The young monk led us through a labyrinth of passages until we reached a heavy oak door carved with scenes from the life of Saint Gall. The monk knocked twice, waited for a muffled response, then pushed it open.
“The Baroness von Hohenberg and her companions, Father.”
Father Eberhard’s office was a study in austerity with whitewashed walls, a simple wooden desk, and a crucifix that dominated the space behind his chair. The Abbot himself matched his surroundings, appearing every bit as ancient as the stones of his beloved home.
“Baroness.” The Abbot rose to greet her, taking her offered hand in both of his. “Thank you for coming. I only wish the circumstances were different.”
“As do I, Father.” The Baroness’s voice was steady, but I heard the strain beneath it. “May I present my associates, Mr. Snead and Mr. Barker. They are helping me investigate Brother Aldric’s death.”
I had to resist the urge to gape. Without preparation or any discussion, the Baroness had plucked our code names from the operation in Rome out of thin air and used them as though they’d been given to us at birth. Thomas stiffened beside me, probably thinking the same thing, but had the good sense to not let his surprise show.
The Abbot’s gaze swept over us.
I had been assessed by intelligence chiefs, military commanders, and men who held the power of life and death in their hands. Father Eberhard’s examination felt no less penetrating.
“Please, sit,” he said finally, gesturing toward a pair of chairs. “I will tell you what I can.”
We sat, but the Baroness remained standing.
“Tell me about that night, Father,” she said. “Everything you remember.”
Father Eberhard sighed. “Brother Aldric had been troubled in recent weeks. He spent long hours in the archives, longer than usual. He had received a correspondence that he refused to discuss.” The Abbot’s jaw tightened. “I asked him once if something was wrong. He said only that he was pursuinga matter of conscience. I should have pressed harder, should have insisted he confide in me.”
“You could not have known,” the Baroness said quietly.
“Perhaps.” He didn’t sound convinced. “On the night he died, Brother Aldric retired to the archives after Compline, as was his habit. Brother Marcus found him the next morning. He had been dead for several hours.”
“How was he killed?” I asked.
The Abbot’s face paled. “A blade across the throat. A quick death, the doctor said. Merciful, if the vile thing can be called such.” He paused, his hands tightening on the arms of his chair. “There was a card left on his chest. It appeared old and worn. It bore a symbol I did not recognize—a spearhead.”
“Was anything taken?” Thomas asked.
“Every drawer of his desk stood open and empty when I arrived. The manuscripts he had been working on, his personal correspondence, everything in his desk, it was all gone. Two of the drawers were locked and had been forced open.”
“And the hidden passage?” the Baroness asked. “The one the killers used to escape?”
The Abbot flinched. “You know about that?”
“I know a great deal, Father, more than I would like.”
He was quiet for a moment, then rose from his chair. “Come, I will show you.”
The archives were vast and silent, filled with the accumulated knowledge of centuries.
Shelves stretched toward vaulted ceilings, laden with manuscripts and ledgers and books bound in leather. Dust motes drifted in the pale light filtering through narrow windows. The air was chilly and still.
A section near the back had been cordoned off with rope. Beyond it, I could see the desk where Brother Aldric had spent his final hours.
“We have not touched anything,” Father Eberhard said quietly. “The police examined the scene. They spent perhaps an hour, took some photographs, and left. They ruled it a robbery gone wrong.”
“Convenient,” Thomas muttered.
The Abbot only nodded. “Brother Aldric had nothing worth stealing. He had no money or valuables, only his books and his prayers.” He shook his head. “I have lived in this monastery for forty years, and have seen a great deal of human folly and sin, but I have rarely seen a lie told so boldly.”
The Baroness ducked under the rope and approached the desk. Thomas and I followed.
The blood had been scrubbed away, but I could still see the shadow of it staining the stone floor. It was a dark reminder that would never fully fade.
