by Glenn Cooper
“Are we not to become nuns like the others?” Mary had asked.
“When I ask for an answer from Sister Josephine, I hear nowt,” Clarissa had said. “When I pray for an answer from God, I receive nowt. Can I ask you something? When you arrived, did Sister Josephine look at you naked like?”
Mary nodded. “She said my hips were good’uns.”
The girls became fast friends, bonded by their seemingly shared fate. To them the abbey was their entire world, and it was a strange and unfathomable place. They struggled to understand the hierarchy of the abbey and the jobs of the inhabitants. They knew that there was a brewery, but which monk was the brewer? They knew there was an infirmary, but which brother was the surgeon? They played a game, trying to guess who did what, sneaking about in the few minutes here and there when they weren’t under the scrutiny of Sister Josephine or the cook, following a likely suspect around the abbey grounds as he went about his labors.
During these adventures the girls discovered two buildings in the complex they found particularly curious.
In a far corner of the abbey, beyond the monks’ cemetery, was a simple unadorned structure the size of a small chapel connected to a long building without windows. To this building they had once seen a wagon deliver provisions of meat, vegetables and grain.
“There must be a kitchen,” Clarissa had said.
“They must have their own girls doing the duties,” Mary replied. “Less work for us.”
The other strange building that caught their eye was close to this chapel and kitchen. It resembled a small version of the sisters’ dormitory made of limestone blocks with rows of identical square windows and chimney stacks on both the short ends. On one of their walks they spied something that filled Clarissa with a turbulent blend of fascination and fear. Fay, the girl with a turnip nose who had vanished months earlier, was waddling from the small dormitory to the outhouse behind it. There was no denying it: she was heavy, very heavy with child.
How does a lass come to be bearing in a monastery, Clarissa had wondered?
That night, Clarissa lay awake on her straw pallet, the memory of Sister Josephine scrutinizing her naked hips weighing on her.
What was her fate to be?
The answer to her question came soon enough.
On a sunny day in June, as pretty a day as Clarissa had ever seen, the air sweet with honeysuckle and humming with orange bees, Sister Josephine approached her during morning ablutions and told her to gather up her few belongings.
As she was being led away her eyes met Mary’s. They said good-bye to each other silently with trembling lips. She had no idea if she would see her friend again.
It surprised her not the least when Sister Josephine took her straight to the small dormitory at the edge of the abbey grounds.
Inside, the air was stuffy. The windows and doors had been shut keeping the breeze at bay. There was a central hall and individual cells on both sides.
Down the hall, she thought she heard the cry of a baby, but it lasted only a moment. Then a girl’s low words. Wasn’t it the voice of Fay, the big-boned girl who was heavy with child?
“What place is this, Sister?” she asked fearfully.
“That’s no concern of yours, child,” she was told.
“When the time comes, you’ll be told what you need to be told. Until then, all you must do is obey and behave.”
“Yes, Sister,” she said as faintly as a squeaking mouse.
She was ushered into a small chamber with a bed, a nightstand and some earthenware necessities.
“There’s but a single bed, Sister,” she exclaimed.
“You do not have to share it, Clarissa. It’s for you and you alone.”
“Me own chamber?” she asked incredulously.
“You must thank the Lord for your bounty, girl.”
“Will I be working in th’ kitchen?”
“You will not.”
“What work will I do then?”
“You will pray and meditate. That is your work now.”
“Will I go to th’ cathedral for th’ hours?”
“You will not. You will make your own prayer here.”
“Are there others with me?”
“Enough questions! Sister Hazel will come presently with food and drink. She will be your superior. Do everything she says without fail.”
Sister Hazel was a sturdy nun with broad shoulders and hair sprouting from odd places on her face. Everything she did, she did quickly, and she made it plain that she expected Clarissa to do her bidding smartly and without complaint. She was in absolute charge of the dormitory and there’d be no nonsense. The rules were simple: there was to be no fraternization with the other girls. Meals were to be taken within her cell and every morsel had to be consumed. Morning ablutions were to be done thoroughly and swiftly. She must report the beginning of her menses without fail. Her only time outside would be visits to the outhouse. She must be diligent in her personal prayers. And finally, Sister Hazel would not tolerate idle questions.
Clarissa settled into a boring period of solitude. She did her best to pray but she could only remember a few hymns and prayers from beginning to end. She was a prisoner in her cell, but the food was plentiful and her bed was comfortable. She strained her ears to listen for voices from other cells, and when she visited the outhouse, she tried to spy into the dark windows of neighboring cells. The only thing she knew with certainty was that there was a baby down the hall. She heard it crying from time to time as plainly as can be.
When her menses came she dutifully reported it to Sister Hazel who seemed pleased at the news. Two weeks to the day later her life changed forever.
On the appointed morning, Sister Hazel arrived after her morning meal and stood over her.
“Today is the most important day in your life, child. The Lord is calling you for a higher purpose, and that purpose will be fulfilled presently. I am taking you to a part of the abbey that only a privileged few know about.”
“Is it the small chapel, yonder,” Clarissa said, pointing.
“You’re a very curious and clever girl, aren’t you? Yes, that is where we are going. The girls who go there are truly the chosen ones. You are to be one in a long line who have done their duty and been rewarded with the knowledge and certainty that they have served God in a special and singular way.”
“What am I t’ do?” she asked, trembling.
“Just follow Sister Sabeline’s instructions when you are there. She will personally supervise the ritual.”
“What’s a ritual?”
“Always the questions with you! All I will tell you is that some girls, the weak ones, become frightened by what they see. But you are not weak, are you, Clarissa?”
“Nae, Sister.”
“No indeed. You will be brave, you will not cry, and you will obey Sister Sabeline.”
“Aye, Sister.”
“Then come along.”
It was another fine day and she turned her face to the warmth of the sun. Her heart was fluttering with fear but she was resolute. If God had chosen her for some high purpose, then she would bend to his will. Whatever the circumstances.
At the chapel door Sister Sabeline was waiting for them. Sister Hazel handed Clarissa off and quickly left. The old nun sternly bade the girl to follow her inside. Clarissa was surprised to see that the chapel was entirely empty with a bluestone floor, adorned only with a gilded wooden crucifix affixed to the wall above a dark oak door at the rear.
Sister Sabeline pushed the door open, took Clarissa’s hand, and pulled her through.
Clarissa found herself on steep, spiraling stairs that bored into the earth. There were torches set at intervals but she still had to take care with her footfalls. The stairs wound so tightly that after a while she felt her head spinning. When they could descend no farther an enormous door blocked their progress.
Sister Sabeline unlocked the door with a heavy black iron key affixed to her leather belt. To open it, she ha
d to lean into it with all her might.
They were in a dim cavern.
Clarissa squinted and tried to make sense of what she saw. Wide-eyed, she stared at Sabeline and was about to speak when the nun told her not to utter a single word.
The chamber had a domed ceiling that was plastered and whitewashed to increase the luminosity of the candles spaced out on rows of long tables.
Clarissa stopped breathing when she realized what she was looking at. Seated at the tables, shoulder to shoulder, were dozens of ginger-haired men and boys with ghostly white skin, each one grasping a quill, dipping and writing on sheets of parchment producing a collective din of scratching that filled her ears. Some of the writers were old men, some young boys, but despite their ages they all looked similar to one another. Every face was as blank and staring as the next, green eyes boring into sheets of white parchment.
My God, who are these creatures, she thought.
What are they?
“Remember. Say nothing!” Sabeline warned her.
None of the pale-skinned men seemed to take notice as Sabeline dragged her in front of them one by one, row by row.
Suddenly, one man raised his head and looked straight at her. He was ancient, perhaps the eldest. His skin was wrinkled and slack, and there were only a few patches of reddish gray hair on his scaly, pink scalp. Clarissa noticed that the bony fingers on his right hand were colored with ink and that the front of his robe was stained yellow with food. He started to breathe heavily, emitting high-pitched wheezes. Then a low groan emanated from his throat, a primitive animalistic sound that made Clarissa’s knees go weak.
“I cannot believe it,” Sister Sabeline mumbled. “I simply cannot believe it.”
The nun took one of the candles and yanked at Clarissa’s sleeve the way one pulls at a stubborn mule, but when she remained rooted, Sister Sabeline yanked again, setting Clarissa’s legs in motion. At the end of the row, the nun pulled her toward a pitch-black archway.
Clarissa didn’t want to pass through into that void but she was a rag doll in the old nun’s grasp. As she passed through the arch, she turned her head and saw the old wheezing man rise from his table.
The moment she passed through the arch, a hideous stench filled her nostrils. Instinctively she recognized it as the smell of death. She felt her stomach turning inside out but she was able to hold on to her breakfast.
The first yellow skeleton she saw by the light of Sister Sabeline’s candle made her gasp in fear. Its jaw was wide open, as if screaming. There were bits of adherent flesh and hair. Its eyes had desiccated into masses the size of peas. Progressing farther into the catacombs she saw others—many others—skeletons too numerous to count, stacked into loculi carved into limestone. She’d seen a dead body once in her life, her grandfather laid out before the hearth before he was wrapped and carried out to the burial ground. But that had in no way braced her for the immensity of all this death.
“What is this place?” she gasped.
“Hush!” the nun said. “You are not to speak!”
They stopped in a small chamber, lined floor to ceiling with loculi. Sister Sabeline held the candle in her outstretched arm.
Clarissa was shaking like a dog that had just been pulled from the waters of a frozen pond. She heard a shuffle.
Someone was coming.
“Look at me!” the nun commanded. “Do not turn away.”
Someone was behind her.
She could not obey. She pivoted and saw the immobile face of the old man in the flickering light. He was staring at her with his liquid, green eyes.
“You have no idea how blessed you are, girl,” Sister Sabeline hissed. “This is no ordinary scribe. He is Titus, the most venerable, the most prolific. In all my years, he has never chosen a girl. You may be his first! Do your duty well.”
My duty, Clarissa thought! God help me!
The old man started to make low, grunting sounds and began pawing himself.
“Lift your gown,” Sister Sabeline shouted. “And bend over. Do it now!”
Her small pathetic life flashed through her mind. If she ran, where would she go? She had no one to help her, nowhere to hide, no money, no friends. There was only one thing for her to do.
She grabbed the hem of her gown and lifted it to her waist.
“Good, now bend toward me.”
She felt pressure against her privates then a sharp jolt of pain as her maidenhead was breached. Growing up on a farm, she’d seen animals in heat. She knew about these things. She felt like a ewe being mounted. She closed her eyes tightly, clamped her jaw, and thought only one thought over and over.
I will have a baby. I will have a baby.
It didn’t last long. The old man’s grunting reached a crescendo, and when he was done he immediately withdrew and shuffled away.
“Stand up now,” Sister Sabeline ordered.
Blinking away her salty tears, Clarissa stood and let her robe fall to her ankles.
“There. You have done your duty and done it well. I’ll take you back to your dormitory now. You will lie on your back with your knees up for three days. All your needs will be attended to by Sister Hazel.”
“Will I have a baby?” she asked plaintively.
“You will!” Sister Sabeline said. “A very special one.”
Chapter 10
Adrenaline purged Will’s fatigue. He sat tense and rigid beside Annie as she drove their hired car south toward Pinn. It was a moonless night. Theirs was the only vehicle on the narrow road. In the high beams all he could see were hedgerows, drystone walls, and the occasional lonely, dark, limestone cottage.
Annie stifled a yawn. It spoke volumes to him. She wasn’t committed to the assignment. She didn’t have the zeal he had when he was a young Turk. Or the fire in her eyes that Nancy had when she was on a case. Maybe it was just Annie. Maybe it was the younger generation. Maybe it was the pernicious effect of the Horizon. He didn’t much care. His son was somewhere out there in the inky wilderness, in peril. And Will required the complete commitment of everyone involved in finding him.
“How far are we?” he asked.
“Not very. I’m looking for Officer Wilson’s car. He should be there already.”
Will had called Nancy and forwarded Phillip’s message. She was working late at the Bureau and immediately pinpointed the coordinates of Phillip’s beacon on a satellite map. “It’s farmland,” she had said. “Not many buildings around. What the hell is he doing there, Will?”
“Wish I knew, Nance. Is there a terrorist group in your files called the Librarians?”
He had listened as she issued voice commands to her computer.
“Nothing,” she had said.
“They could be new. The name worries the hell out of me.”
“Me too,” she had said. He’d heard the palpable fear in her voice. She was a mother first. “It could be something ad hoc involving the Horizon. Maybe Phillip’s connection to you made him a symbolic target.”
“His essay was all over the Net,” Will had said.
“Yes, it was.”
“Is there a chance in hell this has got something to do with your Chinese case?”
“I don’t want to rule anything out. Parish relented. I was able to duck the China trip. Should I try to get permission to fly over to the UK?”
“No, stay put. We may need you to do things in Washington that can’t be done here. I don’t trust MI5. They’ve given me a girl not much older than Phil.”
There had been a pause. He had known what Nancy was thinking, but he’d been sure that under the circumstances she wasn’t about to ask: “Is she pretty?”
Instead, she had said, “Will, find him and bring him home. And listen, take care of that silly heart of yours.”
Ahead, in the dark, Officer Wilson’s car was at the side of the road with its interior lights on. Annie slowed and pulled in behind him. They met in the frigid night air.
Wilson pointed toward the darkness. “It’
s a chilly night for a lad t’ be out in th’ Dales, eh?”
“Then we’d better find him fast,” Will said flatly. “Are there many houses around here?”
“Maybe seven or eight t’ a square mile. Nae many fowk round here,” the officer said. “This is sheep country.”
Wilson had a police-configured NetPen. The screen was deployed and was displaying a terrain map with a pin marking the satellite position of Phillip’s beacon.
“How far is that?” Annie asked.
“About three-quarters of a mile. It’s gey dark. I’ve only got the one torch—sorry about that—so unless you’ve got your own, we’ll need t’ stay close.”
They found a gap in a hedgerow and began walking into a meadow, dark as sable. Will had no sense of the terrain beyond what he could see in the yellow cone of the policeman’s flashlight. The grass below his feet was winter-clumped and crusty with frost. He shuddered at the thought of Phillip’s stumbling about in the alien landscape.
After a while, he was aware from the tightness in his quadriceps that they were climbing. It wasn’t a steep grade, but it was a steady one. He pushed on his neck to check his pulse and prayed that his heart wouldn’t act up. There was a stone wall ahead.
“We’ll go over,” Officer Wilson told them. “Try not t’ dislodge any stones or I’ll have complaints in th’ morning. Farmers around here aren’t too jolly. And mind the sheep mess.”
Wilson climbed it with ease and offered a hand with Annie who, because of her skirt, went over more awkwardly. Ordinarily, Will would have assisted but because she was showing so much skin, he elected to keep his hands to himself. When he crossed over, he felt a chest palpitation that made him pause and frown in self-loathing pique.
“You okay?” Annie asked.
“I’m fine,” he insisted, picking up the pace. He cupped his mouth with his hands and called out his son’s name.
The policeman swung his beam toward Will, and said, “Mr. Piper, I understand your concern, but I’d ask you t’ wait a bit till we’re better away from th’ farmhouses. It wouldn’t be pretty for an irate landowner t’ come out here with his shotgun looking for a trespasser.”