The Two Confessions by John Whitbourn (good books to read for adults .TXT) 📕

‘Speakplain,’ snapped Samuel, ‘Or do you see sun and stars to guide us?’

‘Sorry,I mean the left. The kitchens and eating room and sleeping quarters should allbe to the left. Y’see, there was an underground monastery in Estonia once -before it was overrun. I got hold of a plan. So far this is like it: not exact,but good enough.’

Trevanwas impressed, though he didn't show it. He foresaw a big bonus for this boyshould they both survive.

Wulfstandidn't want to feel left out.

‘Ipicked him myself,’ he confided. ‘He'll go far.’

‘Iknow,’ agreed Samuel. ‘He'll go to this 'refectory' and prove his theory.’

Heturned back to the assistant. ‘Refresh my memory: name?’

‘Winston:Winston Cook.’

‘Right,Winston; take four blokes and check it out. Oh, and 'fore you go, what shouldbe over there where that glow is?’

Theyouth tried to nonchalantly ride the surprise extra delivery of fear. He almostmanaged it, hiding reaction in a hasty flick through papers attached to hisclipboard.

‘Acentral feature: to aid contemplation sort of thing. A statue? Or maybe afountain.’

‘Thanks.Cheerio.’

YoungWinston departed like a dog to a bath but had to hurry lest the soldiers lefthim behind. They disappeared into the black, a diminishing cluster offireflies.

‘Letthe boy earn his spurs,’ Trevan told the rest. ‘Meanwhile, we'll wander incloistered calm’

‘Peter2, chapter 1, verse 19,’ intoned the Wizard. ‘‘Ye do well that ye take heed,as unto a light that shineth in a dark place’.’

‘Yeah,that as well,’ said Samuel. He'd meant his levity to settle the troops, notincite the magician to scripture. ‘Let's go look at this light.’

Itwas a bit of a wrench to leave the 'safety' of the corridor and issue out intothe void. The torches' best efforts fell far short of the roof, and the clackof their heels, magnified and repeated, spawned the desire to mince along likea troupe of burly ballerinas. Dignity prevailed in that particular struggle butresolve weakened just a notch.

'Boy'Winston was soon proved to be doubly, even trebly, right. Slaves to thefounding template, the monastery builders had put a sloping roof over thecloister-walk, even when there was no sun or rain to guard against. Then, inthe centre of the presumed square, they saw there had been a statue anda fountain - once.

Theoriginal stone figure - a saint or church-father - was more than mutilated: ithad been perverted a universe away from initial intentions. A monstrous stoneprick had been grafted on, and the pelvic parts of a skeleton impaled on that.Where once there'd been a human head and piety depicted, a monster's face nowsat in grinning triumph. Its skinny arms were likewise raised in acclaim.

Below,in the dry bowl of the ornate fountain, there were rag bundles; torso-shapedand carelessly piled high. Fortunately, they had an excuse not to enquire aboutthem, for that would have meant treading upon the mushroom fields.

Ordinaryfungi don’t glow, and so that alone would have marked them out from the norm. However,their leprous light was only one of the incentives against consumption. Samuelwas a country boy and had often gone mushroom gathering at dawn to enliven theorphanage menu. Even so, he'd never seen anything like these gooey, bulging,pink things, nor would he be distraught never to see the like again. They gavethe impression that the slightest brush would trip some internal pressure,setting off a bomb of spores.

Yetsomeone must have relished them, for these were definitely fields ofcultivation. All around the fountain, almost to the cloisters' edge, the monks'paving slabs were levered up to make way for a dark layer of humus. Some areashad been harvested of mature specimens, and reed baskets ditched to one sidemade their utility crystal clear.

Samueldoubted it was pure imagination to detect gentle movement amidst the crop. Itwas like observing an obscene phalli farm.

‘Whatd'you reckon?’ he asked the Wizard. ‘Food or poison?’

‘Tricky,Mr Trevan: as you know, one man's meat is another man's-....’

‘Forgetit! Circle. Follow me!’

Hetook them back to the deathly-still cloister route, near to where they'dentered. Its token outer wall and pointless tile roof supplied illusorycomfort.

‘Look!’

Itwas one of the local hirelings who spoke. A gamekeeper by trade, he was veryfar from anything remotely sympathetic to him. His voice conveyed urgency soSamuel stopped and complied.

‘Lookat what?’

‘Nothing,’said the man.

‘Oneannoying cunt is enough: not you as well!’

‘Imeant no dust: there should be even dust all over. Not here in themiddle path there 'ain't.’

Trevanchecked and saw it was so.

‘Otherswalk here,’ the gamekeeper concluded, ‘and regular-like.’

‘Perhapssome of the original monks got left behind?’ said a sadly familiar voice.

Samuelsuddenly found it easier to transcend the Wizard’s 'wit'. His day of reckoning wouldcome.

‘Thankyou, keeper. Good work. Move on.’

Atlast they hit the corner of the huge chamber and could turn north along itssecond, 'eastern', side. Now there were doors varying the plainness of thewall, but they were hardly inviting. Samuel sought excuse for ignoring them andfound it in not wanting a barrier between themselves and the detached party.

Wulfstanhad taken over mapping duties and his pen tapped two hundred paces before theopportunity arrived to turn again. They then hugged the wall along the thirdside, a constellation of puny lights in orbit round a cold fungoid sun.

Thedoors had stopped: which was a relief - until Trevan admitted to himself thatexploration without event shouldn’t be regarded as a blessing. They'd - he'd -let himself be lulled. 'First entrance - we go in,' he resolved.

Thegreat scriptwriter himself must have been listening, for straightaway anenormous doorway came step by step into torch range. As best Samuel could judgeit was half way along the cloisters' northern wall, opposite the corridor thathad brought them here.

‘Doubledoor. Team of five,’ he decreed; then stepped up to be one of them.

Neitherthe proposal nor variation flustered anyone - which was good grounds forcarrying through. Trevan felt justified in saying ‘Go!’

Twomen slammed the solid barriers back and retired. Samuel and two others steppedin.

Thelack of response or anyone to meet them allowed space to consider the implications.Wood of medieval vintage should long ago have rotted and weakened, even in thisarid place. Likewise, centuries of disuse ought to have welded hinges intostubborn blobs of rust. The way these doors were so ready to serve spokevolumes. Samuel observed