-faced,
tufty-headed cleric leaning against the door-post inside the
room.
"What are you doing there?" said Mongan.
"What are you doing there yourself?" said the little black-faced
cleric.
"Indeed, I have a right to be in my own house," said Mongan.
"Indeed I do not agree with you," said the cleric.
"Where ought I be, then?" said Mongan.
"You ought to be at Dun Fiathac avenging the murder of your
father," replied the cleric, "and you ought to be ashamed of
yourself for not having done it long ago. You can play chess
