They ate a breakfast of bland porridge in the refectory with the abbot, Brother Florin and Brother Constantin. Florin ate listlessly, hardly touching his bowl. Vivienne assumed Father Gavra had told him about the pricolici, for he seemed preoccupied with dark thoughts. Brother Constantin also said little, watching the other monks with a wary expression. He made no reference to their encounter the night before, though his hostility was unabated. She felt it every time he glanced her way. The unspoken accusation that she and Nathaniel were somehow responsible for Brother Adrian’s death — or perhaps that fear they would discover who was.
Across the table, Father Gavra spoke quietly with Nathaniel, asking about his estates in Sussex and relating tales of his student days at Oxford. He was animated and seemed grateful to have someone to talk to. Not for the first time she wondered if the abbot was suited to his calling. He should be teaching at university, she thought, not languishing in this frigid backwater. But that was Father Gavra’s choice. Perhaps he was fleeing his own demons.
Florin and Constantin ignored her and Vivienne took the opportunity to covertly study the other monks, who sat together at long tables. She sensed tension in the stiff way they ate, not looking at each other, though the source was unclear. Elderly Brother Nicolae was not present.
After the bowls had been cleared away by beardless novices, Father Gavra invited her and Nathaniel to attend the morning service, called First Hour, corresponding to the time when Christ was brought before Pontius Pilate. They sat in the back of the church, Vivienne impatient for it to end.
When the liturgy was over, most of the brothers went off to perform their daily chores, but the abbot held a dozen back. They gathered at the main gate beneath the image of Saint George. It was a gloomy morning, the sky heavy and grey as if promising more snow by afternoon. At a gesture from the abbot, a young monk stepped forward.
“This is Brother Karol. He escorted Miss Lawrence to the road the afternoon she left.”
Vivienne remembered the name from when they’d met Brother Constantin. He was one of the newest monks. The same who had stared at her in the refectory the day before. Brother Karol’s dark eyes met hers for an instant, then flicked away. A film of sweat covered his brow despite the chill air. Father Gavra noticed and frowned.
“Are you feeling ill?” he asked. “If so, you can be excused—”
Karol shook his head, his jaw set. His vows of silence prevented him from replying, but he indicated through gestures that he wished to help in the search.
“Very well,” Father Gavra said. He turned to Vivienne. “There are a few paths the brothers use to gather firewood. We can start there.”
He organized the monks into pairs, accompanying Brother Karol himself. The temperature had risen, turning the snow to slush. Vivienne and Nathaniel chose a path leading northeast. Dark firs closed in around them as they entered the woods, scanning the path for any sign of Anne.
“I snuck out last night,” she admitted when they were out of earshot of the other searchers. “Took a look around.”
Nathaniel arched an eyebrow. “Let me guess. The abbot was leading a Black Mass stark naked while the others bayed at the moon.”
Vivienne smirked. “Now that would have been a spectacle. But I’m afraid it wasn’t quite so exciting.” She told him what she’d seen the night before. “The old monk, Brother Nicolae, didn’t seem confused, just afraid of something.”
“He probably heard about the pricolici,” Nathaniel suggested. “In a place like this, I imagine it’s hard to keep a secret for long.”
“Maybe. Or the old infirmarian knows something.” She stepped over a fallen log. “I’d give much to question him alone, but Constantin has his eye on us now. I’m sure he told the abbot I was in the church, though I haven’t been reprimanded yet.”
“Father Gavra never said we couldn’t leave the room,” Nathaniel pointed out.
“True, but he also didn’t issue an invitation.” She dodged as a fir bough nearly dumped melting snow on their heads. “Either way, I imagine we’ll be heading back to Mara Vardac this afternoon. And frankly, I can’t say I’ll miss this place in the least.”
“You don’t think we’ll find anything then.”
“I don’t know. But I do believe it would take more than a pricolici to best Anne Lawrence.”
A squirrel scolded them from a branch above, grey tail lashing in annoyance. They passed paw prints in the snow that Nathaniel identified as a fox, but there was nothing to indicate a larger animal had passed through recently, and not a sign of Anne. Vivienne stamped her feet, shaking snow from her boots. The slush had seeped inside her woolen stockings. She fervently wished she was in sunbaked Marrakesh — or wherever Alec had gone.
She was about to suggest they head back when a faint yell came through the woods. Vivienne shared a look with Nathaniel. Fear closed a fist around her heart as they both ran toward the source of the shouting. Her skirts were divided for riding, but they still slowed her down. She swore as Nathaniel sprinted ahead, his long legs devouring the rocky ground.
On either side, she could see the dark shapes of other searchers closing in. The shouts were coming from the direction of the monastery and sounded like Father Gavra. Vivienne splashed through a creek, the water soaking the hem of her dress. Through the lattice of leafless branches she could see two figures struggling at the base of the high wall. One was the abbot, the other Brother Karol. The younger monk’s eyes were wild, his face twisted into a bestial snarl. He held a knife in one hand.
Karol slashed at Gavra, who raised his arm in a defensive gesture. The blade raked across his palm. A backhand blow knocked the abbot to his knees. Karol spun around, his head swinging from side to side like an animal at bay. The other monks slowed as they approached, fear and confusion on their faces. With a roar, Brother Karol ran straight for Vivienne and Nathaniel.
She was reaching for her knives when Nathaniel drew his pistol and fired off four shots in quick succession. One went over Karol’s head, but the other three hit home. He jerked and tumbled to the ground, where he lay unmoving in the snow. Vivienne halted, watching him warily.
“I tried not to aim for the heart….” Nathaniel sounded shaken. “I’ve never shot a man before, Vivienne.”
Karol’s eyes were closed, but the lids fluttered as if he were dreaming.
“He’s alive,” she said. “We’d better tie him up before he wakes.”
They went over to Father Gavra, who had been helped to his feet by the other monks. He winced in pain, staring at Brother Karol.
“Jesu Christo,” he muttered. “He went mad.”
“What happened?” Nathaniel asked. He still held the pistol in his hand, the barrel pointed down, but his gaze kept flicking to the prone figure of Brother Karol.
“We were walking along the wall when he suddenly tried make a run for it. I caught hold of his robe and he turned on me.” Father Gavra shuddered. “His eyes looked strange. Too bright. He made a groaning sound and pulled the knife. It was all so fast….”
Brother Constantin bulled his way through the crowd, Florin trailing behind him. He glared down at Brother Karol, then at the abbot. When he saw all the blood, his face went pale.
“Karol attacked Father Gavra,” Vivienne said. “Lord Cumberland shot him. He must be confined immediately before he tries to do more harm.”
Constantin blinked and shared a look with Florin, who seemed shocked.
“We’ll lock him up in the infirmary,” he said.
Vivienne nodded. “I don’t know the extent of his injuries, but I need to speak with him when he regains consciousness.”
Brother Florin cleared his throat. “If he is the pricolici, perhaps it’s better he does not wake up at all.”
“What are you suggesting?” the abbot demanded.
Florin flushed but he seemed determined to speak his mind. “That we fire another bullet into his heart. What is the purpose of keeping this abomination alive? It tried to murder you! It killed Brother Adrian and those children.”
“No one touches him until I find out what happened to Anne Lawrence,” Vivienne said hotly.
Father Gavra stared at Florin until the librarian looked away. “Fetch some rope,” he said wearily. “Brother Karol must be securely tied before you carry him to the infirmary.”
“Do as he says,” Constantin barked.
Six of the younger monks ran for the gate. Snow began to fall, fat, wet flakes that would accumulate quickly.
Nathaniel produced a pocket handkerchief and handed it to Father Gavra, who used it to bind up his hand.
“I must confess, I’m relieved it turned out to be one of the novices,” the abbot said. “It troubled me to think the murderer could be someone I’d known for years.” He stared at Karol. “I wonder how the poor boy became this foul thing.”
“I intend to ask him that,” Vivienne said. “But we must keep him alive until a doctor can be fetched. You need one yourself, Father.”
“Brother Adrian had the skill to sew me up and keep evil humors from the wound,” the abbot said. “But Brother Nicolae’s hands are too unsteady.”
“Come, Father,” Brother Florin said. “We must get you inside.” He glanced nervously at Karol. “You should rest and warm yourself by the fire.”
“We’ll stand guard over him until they return,” Nathaniel said.
Gavra nodded and went off with Brother Florin. Karol lay on his back in the snow, his black robe spread around him.
“Do you think he panicked?” Nathaniel asked. “Tried to make a dash for it?”
“That’s what it looks like,” Vivienne replied. “You must ride back down to Mara Vardac. Fetch a proper doctor, and also the constable. We need to tell them what’s happened.”
“Aren’t you coming?”
Vivienne stared at the high walls of Saint George’s looming over the trees. “If Karol regains consciousness, I intend to question him. And if he is more than a man, I’m not confident the monks can manage him on their own.”
Nathaniel frowned. “I don’t like the idea of splitting up.”
“Nor do I, but you promised to do as I say,” she reminded him gently. “I don’t see any other way.”
He gave a reluctant nod. “It’s still early. I should have no difficulty making it to Mara Vardac before nightfall.”
“Be careful.”
He gave her a sharp look. “You don’t think the danger is passed?”
Vivienne met his eyes. “I’m not sure what to think. But did you see the other monks when Brother Florin called it a pricolici? There was no reaction. It’s as though they already knew, or suspected.”
They turned as a party returned from the monastery bearing a coil of thick rope. Nathaniel kept his pistol leveled at Brother Karol’s forehead while they tied him up, but he didn’t stir. Once he was trussed hand and foot, four of the novices carried him to the infirmary. Vivienne watched as he was tied to the bed. Brother Constantin offered to stand watch.
“Light a fire in the hearth,” she said. “And cover him with a blanket. I don’t want him freezing to death.”
Constantin nodded curtly and it was done. When she felt satisfied Karol was secure, she asked if she might see Father Gavra. He was in his study, a fresh bandage covering the wound. He sipped from a cup of brandy.
“I blame myself,” Father Gavra said dolefully. “Karol was the one who escorted Anne from the monastery. It was only his word that she left safely.”
“I’ll have the truth from him,” Vivienne said. “In the meantime, Lord Cumberland has offered to ride down to Mara Vardac and get help.”
Father Gavra frowned. “Don’t you think you should go together? There’s no need to stay, Lady Cumberland—”
She held his gaze. “Nathaniel can manage. I want to be here in case Karol wakes up.”
The abbot seemed on the verge of another objection.
“Please, Father. He might know … what happened to Miss Lawrence.”
He gave a slow nod. “Then you should leave soon, I think,” he told Nathaniel. “The weather is taking a turn for the worse.” He lifted the bottle of brandy and poured a measure into another cup. “Have this before you go out there. It’ll keep you warm.”
Nathaniel accepted gratefully, tossing it back. “I’d best be off.” He glanced out the window at the falling snow. “It’s a two-hour ride to Mara Vardac, longer in this weather.”
“Travel safely,” Father Gavra said. “The nearest doctor is in Satinari. Bring all the men you can.”
Nathaniel nodded and Vivienne escorted him out to the stables. One of the young grooms saddled his horse and led it from the stall.
“Sure you won’t come?” he asked, searching her eyes.
For a moment, she was sorely tempted. Something about what had happened didn’t sit right. It was all too neat. But she wouldn’t leave Karol, not when he might have the answers she needed.
Vivienne glanced at the infirmary. “I’ll be fine. Frankly, I don’t trust them. One of us needs to stay here or else Brother Karol might be conveniently dead by the time we return.”
Nathaniel drew a deep breath. “Perhaps I should leave you the pistol.”
“No, you take it. You’re traveling alone. We don’t know what’s out there on the road.”
She touched his hand and they briefly clasped fingers.
“Stay with Father Gavra,” he advised. “I’ll bring help by morning, if not sooner.”
Vivienne walked him out to the main gate, where one of the brothers lifted the heavy crossbar and let him pass through. She watched his horse disappear down the road. Then Vivienne turned back toward the monastery, the snow thickening as she trudged to the infirmary.