by Jane Anstey
Jan looked at him severely. This was undoubtedly the secret Clive had spoken of. Something so wonderful, so historically important, could not belong to one person, not even to the abbey, he thought. For one thing, it was too valuable, and protecting it―even insuring it―would be beyond their means. And Brother Andrew, whom he had thought he knew so well, had kept it hidden from him––for years?
He put the thought aside. Just now the vital thing was to ensure Mike’s safety. Somehow, he must get Gabryjel to put the knife down.
~ * ~
Simon went back into the college office to collect Mike’s schoolbag and fitted it, not without difficulty, into the back of his sports car along with his own effects. He climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine. As he did so, he heard a mobile phone ping from the bag as it received a text. It seemed that Mike had deliberately decided to be out of contact with everyone––unless he’d just forgotten the phone was in his bag. Simon frowned. There was certainly something odd about the situation, though, like Jeremy he couldn’t quite work out what it was. He put the car into gear and set off for Whitehill.
When he arrived, the little doorkeeper let him in and he asked whether Mike, his pupil, had come to the abbey that day.
“His father’s a bit concerned,” he explained. “No one seems to be able to contact him, and his parents don’t know where he is. Jeremy asked me to come in on my way home from college and pick him up if he’s here.”
The doorkeeper had listened courteously to this speech, his head on one side. “This is Reverend Swanson’s son, is it?”
Simon nodded. “That’s right.”
“He certainly arrived, half an hour or so ago, and I showed him over to the library, which is where he wanted to go. A matter of an ancient book, I believe.”
“I’ll just go and check whether he wants a lift home,” said Simon, “if that’s all right with you.”
The doorkeeper inclined his head. “I will inform Father Abbot that you are here. He likes to know when we have a new visitor.”
He knocked at the abbot’s office door, but there was no response.
“I will try to find Father Petrowski,” he said. “He will wish to see you. If you will wait here for a moment, please?” He indicated a couple of substantial upright chairs ranged along the corridor wall. “I will not be long.”
Simon was not by nature a particularly patient man if asked to wait on others’ convenience. He had been perfectly willing to drop in at the abbey to check on Mike and take him home if necessary, but kicking his heels in the hall while an officious monk went looking for his superior was another matter. He shifted restlessly in his seat and looked at his watch from time to time as he waited. Five minutes passed, and he was just about to go hunting round the abbey on his own for Mike, when the doorbell rang and the little doorkeeper scuttled up to open it.
“Did you find Father Petrowski?” Simon asked him as he passed, handling the unfamiliar name with difficulty and uncertain that he had pronounced it correctly.
“Please wait a moment,” the monk replied. He pulled the door open to reveal Jeremy on the doorstep.
The new visitor and the existing one gazed at each other.
“Remy?” said Simon at last. “What are you doing here? Don’t you trust me?”
Jeremy stared at him. “Not trust you? What are you talking about?”
“Well,” explained Simon, grinning to lighten the words, “I said I’d come and check on Mike, and here I am. His mobile phone is in his schoolbag in my car, so I conclude he can’t have contacted you. The natural result of these deductions is—”
“That I don’t trust you to do what you promised.” Jeremy laughed. “Sorry. That definitely isn’t the case. I’ve been a bit concerned about this place for a while, for reasons I won’t bore you with now, and after I’d talked to you, I decided that I’d come and discuss my suspicions with Jan. I see you haven’t found Mike yet, though.”
Simon got to his feet. “There was some nonsense about having to see the abbot first. This brother here confirmed that Mike is or has been here. He went to see the librarian. But I take it, Brother,” he added, turning to the doorkeeper, “you haven’t found Father Petrowski yet.”
“N-no,” said Brother Anselm, slightly bewildered. “Perhaps he too has gone to the library?”
There was a moment’s silence as Simon and Jeremy exchanged glances.
“I think we’d better go and see what’s happening in the library,” said Jeremy.
Simon nodded. “You know where to go, I think. Lead the way.”
He followed Jeremy along the hall and out into the cloisters, with Brother Anselm twittering ineffectually in their wake. In front of them, the big stone building stood in solitary state, silent and incommunicative. The door was shut and the thick walls and high windows meant that nothing could be heard or seen from outside. Jeremy ran up the steps and knocked.
~ * ~
Jan heard the knock with a mixture of dismay and relief. He had hoped to resolve the situation without outside help, thus keeping the whole episode secret. A newspaper story reporting a monk threatening a schoolboy with a knife would not be helpful to the cause of presenting monastic life and the Church more generally as positive aspects of modern society. On the other hand, he was beginning to feel the need for some assistance, and summoning it without leaving Gabryjel and Mike alone together might prove difficult.
“Do not touch the key!” said the librarian, as Jan moved to unlock the door.
The abbot paused. “If we do not open the door,” he pointed out calmly and reasonably, “those outside will send for the police. Is that what you want, Gabryjel? To leave here in handcuffs and spend the rest of your life in prison for assault? Let me find out who knocks, and perhaps I can send them away.”
Gabryjel hesitated. He had not planned any of this conflict and confrontation. All he had intended was to take the codex and leave. He had arranged a meeting in London with a representative of a prospective buyer and trusted that, when the official saw the treasure he was being offered, he would hand over at least an advance of the millions Gabryjel believed the codex was worth. Even the advance would be enough to buy him civilian clothes and a plane ticket to Poland. There he had planned to disappear, find a small room to rent in a university town with a good library, and spend his days reading, studying, perhaps discussing matters of nationalist history with other cognoscenti. No one would ever find him under an assumed name in Poland, if they even bothered to look. It would be a wrench to give up the codex, but he would rather let it go for a price to those who would take care of it and value it than remain here for the sake of it, withering, with no more than a few stolen glimpses of it from time to time. He had a vivid eidetic memory and would not forget its glories.
But the boy had arrived just too soon. He had witnessed the librarian in the act of stealing the codex, and from that moment, nothing had gone to plan. He wished the boy no ill, but Mike’s curiosity and his willingness to oppose him in the execution of his plan―even to question the ethics of his actions―had aroused in him a demon of fanatical determination that had lain dormant for years, and his physical strength had reasserted itself to match. If Jan would not let him go, he would take Mike with him as a hostage. He could leave the boy unharmed somewhere on the journey and get off scot-free.
The hesitation was his undoing, for in that moment Jan unlocked the door behind him.
“Come!” he called imperatively, and saw the knife disappear into the librarian’s cloak. Clearly Gabryjel was not so unbalanced that he could not consult self-interest or deceive others for his own protection. If it was one of his own monks at the door, all might yet be well.
The door opened and Simon and Jeremy burst in.
“Mike!” said Jeremy with relief.
“Dad …”
But even as the boy spoke, Gabryjel laid the knife against Mike’s throat.
Twenty-nine
Simon gasped and pulled his
phone out of his jacket pocket.
“No––please!” called out Jan, keeping his eyes on the librarian. “I don’t know who you are, but please don’t contact the police. That will be the worst thing. Remy―tell him!” He himself held out his hand steadily towards Gabryjel, while his gaze held the old monk’s eyes, silently but forcefully demanding he hand over the knife.
“Wait, Simon!” whispered Jeremy.
“Wait?”
“Yes. The police will take a while to come, and you will have to explain what’s happening. That may alarm the librarian―the one with the knife. You and I don’t know what we’re dealing with here yet. Let Jan cope with it if he can.”
Simon held the phone tensely. He would use his own judgement about making that call, he thought. He didn’t trust any of them. The librarian looked as mad as a hatter, the abbot seemed to think he just had to speak to be obeyed, and Jeremy was regarding the situation objectively as though he were a detective rather than a parent who should be panicking over the danger his son so obviously faced.
“Remy,” Jan said in a quiet aside, without removing his attention from the pair in front of him for a moment, “ask Brother Anselm to fetch Brother Luke, the infirmarian, please. I think we may need him.”
With a horrified glance at the abbot, Jeremy strode swiftly out of the door and down the steps after the doorkeeper, who had taken one look at the scene within and backed away from the library in terror.
“Brother Anselm!” he called, trying to make his voice urgent without speaking loudly enough to draw attention to himself and his errand.
The doorkeeper turned, and after a moment came back towards him. “The police!” he urged. “We must summon help.”
Jeremy shook his head. “Not the police, Brother. Not yet. Father Abbot thinks it’s too dangerous. But he asks you to find the infirmarian and ask him to come. Quickly. We need his help.”
Brother Anselm looked at him for a moment and then acquiesced. “Follow me, please. Brother Luke may not listen to me alone.”
As Jeremy did so, it dawned on him that although he had, not unreasonably, taken the abbot’s message as a request for back-up in the event of Mike being injured and needing urgent first aid, it was more probably concern for the librarian’s mental state that had prompted Jan’s request. The abbot still had confidence in his own ability to talk the old man down. Jeremy prayed fervently that he was right.
~ * ~
As the door closed behind Jeremy, Jan began the attempt.
“Remember the streets of Warsaw, Gabryjel,” he crooned, his voice taking on a mesmeric quality but his eyes still riveted upon the knife. “What you did then, as young boys, to defend your homes…that was an act of war. The Germans had done evil things, and you had to stop them. You weakened them, so the Russians could defeat them. But now, surely you don’t want to make war on boys in your turn. Mike has done nothing to harm you.”
“The Russians arrived when we were already defeated,” the old man grunted, ignoring the point of the speech in favour of grim memory. “They waited outside Warsaw while we fought the Germans in the streets. In the end, all we had done was to make their task easier. And we had nothing left to fight them with afterwards. They raped Poland as they wished, as the Nazis had done before them.”
“But you fought back against Communism,” Jan reminded him. “You and my parents. You led the resistance in Gdansk all those years. That is something to be proud of. This cowardice is not worthy of the courage you once showed.”
“It cost me my work, my career,” cried Gabryjel suddenly. “I had to leave the country. It was all lost…lost. But I can have it again now, if I keep my treasure.”
“But then you saved me, Gabryjel. Remember the days when we were together―when we fought for our country in a different way. But we did not make war on schoolboys then, my friend. Nor should we now. Let the boy go.”
“I want to go back to Poland,” the old man said, as though Jan had not spoken. “But I will not go empty-handed. This treasure…It is mine. My pension. My insurance policy, if I need one.”
“’My precious,’” murmured Simon, enlightened.
“I fear you are right,” Jan replied, sadness in his voice. “At least in part. It is a madness of possession rather than acquisition.”
“Let me take my treasure and go,” said the librarian. “Stand aside, and I will let the boy live.”
“You do not need any treasure, Gabryjel,” Jan told him, keeping his eyes on the knife that still hovered close to Mike’s throat. “We monks are sworn to poverty―you know that. The bishop will allow you to go back, to join a community in Poland. Why make this scene? You have no quarrel with the boy. Put the knife down.”
“I do not choose to continue in the religious life,” said the old man, ignoring him. His head had lifted, and his voice was proud. “I have served my time, and God no longer needs me here. He does not require me to be a monk any longer, but a scholar, as I was before. I will go back to the university, but I need funding and this will pay for my research.”
He paused, and Jan moved towards him, a single step, before a movement of the knife made him draw back again.
“The Church owes me that,” said the librarian. “I have served her well for twenty years, and I have made many sacrifices. God has taken so much―my family, my career, even you, my friend, for you have turned against me and sold your soul to the Church and its dictates. It is time for the debts to be paid.”
“You cannot sell this treasure,” objected Jan, trying another tack. “It is beyond price. And if you keep it, how will it help you? No one can know you have it. Stealing it will avail you nothing. Unless you have a mind to keep it secret again to paw over in the darkness. What use will that be to you?”
“The Vatican,” replied Gabryjel, his eyes glittering. “They will pay for this codex. It will be a jewel in their collection.”
Jan paused. That might just possibly be true. The Vatican had a reputation for hoarding manuscripts and other ancient artefacts and paying enormous sums for them. Their collections put most international museums and libraries in the shade. Could Gabryjel have been in touch with them, or was he just hoping to do so?
He dared not argue further with the old man, but it was vital to play for time, to give Brother Luke a chance to work out what was needed and come. Please, God, let him have received my message. The fact that Jeremy had not returned gave him hope that the message had got through, that Jeremy had gone with Brother Anselm to fetch the infirmarian. It was his own son in danger here, and he would not let them down.
The librarian took a firmer grip of Mike’s shoulder. “Roll the manuscript up, boy,” he ordered. “It is time for us to leave.” The knife withdrew a little, but not far enough.
Jan’s heart sank. Gabryjel’s use of the word “us” implied that he was planning to take Mike with him as a hostage, and he didn’t see how they could stop him. He had no doubt that in extremity Gabryjel would use the knife and have no mercy. His mind might be disturbed, but once, long ago, he had been trained to kill and do it silently and efficiently. They couldn’t risk it, whatever happened.
He bitterly regretted having prevented Simon from calling the police.
Trembling, Mike began to obey his captor and pack the manuscript back into its bag. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Simon was inching quietly along the wall, flattened against the bookshelves, taking advantage of the fact that Brother Andrew’s attention was for the moment on the manuscript and its wellbeing and not on what was going on around him. Instinctively Mike slowed his actions, taking even more care to tuck the edges of the cloth bag around the codex, checking that pages were not bent over or rumpled, hoping for a moment when the knife would move far enough away for him to duck.
Footsteps sounded suddenly outside the library, and the door was flung open. Two habited brothers appeared, followed closely by Jeremy, and in that moment of distraction, Mike rolled away from his captor’s knife on to the floo
r just as Simon leapt to pinion the librarian’s arms to his sides. The old man struggled convulsively and got his knife arm free, but even as he struck at Simon, Jan reached him and between them they held him still while the infirmarian found a vein in his arm. After a minute or so the old body folded up quietly and they laid him on the floor.
There was a moment’s silence. Then Jeremy went to pull his son to his feet, and gave him a hug. “Okay, Mike? You did well, then. You and Simon.”
“I’m fine,” Mike told him, returning the hug. Then he broke free and turned to the teacher. “Sir―Mr Hellyer! He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
Simon put his hand inside his shirt and felt his shoulder. “My jacket took most of it. Just a scratch.” There was blood on his fingers, but not very much. He regarded the jacket somewhat ruefully. It had been an expensive purchase and wouldn’t be much use to him any longer for its original purpose, even if it had served in the capacity of body armour pretty satisfactorily. He shrugged, wincing. Better the jacket be ruined than his shoulder.
“Please show Brother Infirmarian your ‘scratch,’ Mr Hellyer,” Jan instructed him. “He will dress it if needs be. And thank you for your prompt action.”
“We should call the police, though, Jan,” said Jeremy. “You can’t just hide this. What will you do with the man when he wakes? Put him in a straitjacket? Unless the medics who treat him know he’s dangerous, you could be allowing him to threaten someone else. Knives are easy to come by, for God’s sake.”
“I already called the police,” admitted Simon. “I couldn’t speak to them without alarming your mad librarian here, but I left the line open. They’ll have traced it and be on their way. I’d have waited for them, but I wasn’t sure that we weren’t losing control of the situation.”
Jan held out his hand to him. “You have been an ally of great value in this situation,” he said. “And I am more than grateful.” He paused. “It was perhaps a mistake not to alert the authorities earlier, but I was afraid, as you say, that it would alarm Brother Andrew and that might have been disastrous.”