The Seer and the Scribe by G.M. Dyrek Page B

to find such an inhuman shrine amusing to look at for over ten years.
    Before turning the lever to seal the entrance to the hidden chamber, Volmar looked around one last time. Hildegard was there beside him. She had said very little after he’d mentioned that he had seen the remains of Brother Arnoul in the chamber below. She had listened to him with her soft eyes shining in the darkness. It was as if he was simply confirming a fact she’d already known. There was a certain analytical logic to her response.
    â€œDo you think you could find out if the codex has been returned to the library at the monastery and report back to us in the clearing tomorrow afternoon?”
    He accepted the “us,” knowing that this second person was a dead monk trying desperately to right a terrible wrong. “I will try, I promise,even if I will be assigned extra duties to make up for missing Vespers this afternoon. But,” he added rather wistfully, “it was worth it.”
    â€œCome, Brother Volmar.” Hildegard lifted the oil lamp high. “Brother Arnoul assured me the corridor under the wooden arch leads to the Altar of Saint Peter. Perhaps, if we hurry, you’ll be able to attend prayers after all.” In the warm flickering glow of the flame, Hildegard paused and said frankly, “I’ve never met one whose curious nature so evenly matches my own.”
    â€œI could say the same.” Volmar smiled, something he rarely did. He stood gazing into her pale, penetrating eyes, mesmerized by the way the lamp’s light suddenly seemed to play with the energy emanating from her soul.
    The young scribe reached to carry the oil lamp. “My turn, your arm must be tired.” He paused for one brief moment as his fingers lightly touched hers. Together they crossed the cave floor, which was slippery with lichen, and went into the dryer tunnel marked by the stout wooden arch.

CHAPTER 7: PREPOSTEROUS FACSIMILE
    Library at Disibodenberg Monastery
    Harvest Festival, Evening
    After dinner Volmar had plenty of time to think, while serving out his punishment for missing Vespers. He cleared the tables and scrubbed clean the pots and bowls from dinner. The Kitchener, Brother Amos, took to heart his role as the monastery’s improvised disciplinarian. He felt, especially towards Brother Volmar, that despite all of his eloquence, this young monk needed to be humbled and reminded that no task was too menial. Volmar obediently carried out Brother Amos’s more outrageous orders and served out his sentence in silence, all the while thinking of Hildegard and Brother Arnoul.
    Vespers were over and the sanctuary had been serenely quiet as the two slipped out together from behind Saint Peter’s Altar. The rain had eased and the clouds parted only to reveal a meager sun setting in thewest. Hildegard insisted that he leave her beside the team of carriage horses waiting in the church’s forecourt, urging him to join his holy brothers in the refectory for dinner.
    It was an awkward moment. Volmar imagined that the horses were stamping nervously to register their displeasure over his and Hildegard’s forbidden afternoon spent together.
    â€œI shall come for you in the morning and report on the visit to the library,” he had said politely, his hands tucked in the cuffs of his sleeves. Turning back after they had parted, Volmar had caught her eye and in it he knew that she also felt as bewildered as he. Not only had they stumbled on an unsolved murder, it seemed she’d also awakened in him dormant feelings he didn’t know he possessed.
    An hour later, humbled from kitchen duty, yet determined to find answers, Volmar climbed the winding staircase with its high clerestory leaded-glass windows leading to the Library. Once he mounted the precipice of the last step, he leaned against the wall and knew he had stayed away too long. He missed his leisure study time. It was a high price to pay for