The Dalwich Desecration (14 page)

Given that it was late in the afternoon it seemed likely that Brother Green would already have water simmering, making the entire preparation truncated at best. The realization ramped up my heartbeat as I quickly stole a look behind myself as though I might actually find Colin standing there, his foraging completed so we could set ourselves properly to the task at hand. But such was not the case. Instead, when I turned back to affix an eye at the tiny crack I'd allowed, there came a great cacophonous crash from somewhere behind me, followed by a bellowed, “
Dammit to bloody hell!
”

“Colin . . . !” I groaned, booting the door shut and leaning against it a moment, the galloping of my heart in my ears overwhelming every other sound for an instant. I did not say anything else as I struggled to catch my breath and steady my pulse before spinning back and drawing the door open a sliver, only to find Brother Bursnell carefully backing out of the kitchen with a tray full of tea things cradled in his arms. “He's coming!” I blurted too loud to be considered discreet as I shoved the door closed again. “Get over here.”

“Look busy,” he commanded from somewhere in the back.

Dutifully, but only because I could think of nothing better to do, I slid into the seat I'd initially been in and shuffled through a stack of loose papers, adopting a studied visage I hoped would be construed as thoughtful. Colin came out from around the far corner with an assortment of papers in his hands just as the door swung open and Brother Bursnell entered. I burst from my seat, placing myself between the monk and where Colin was striding up from, and announced with far too much force, “Do let me help you!” I snatched the teapot and held it while Brother Bursnell slid the plain, round tray onto the center of the table a safe distance from the manuscripts and paperwork.

“Most kind, Mr. Pruitt.” He smiled.

I glanced around to find Colin stalking back and forth down the row between the stacks, his nose buried in the paperwork he was holding, making it appear that he was simply pacing. “You know,” he said with a child's innocence, “I don't think these papers belong to your abbot at all. They have the initials
R.F.M.
on the bottom of the pages.”

“Do they . . . ?” Brother Bursnell tilted his head as he moved over to where Colin had halted, peering over his shoulder. “So they do. Those belong to Brother Morrison.” He gave a crooked smile. “It would seem I have not been paying proper attention of late. My apologies.” He accepted the pages from Colin and headed to the rear of the library, precisely where Colin had just been rooting about, as Colin finally returned to the table.

“What was that all about?!” I whispered.

“It was the best I could do with what little warning you gave me,” he protested as he poured tea for the three of us. “I didn't find anything of use anyway.”

“Oh dear . . .” Brother Bursnell's voice drifted up to us. “It looks like I've made something of a shambles back here. I have several of the brothers' writings quite out of order.” Colin tossed me a sheepish shrug as Brother Bursnell released a heavy sigh and wandered back to the table with an undeniable weariness. “It seems I've not been able to concentrate at all well this week. I shall review everything back there and let you know if I find any further papers belonging to our abbot over the last six months.”

I spoke up. “It is well understandable.”

Colin gave a gentle smile. “I'm sure we have plenty to keep us busy right here.” He sipped at his tea as he began rummaging through several of the manuscripts, quickly scanning page after page before moving on to the next in the pile.

I followed suit, but given that there was little focus to our efforts, I rapidly found myself mired in teachings about ethics, patience, forgiveness, humility, charity, and the other tenets that drive religions. If there truly was something of value to be found here, I could not begin to see it. The abbot seemed a thoughtful and considered man in his writings, but there was nothing here that caught my eye in the least. Indeed, it seemed everything I was reading could be preached from a pulpit on any given Sunday.

Colin spoke up, interrupting my tedious review. “I am assuming . . . given some of what your abbot has written here, that he traveled to Egypt?” I looked up from the monotonous material I'd been flipping through with some envy at what Colin had obviously found.

“He did,” Brother Bursnell answered as he refilled our tea. “He went about four years ago for six months. I suppose you could call it a sort of sabbatical. He traveled with two monks from Italy, one of whom is said to be very close to the Holy Father.”

Colin's eyebrows arced skyward. “Interesting. Was there any particular reason for the sojourn?”

“As I am sure you are aware there have been many extraordinary archaeological findings coming out of Egypt over the last fifty years. The church is very keen on these discoveries given that the faithful are forever seeking proof for their beliefs.” He gave a dry sort of chuckle. “Something of a dichotomy given that faith is, of course, predicated upon . . . well . . .
faith!
”

“Yes, of course . . .” Colin answered distractedly as he pawed through the pages he'd been reviewing. “Your abbot makes several mentions of Egypt here. It would seem to have made quite an impression on him.”

“How could such a country not?” Brother Bursnell agreed. “A very strange and curious place. A desert of ancient ruins and pyramids that go back so many thousands of years. Even the camel is one of God's more curious beasts. It is not a place that I myself should ever like to see,” he added.

“Not interested in that which is unique?” Colin prodded with an impish twinkle. But if Brother Bursnell had any intention of commenting he did not get the chance as the door abruptly popped open and Brother Green poked his soft, round face in, lit up with its usual glowing smile.

“Do you gentlemen need any more water?”

“You mustn't fuss over us,” Colin answered, returning a grin. There was something infectious about Brother Green's depth of warmth given his unlikely height and broad circumference. He looked like a man who could intimidate with his size alone, yet his demeanor was as gentle and gracious as the humblest of servants.

“Fussing over you is my pleasure,” came the immediate reply, sounding wholly genuine. “And you are welcome to stay for dinner tonight as well. Brother Rodney and I are making corned beef and cabbage. Shall I set a place for the two of you?”

“No, thank you. . . .” Colin waved him off gently. “We must get back to Dalwich soon. I'm afraid we've another matter that requires our attention before this evening is through.”

“Well, you will be missed,” Brother Green said with his usual exuberance, though I hardly thought that likely.

“There is something that I wonder if you might do for us?” Colin added quite unexpectedly.

“Of course.”

“Could you arrange for us to speak with your newest member? Brother . . .” Colin turned to me, his face blank.

“Nathan,” I dutifully supplied.

“That will be easy,” Brother Green beamed. “He's just come in from the fields with Brother Duncan. I'm sure he's in the balneary washing up. It is difficult work they do out there, bless their hearts. Much too much for a man like myself,” he added with a chuckle as he patted his ample belly. “Come into the refectory when you've finished here and I'll fetch Brother Nathan for you. You are welcome to speak with him there.” His broad, smiling face puckered slightly, his eyes revealing a trace of disappointment. “Are you sure I cannot convince you to stay for supper?”

“Perhaps another time,” Colin answered in a tone that assured me how unlikely that would be, though it didn't seem Brother Green caught it. “For now we shall briefly trouble Brother Nathan and be on our way.”

“Of course,” Brother Green nodded, his ever-present smile once again in place as he ducked back out the door.

“Such a kind man,” Colin noted as he turned to Brother Bursnell. “Everyone has been accommodating,” he hastened to add, “but there is something distinct about him.”

“Brother Green came rather late to the calling,” Brother Bursnell said as he began straightening the papers we had already gone through. “He grew up in Liverpool and was apparently something of a hellion in his youth. It seems to have made him more grateful now that he has devoted himself to God.”

“How long has he been here?”

“Ten years. Almost from our founding. He is a bedrock for many of the other brothers.”

“I can imagine that would be so,” Colin remarked with a flickered grin as he slid the remaining documents back to the young, fresh-faced monk. “I cannot help but notice gaps in the abbot's writings. He appears to be quite regimented in his daily musings and yet there are days here and there where there seems to be nothing. Or in this instance”—he snatched up two sheets of paper and held them out—“this first page is starting to detail a story about Saint Catherine's Monastery in Egypt, yet on the page that follows he is talking solely about forgiveness and there appears to be no correlation with the preceding page. It's as if”—he flipped both papers over and glanced at their empty backs—“well . . . as if there is a page missing.”

Brother Bursnell frowned as he leaned in and studied the two pages. “Perhaps someone has borrowed a portion of this manuscript. It's quite common. The purpose of keeping these writings is to let the other brothers study the ministries of our abbot. And those of the other senior members, of course,” he seemed oddly compelled to add.

“Do you not keep a record of who takes what? It would seem rather arbitrary—these missing pages.”

The monk gave an amused laugh, his light blue eyes as filled with merriment as surprise. “Really, now, Mr. Pendragon, we number but thirty-three. Do you suppose such things could not be easily found amongst the brothers should the need arise? And I am sure you don't mean to suggest that one of us, devotees to the church, might actually pilfer pages?” He gave a chuckle, but it sounded vaguely arid and harsh.

Colin tilted his head slightly and crooked a single eyebrow, giving a thin smile that I thought was meant to be reassuring but looked nothing of the sort to me. “Well, it doesn't seem you have any way of knowing if they were.” He stood up and glanced back down at hastily reassembled piles of papers. “Did your abbot bring any writings back from his time in Egypt?”

Brother Bursnell's face had gone quite sober, though whether it was because he had taken offense at Colin's words or because Colin had actually given him something to ponder, I couldn't tell. “Yes,” he answered crisply. “He brought several journals back with him. Would you like for me to retrieve one of them?”

“Very much.”

The monk nodded and headed to the back of the library again.

“Could you try not to look so pleased with yourself,” I whispered to Colin.

He leaned right over by my ear. “I am rather pleased with myself. We might finally be on to something here. Saint Catherine's Monastery in Egypt . . .” he said quite pointedly, as though that should mean something to me.

“I can't lay my fingers on them at this precise moment, Mr. Pendragon,” Brother Bursnell called from the back. “Things are quite a jumble back here and it has undoubtedly gotten mislaid.”

“That could be
your
fault,” I reminded Colin under my breath.

“No need to concern yourself with it then,” Colin called back after tossing me an amused look. “Perhaps you'll be able to locate it for us by tomorrow.”

“I shall do my best,” he answered as he poked his head out from around the shelving, his face betraying his obvious chagrin.

“Then we have troubled you enough for one day,” Colin announced as he gestured for me to follow. “We shall leave you be and find Brother Green. You have, as always, been most generous with your time.”

Brother Bursnell offered a fleeting grin but said nothing further as we let ourselves out and walked the short distance down the hallway toward the refectory.

“Since when do you give a whit about Egypt?” I muttered quietly.

“Since the abbot went to visit Saint Catherine's Monastery,” he said as though the answer was as obvious as the sunlight itself. Nevertheless, it meant nothing to me and I wondered how it could mean something to him. “The
Codex Sinaiticus
. . .” he prodded, but it only sounded like another form of influenza to me and I had not known of any such illness to have come out of the African continent. “You haven't heard of it?! I'm rather stunned . . .” he admitted as he plastered on an obligatory smile and barreled into the dining hall. “
Brother Green!
” he called out.

“Mr. Pendragon and Mr. Pruitt!” came the warm response as Brother Green stood up from the farther table where he'd been sitting next to a rail-thin, young monk. The young novitiate had short dark blond hair slicked back and was wearing the telltale scruff of one too young trying too hard to produce a man's beard. “Permit me to introduce Brother Nathan. I'm afraid he's a bit disheveled yet as he's just returned from his day's work as I told you.”

“I washed up some,” the young man defended himself as he ran a quick hand through his damp hair.

“It will take more than a touch of untidiness to turn us away,” Colin assured with a chuckle. “We are grateful for your willingness to give us a spot of your time. I promise we shall leave you to your evening's routine as quickly as possible.”

“You mustn't worry about that,” Brother Green answered for the young monk. “Brother Nathan is at your service. So I will leave you gentlemen be.” True to his word, he ambled over to the side door that led to the kitchen and was gone.