Percy St. John and the Chronicle of Secrets by E.A. Allen

Author:E.A. Allen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Histria Books
Published: 2022-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

3

As Percy approached the Abbot’s door, he at first hesitated to knock. Plucking up his courage, he rapped once, and from inside there came an instant, “Yes. Come in.”

The rough oak door creaked on its ancient hinges, and the sound reminded Percy of his last dreadful visit to the Abbot’s cell. The room, furnished only with a simple table, two rough-made chairs, and bookcase, was a study of sorts, for it was stacked high with old books, many of them on the table. In one corner stood a small fireplace, with a crackling fire in the grate, and in the wall beside it, a small window. Through an open door to the other room, Percy could see a simple cot, with a straw mattress. Father Abbot, his long face as grim as ever, sat at the table, and as soon as Percy entered, he said, “Take that chair, Brother Percy. Please.”

“Yes. Thank you, sir,” said Percy, dreading to hear why he’d been summoned. He did not have long to wait.

“I’m told you are making further inquiries about the book that went missing, Brother. Why is that? Why do you continue to trouble yourself about it? And trouble the monastery about it. After all, the book has been found and... well... any suspicions... any suspicions some might have had about you are now proved wrong. So, that’s an end to it, don’t you see.”

“No. I am not sure that is an end to it, Father Abbot.”

“What?” he asked, dismayed and annoyed.

“No, not an end at all,” said Percy. “In fact, if my suspicions are correct, there’ll be yet another attempt on the book and perhaps followed by an even greater tragedy.” As Percy watched the Abbot’s face, he considered how much of his suspicions he should tell. Percy is a master at reading faces, mostly in the interest of his sinful ways of duping people.

“I don’t understand what you mean,” the Abbot continued.

“I mean this, Father Abbot. I disagree with Captain Ulrich’s quick conclusion that Father Enrico died by mischance. Accident? No, not at all. He was pushed.”

Father Abbot stood, his eyes flashing his consternation. “That’s preposterous! You have no call to suggest that.” He glared.

“I do indeed,” Percy protested, “if you will pardon me for disagreeing.”

“Well then, what is your justification? Your evidence?” the Abbot challenged, folding his arms and raising his chin defiantly. It was a good thing for Percy that Abbot Bartholomew is a German who loves debate. Brother Percy had been hoping to make his case, and he pounced with glee, now that Father Abbot invited him to do so.

“Two things, Father Abbot. The first is the nonsense that Father Enrico should wander out to the Precipice and then somehow fall over, based entirely on the evidence that he had no injuries other than those from a fall. If he had gone out there to meet someone, that person could easily have surprised him and pushed him over. Father Enrico was a small man. Even I could have overpowered him.

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