“I’ve never seen anything like this, Father,” said Albert. “And I hope I never do again.”
Father Jacob introduced Brother Barnaby, who was still concerned for his wyverns.
“Is there a place where I can stable them?” he asked anxiously. “The dragon makes them nervous. So long as they can’t see him, they’ll feel safe.”
“The stables are still standing,” said Albert. “I have no idea why the fiends didn’t burn them, too. Maybe they were spared because they were far from the main compound. You can’t see them from here. They’re on the west side of the abbey, outside the walls-three large stone buildings. You can house your wyverns there, Brother.”
Brother Barnaby refused all offers of assistance, saying apologetically that the wyverns were in such a state he did not trust them around anyone. Sir Ander maneuvered the yacht into position, placing the back of the yacht against the abbey’s walls, with the front facing west, looking out across a flat expanse of windswept granite into the swirling mists of the Breath beyond. A low wall had been built at the cliff’s edge, serving to keep people from falling over the precipice.
“I’ve never seen any place so lonely and forgotten,” Sir Ander remarked, shaking his head.
Brother Barnaby unharnessed the wyverns and led them to the stables, leaving Father Jacob and Sir Ander to talk to Master Albert. Their desolate surroundings and the sad nature of their business oppressed their spirits and made idle conversation difficult. Father Jacob did not want to discuss the tragedy until he had seen the site for himself. He asked Albert about his numerous children back in Westfirth. Albert cheered at the thought and began to talk about his brood. His oldest son, age fourteen, was already serving with the navy as an Apprentice Craftsman.
When the wyverns had been housed and calmed, fed and watered, Brother Barnaby came to join them, carrying his portable writing desk which he had brought from the yacht.
“Would you like to rest after your journey, Father?” Albert asked.
Father Jacob shook his head. “We should view the site while there is still plenty of daylight.”
“In that case, you will need these.” Albert produced several handkerchiefs.
“Ah, yes,” said Father Jacob.
He took one of the handkerchiefs for himself and offered the others to Sir Ander and Brother Barnaby. The young monk looked confused.
“The stench,” said Father Jacob gently.
Brother Barnaby accepted the handkerchief and tucked it into the belt of his plain brown monk’s robes. Sir Ander, looking grim, signaled that he didn’t need one.
They walked around the outside of the abbey, the wind whipping them and blowing sand in their eyes. They could not see anything beyond the abbey’s high stone wall except the twin spires of the cathedral soaring to Heaven.
As they walked, the dragon’s shadow flowed over them. The dragon dipped his wings, gave a wheezing cough. The dragon’s advanced age was apparent in the color of his scales. Once shining blue-green in his youth, the scales were now a dull greenish gray. His beard was hoary, but his eyes were still fierce and proud.
“That’s Sergeant Hroalfrig,” said Albert, seeing Father Jacob’s interested gaze closely observing the dragon. “Formerly of the Dragon Brigade. He and his twin brother, who was also a member of the Brigade, live on a small farm some twenty miles inland. When they heard of the tragedy, they flew here to offer their help.”
Master Albert gave a wry smile. “Neither of the old boys can stay up in the air too long, so they take turns flying patrol.”
He was silent a moment, brooding, then said abruptly,
“I’m glad you were able to come with such speed, Father. Brother Paul has been insisting on burying the dead. After what I saw, I knew I had to keep everything just as it was until you could see for yourself.”
“You mean, the dead have not been given proper burial, sir?” Brother Barnaby was shocked.
“I’m sorry to say, Brother, that there is not that much left to bury,” said Albert.
Brother Barnaby’s dark complexion paled and he murmured a prayer beneath his breath.
“Please relate your story, Albert,” said Father Jacob briskly. “I’d like to hear it before we enter the walls.”
“The night of the attack,” Albert began. “I was asleep-”
Father Jacob interrupted. “Everything in the proper order, please. A fortnight before the attack, you sent me a letter coded in magic saying you had found something of interest in the abbey. What was it?”
Albert was impatient. “That’s of little consequence in view of this tragedy, Father.”
“I will be the judge of that,” said Father Jacob mildly.
Albert paused to mop his forehead with his coat sleeve. The sun shone brightly. No clouds drifted in the sky, save the misty haze of the Breath on the horizon. The day was going to be a hot one.
“Guild members have long complained that they couldn’t get access to guild records, which had been stored in the abbey for safekeeping. That included the guild charter and bylaws, membership rolls and legal documents and such like. I proposed that we have the records brought back to the guildhall and have copies made.
“When I arrived at the abbey, I asked the nuns where the guild records were kept. They weren’t much help. Poor women. They lived in poverty. It was all they could do to keep body and soul together. When they weren’t praying, they were tending to their crops and their livestock. They told me the records were likely in the library, which was in the cathedral. Brother Paul had the key. He used the library as his office when he was visiting the abbey.”
“He was the nuns’ confessor and priest, but he would not reside at the abbey, of course,” said Father Jacob. “That would not be seemly.”
“He’s a strange one, is Brother Paul. He wouldn’t reside at the abbey, seemly or not. He’s a hermit, lives in the wilderness somewhere.”
“Where was he when the abbey was attacked?”
“He was in his dwelling, asleep. The attack happened long after he’d left for the night.”
Father Jacob nodded. “Well, for the moment, we can dispense with Brother Paul. What did you discover in the abbey library that you thought I would find interesting?”
Master Albert paused to look around, which Sir Ander thought an odd precaution, considering the fact that they, Brother Barnaby, and Brother Paul were likely the only in a hundred-mile radius.
“Brother Paul’s office consisted of little more than a stool and a desk where he did his writing. He paid scant attention to the books in the library. He has weak eyes and finds it difficult to read for long periods of time. He had no idea where the guild records were located. He told me I could ‘rummage around.’
“As it turns out there was no need to ‘rummage.’ The library is well-ordered, with church records in one place, theological texts in another, books on crafting in yet another and so on. I found the guild records easily enough, and I put them aside. Since no one minded my being there, I poked around some more and ended up in the section where there were books on crafting.”
Albert gave a rueful smile. “As you know, Father, I’ve always regretted that I was never able to study the art properly. My father didn’t hold with reading about magic in school. He taught me crafting as he had learned it from his father who had it from his father and so on. I’ve always been interested in finding out more on the subject and here I was, surrounded by books on crafting. I was like a kid in a bakery.
“I roved among the stacks and came across an entire section given to seafaring magic. The books were on the very top shelf. I had to fetch a ladder to reach them. I was taking out one of the books when I noticed a wooden chest on top of the bookcase. The chest was tucked well back from the edge, so it hadn’t been visible from below.