by Kat Ross
“Light a fire in the hearth,” she said. “And cover him with a blanket. I don’t want him freezing to death.”
Constantin nodded curtly and it was done. When she felt satisfied Karol was secure, she asked if she might see Father Gavra. He was in his study, a fresh bandage covering the wound. He sipped from a cup of brandy.
“I blame myself,” Father Gavra said dolefully. “Karol was the one who escorted Anne from the monastery. It was only his word that she left safely.”
“I’ll have the truth from him,” Vivienne said. “In the meantime, Lord Cumberland has offered to ride down to Mara Vardac and get help.”
Father Gavra frowned. “Don’t you think you should go together? There’s no need to stay, Lady Cumberland—”
She held his gaze. “Nathaniel can manage. I want to be here in case Karol wakes up.”
The abbot seemed on the verge of another objection.
“Please, Father. He might know … what happened to Miss Lawrence.”
He gave a slow nod. “Then you should leave soon, I think,” he told Nathaniel. “The weather is taking a turn for the worse.” He lifted the bottle of brandy and poured a measure into another cup. “Have this before you go out there. It’ll keep you warm.”
Nathaniel accepted gratefully, tossing it back. “I’d best be off.” He glanced out the window at the falling snow. “It’s a two-hour ride to Mara Vardac, longer in this weather.”
“Travel safely,” Father Gavra said. “The nearest doctor is in Satinari. Bring all the men you can.”
Nathaniel nodded and Vivienne escorted him out to the stables. One of the young grooms saddled his horse and led it from the stall.
“Sure you won’t come?” he asked, searching her eyes.
For a moment, she was sorely tempted. Something about what had happened didn’t sit right. It was all too neat. But she wouldn’t leave Karol, not when he might have the answers she needed.
Vivienne glanced at the infirmary. “I’ll be fine. Frankly, I don’t trust them. One of us needs to stay here or else Brother Karol might be conveniently dead by the time we return.”
Nathaniel drew a deep breath. “Perhaps I should leave you the pistol.”
“No, you take it. You’re traveling alone. We don’t know what’s out there on the road.”
She touched his hand and they briefly clasped fingers.
“Stay with Father Gavra,” he advised. “I’ll bring help by morning, if not sooner.”
Vivienne walked him out to the main gate, where one of the brothers lifted the heavy crossbar and let him pass through. She watched his horse disappear down the road. Then Vivienne turned back toward the monastery, the snow thickening as she trudged to the infirmary.
8
The wind picked up as soon as Nathaniel left the sheltered pass leading down from Saint George’s. It drove the snow sideways, forcing him to lean low over the horse’s neck. He rode as hard as he dared without wandering off the road into the trackless waste, or letting his poor horse step into a hidden hole and break a leg.
So he clung to his mount, whispering words of encouragement as they picked their way down the mountain. At last, Mara Vardac came into view, the dark humps of the houses looming through the heavy snow. Nathaniel galloped up to the palisade of sharpened stakes. A wagon blocked the gap and he called out until a group of men appeared, led by Andrei, the innkeeper’s son.
“Let me in,” Nathaniel croaked, his face so stiff and frozen he could hardly form the words. “I come from Saint George’s with tidings about the pricolici.”
That got them moving. Andrei and two others rolled the wagon out of the way and Nathaniel spurred his horse through the gap. He dismounted at the stables behind the inn. Master Korzha’s son came trotting up.
“Go warm yourself by the fire,” Andrei said. “I’ll see to the horse.”
Nathaniel nodded gratefully and handed over the reins. The animal whickered, glad to be home. He went to the back door and entered through the kitchens. The innkeeper’s wife was kneading bread on the wooden table. Her eyes widened when she saw his half-frozen state.
“I must speak to your husband, mistress,” Nathaniel said in German. “It’s urgent. And fetch the mayor and the priest, as well.”
She nodded once and hurried off, dusting flour from her hands. Nathaniel went through to the common room and stood by the fire. His fingers and toes were starting to tingle, which he took as a good sign. A moment later, the front door opened and Master Korzha came in with his son, Andrei. They were followed by Father Cernat and the mayor.
“Did you find Miss Lawrence?” the innkeeper asked.
“No, but we know who is behind the killings,” Nathaniel replied grimly. “A monk named Brother Karol.”
They all sat down at one of the scarred wooden tables and Nathaniel related their arrival at the abbey and the discovery that one of the monks had been savagely attacked inside the walls.
“The killer struck between the Midnight Office and Matins, when most of the monks were sleeping. He knew the monastery routine well.”
“The pricolici?” the mayor asked.
Nathaniel nodded. “It happened on the night of the full moon. The monk’s throat was torn out. The abbot thought it was an animal attack, but when we viewed the body, the marks of human teeth were clearly visible.”
The men crossed themselves and muttered prayers against evil.
“This morning we organized a search of the forest. The abbot was attacked by the monk who accompanied him, a young fellow named Karol. He had a knife.”
“What happened?” Father Cernat asked.
“I shot him, but he’s not dead. They have him tied up in the infirmary.” Nathaniel paused. “He needs medical attention. The abbot as well. Lady Cumberland stayed behind.”
The mayor nodded uncertainly, though he seemed relieved that the ordeal was over. “We must ride for Satinari, but not until morning. The daylight is nearly gone and the snow too heavy.”
Nathaniel accepted the truth of this. He’d barely made it down the mountain.
“Karol is tied up and locked inside the infirmary,” he said with a sigh. “Let us hope that holds him for the night.”
Mistress Elena brought out a simple meal and he related further details of what had happened. The sudden attack, and how Brother Karol had taken three bullets before he fell.
“You say the abbot’s injuries aren’t life-threatening?” Father Cernat asked.
Nathaniel shook his head. “It was a nasty slash, but not too serious. Thank God he’s young and strong, else I fear that monk would have killed him.”
The priest gave Nathaniel a strange look. “But he’s old and blind, going on eighty now.”
Nathaniel’s eyes narrowed. “Father Gavra is no older than I am.”
“Father Gavra?” The priest shook his head, bewildered. “No, no. The abbot of Saint George’s is Father Nicolae. He’s been there forever.”
“But….” Nathaniel’s thoughts raced. “How can that be? No one challenged him. Have you ever heard of a Brother Constantin?”
“No.”
“He’s supposedly one of the senior monks. What about Brother Florin?”
The priest paled beneath his thick red beard. “I do not know who these men are, but I fear they are not monks.”
Nathaniel swore a bitter oath and leapt to his feet. “I must get back to Saint George’s without delay. I need a fresh horse.” His gaze swept the table. “Who will come with me?”
There was a terrible silence. Master Korzha muttered something more about the weather, refusing to meet his eye.
“Then I will go alone,” Nathaniel said coldly.
“I will go,” Father Cernat said, rising to his feet. He looked frightened but his voice was firm. “You should have a true man of God with you.”
Nathaniel gave the priest a grateful nod.
“Get him a horse,” Master Korzha muttered.
The innkeeper’s son, Andrei, rose and sl
ipped out the door.
“We’ll ride for Satinari first thing tomorrow, Lord Cumberland,” the mayor said weakly. “Fetch the constable. He’ll know what to do—”
Nathaniel ignored him, tearing his greatcoat from the hook by the door. The wind knocked him back a step as he entered the dark lane. It was a foul night, the snow turning to sleet that slicked the ground in a thin layer of ice. He turned his collar up and strode to the stables. Andrei wasn’t there, though he heard the horses snorting in their stalls. Nathaniel was looking around for a bridle and harness when he saw torches coming through the yard.
The sight of the dead children’s father, Cristian, and five of his broad-shouldered cousins, all leading horses and carrying shotguns, was the sweetest thing Nathaniel had ever seen. Andrei strode along beside them. Without a word, he went into the stables and began to saddle three mounts.
A moment later, Father Cernat appeared from the door to the kitchen, the hood of his cassock drawn tight against the wind.
“Andrei says the Devil has come to Saint George’s,” Cristian said, a wild look in his eye. “But I will have justice for Marius and Daniela.”
Father Cernat translated his words for Nathaniel, and the two men briefly clasped forearms.
The riders gathered more torches from the palisade and lit them against the darkness. With the children’s father in the lead, they galloped back up the road toward the Monastery of Saint George.
9
Vivienne watched Brother Karol mutter in his sleep. She’d taken a chair opposite his bed in the infirmary. He lay on his back, tied hand and foot. Sweat plastered his dark hair to his forehead.
She wondered if he could snap those ropes.
Now his head turned from side to side, his parched lips moving. Try as she might, Vivienne couldn’t make out what he was saying. She rose and warily approached the bed. A few of the monks waited just outside the door, but Vivienne had asked them to leave her alone with him. Constantin had argued against it, but Father Gavra overruled him. She’d seen the look of fury on Constantin’s face as she closed the door.
That was many hours ago. There had been no change in his deathlike slumber until now. Karol’s eyes suddenly flew open and she jerked back, but they stared blankly at the ceiling.
“Brother Karol,” she said quietly in Magyar. “Can you hear me?”
His head slowly turned in her direction.
“Did you kill the English girl? The one who came to see the library?”
He didn’t answer, but his eyes filled with contempt.
“What are you?” she persisted. “Tell me and I might be able to help.”
He turned his face to the wall. “You can’t help me,” he whispered.
“Are you innocent?”
There was no response.
“I know something is wrong here. Are there others who know too? Brother Nicolae, perhaps? I heard him praying in the chapel last night. He asked God to preserve him from evil.”
Vivienne sat back down in the chair, studying the young monk’s profile. The iron blade in her bodice was a reassuring weight. “I can protect you from the ones who would kill you. But you must tell me the truth.”
Karol closed his eyes again and refused to say anything more.
After a while, Vivienne sighed and rose to her feet. She knocked on the door and it was opened by Brother Constantin.
“He’s awake,” she said.
Constantin nodded gruffly. He went inside and took the same chair against the wall Vivienne had occupied. He said nothing to the prisoner, but his gaze was like a thunderhead.
Vivienne returned to Father Gavra’s study. He had a blanket across his shoulders and a fire roaring in the hearth. The brandy bottle was half-empty. He gave her a wan smile.
“How is your hand?” she asked.
He shrugged with one shoulder. “It pains me but the bleeding has stopped. Brother Constantin will lead the services for now.” He paused. “Has Brother Karol said anything to you?”
Vivienne shook her head. “Not a word. I just left him.”
“I hope Lord Cumberland manages to fetch a doctor soon.” He sighed. “What will you do now?”
“It’s my duty to stay and complete my investigation until it is resolved to my satisfaction,” she said. “I hope you have no objections.”
Father Gavra nodded. “Of course.” He held up the bottle. “Won’t you share a drink with me?”
“A small one.”
He poured her a cup with his uninjured arm and handed it over. “Tell me something, Lady Cumberland.”
Vivienne took a sip and inclined her head.
“Do you think Brother Karol is truly a pricolici? Or simply insane?”
“I don’t know. If you believe the latter, you must discount what the villagers claimed to see in the woods when they found the children.”
“Yes. But I did not see that myself. The more I consider it, the more it seems that the wounds to poor Brother Adrian could have been inflicted entirely by a man.”
“They could have,” Vivienne agreed.
“If he had a kind of madness, a bloodlust, perhaps he hoped joining the monastery would protect him.”
“But it didn’t.”
“No. He managed to suppress it for a while, but eventually it became impossible to resist.” He paused and studied the last half inch of brandy, his eyes glazed with tiredness. “Or perhaps Karol does have a wolf inside him. Marcus Aurelius said that nothing is evil which is according to nature. Do you think pricolici could be a natural occurrence? A mutation like those Mr. Darwin wrote about?”
“Brother Karol is the only one who can tell us how he came to be that way.”
“What will become of him, Lady Cumberland? When the constable arrives from Satinari?”
Vivienne thought of the quote by the Reverend Baring-Gould.
He may still prowl in Abyssinian forests, range still over Asiatic steppes, and be found howling dismally in some padded room of a Hanwell or a Bedlam.
“I don’t know. He’ll be arrested and have a trial. We have no proof he did anything besides attack you just now. I’m not doubting his guilt, Father, but these questions will be asked.” She smiled. “Unless he confesses, of course.”
The abbot sighed. “I will have to address the brothers tomorrow, give them an explanation they can understand. This whole business has been awful. I have ordered them to stay in their rooms for now. I imagine you wish to rest as well. It’s been a very long day for all of us.”
Vivienne finished her brandy. She rose and started for the door, then turned back. “One thing puzzles me, Father. I’ve wondered how Karol managed to move about the monastery unseen on so many occasions. He must have snuck out on the night the children and woodcutter were killed and returned to his room without anyone noticing. The same for Brother Adrian.”
She didn’t include Anne on this gruesome list. Vivienne still believed her ward must be alive somewhere. Anything else was … unthinkable.
The abbot’s eyes flickered with interest. “I’ll confess, I’ve wondered the same myself. He must have had the Devil’s own luck.”
She smiled. “He must have. I might go ask Brother Florin if he has a copy of the monastery plans.”
“And I will speak with Karol myself in the morning. Perhaps he’ll be willing to make a confession to me, cleanse his conscience.”
Vivienne bade Father Gavra goodnight and walked through the empty refectory. In fact, she had developed a suspicion about how Karol had moved around — assuming he was truly the pricolici.
The daylight faded as she made her way to the library. Brother Florin nodded at her from his place at the scriptorium, then continued copying a manuscript. Vivienne lit a candle and settled herself in the chair by the window, listening to his quill scratching away on the parchment.
“Do you know anything about secret passages?” she asked bluntly in Magyar.
Florin looked up at her, his watery eyes measuring. “As a matter of fa
ct, yes. They were built during the reign of Prince Michael. None have been used in a very long time, of course.”
“Might I see the original plans?”
“I’m afraid they were lost in a fire some years ago.”
“Oh.”
He laid his quill down. “But I could show you myself if you like.”
Brother Florin led her through the refectory and down a flight of stairs to the kitchens, which smelled of onions.
“There is a false door here, you see?” He pressed a hidden lever at the rear of one of the pantries. The shelving swung open a few inches. A breath of cold, dank air brushed her skin. She held the candle high and peered inside.
“Where does it lead?”
“There are connecting passages throughout the abbey. I wouldn’t recommend going far.”
She glanced at him. “I won’t, Brother Florin. Thank you.”
“Perhaps I should accompany you?” he said diffidently. “I’ve done a bit of exploring before. I know some of the passages. They can be rather confusing.”
Vivienne hesitated. “All right.”
He gave her a sharp look. “Do you think Brother Karol came this way?”
“I suspect so,” Vivienne admitted.
They entered a narrow space thick with dust and cobwebs. After several twists and turns, she saw the faint outlines of another door.
“Where does that one lead?” Vivienne asked.
“To the Chapter House, I think. It wouldn’t be far from the brothers’ sleeping cells.”
“Are there any tunnels that pass beneath the outer wall?”
“I’ve wondered that, too.” He shook his head. “But I do not know. I was afraid to go too far alone. It seemed easy to get lost.”
They continued on for several minutes, sometimes turning sideways to squeeze through a tight spot. It was cold in the passages, yet she was forced to pause and wipe sweat from her brow. Vivienne tried to keep track of all the turnings, but her mind felt muddy. She’d hardly slept the night before.