Summary
Brother Nathan is a quiet monk, content to live out his days in a dusty library. But when he accidentally stumbles upon a band of thieves on the monastery grounds, he is faced with a decision: join them or die. Although he is a law-abiding man - as most monks are - too many books require his attention for him to die now.He quickly moves higher up their ranks, until he becomes the unofficial leader of the crew. Life is good for Nathan: a little excitement, a little loot, and plenty of books. Sadly he finds trouble once again, this time in the Vatican itself, and even his silver tongue cannot save him and his crew from what lies ahead.
Pulling Weeds: a Vignette
Nathan crept along the hallway, back pressed against the wall, a shadow in the night, a silent wraith, movements smooth as silk.
He bumped into a side table with a loud "Ow!", knocking some heavy object off of it. Johann whipped around and caught it just before it hit the ground. Though he could not see, Nathan knew Johann was glaring at him as he set the object back on the table. He drew his hand swiftly across his throat.
Brother Nathan cringed and nodded vigorously to indicate his understanding.
They continued down the hall. Occasionally, Johann would reach out and grab an item as they passed and stuff it in his sack.
They reached a crossroads. Straight ahead, the hallway dead-ended in a large room, perhaps the drawing room. To the right was another, smaller room. Nathan looked to Johann for guidance.
Johann pointed to himself, then to the drawing room. Nathan nodded and proceeded into the smaller room.
Nathan carefully felt around with hands and feet, trying to avoid another debacle like the one in the hall. He bumped gently into the table. He began to feel for heavy objects to swipe. His finger found something that felt like a candlestick. He picked it up and reached for the burlap sack at his side.
As he was tucking the item away, he became aware of a growing light coming from the other entrance to the room. Before he could duck down, a face appeared in the doorway at the opposite end of the room.
"Who are you?" the face asked angrily.
Brother Nathan stood speechless for a moment.
"Well?" the face demanded, stepping further into the room. The light was raised higher, questing for Nathan's face.
Nathan turned around and ran, without even a thought for Johann. He dashed down the hallway and out the back door.
It wasn't long before his legs started burning and his lungs felt like they were about to burst, but he did not stop running until he was four blocks away from the house.
He ducked into an alley to catch his breath. His heart was beating so fast he could barely separate one beat from the next. His right hand was very cold.
He looked up at the hand, pressed up against the wall to support him. The candlestick was still clenched in his fist; it shone silver in the moonlight. He could feel the rough cloth of the booty sack in his other hand. Running for his life, and he still held on to the candlestick. He suppressed a hysterical laugh at the thought.
He stood there for a few minutes more, then turned and began to trudge back to the camp.
"You there!" a voice called out behind him. "Show me your face!"
Brother Nathan froze like a startled deer. "I said turn around, sir!" the voice shouted again.
Nathan quickly shoved the candlestick and sack into his coat and turned around slowly. "Can I help you?"
A puddle of light moved up to brush his feet. The man wielding the source of light shoved it in his face, temporarily blinding him. Nathan brought his arm up to his eyes to shield them.
"Covering your face, eh? Got something to hide?" the man said aggressively.
"You're blinding me," Nathan replied irritably.
"Oh," the man said sheepishly. "Sorry about that." The torch was lowered again. Nathan uncovered his eyes and squinted at the figure in front of him.
It was short and pudgy, with a dark mop of hair half obscuring its face and a scruffy beard over the other half. It held out one fat hand.
"Brother Heinrich Helmholtz," he introduced himself.
Brother Nathan paused.
He supposed he should stop thinking of himself as "Brother" Nathan; that chapter of his life was over now. He was no longer a monk, if he ever had been. It was forced on him, just as this was.
That wasn't entirely true, he admitted to himself. He could have gone back to the monastery. They'd never chained him, or watched him or restricted where he went. He hadn't chosen the monastery all those years ago, but in a strange way, he had chosen this. He'd made the decision to stay in this crew. He wasn't a hermit anymore. He was a criminal. And it was time to start acting like one.
"John Burns," he extended his own hand.
Brother Heinrich grasped it and gave it a firm shake. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Burns. You seem like an honest enough fellow, so I'll be honest too. There's a thief on the loose in this town; he just attacked the home of the kind people I'm staying with-" Nathan snorted inwardly at this. Just yesterday, he had gone with Johann and James to scope out the house and they had seen a well-dressed woman slap a serving maid for dropping a spoon. "-and made off with several priceless pieces of pottery. And a book, of all things." So Johann had remembered his request. That was nice. "Now, I must ask you what you are doing here, Mr. Burns, because although you appear to be a decent man, I have been in this town for three months and I know not of you or any other persons of the name Burns here." Heinrich raised his eyebrow expectantly.
Without skipping a beat, Nathan replied: "I am a minstrel, Brother Heinrich, who has fallen upon hard times. I was resting the nearby wood, unable to afford a proper bed or pallet at an inn, when I heard the howling of wolves. Fearing for my life, I immediately fled for the safety of civilization. I have been wandering near an hour in search of a small place, sheltered from the elements, to rest my poor, weary head for a short time before returning to the woods to retrieve my few possessions and continue on in search of brighter prospects."
"Well, you certainly orate like a minstrel," the other man commented wryly. "I will accept your tragic tale for truth. As a man of God, I must offer my assistance to you. Let me ask the family I reside with to lend you a bed for the night. They trust me; I expect they will welcome you with open arms."
"You are too kind, sir," Nathan said, hand on his heart. "But I must decline." He had no way of knowing if the man in the dining room had recognized him; better to err on the side of caution. "I couldn't think of subjecting these poor people to a foreign visitor in their home on the tail of such a heinous attack. I have weathered worse than this, and I will do so again before I lay me down for the final sleep."
"Then at least allow me to purchase a room at an inn for you," Brother Heinrich persisted.
Sensing a growing suspicion, Nathan acceded. "I cannot refuse such a generous offer. But please, just a humble pallet will do for me. I simply could not accept anything more."
"As you wish," Heinrich bowed his head in acquiescence. "Follow me, if you would."
Nathan waited around half an hour before sneaking out of his tiny room, listening intently all the while for the sound of Heinrich returning with the owner of the silver candlestick.
He crept around the corner of the building, checking for secret watchers. Detecting none, he stepped cautiously onto the street. Moving quickly and quietly, for he knew his life may very well depend on a successful escape, the erstwhile monk slipped out of town like a cat on the prowl. Once he was safely enshrouded in the wood surrounding the town, he picked up his pace.
With the faint light of dawn creeping over the horizon, Nathan pulled the flap of his tent closed, laid down on his pile of blankets, and fell peacefully asleep, with the candlestick still nestled inside his jacket.