Zeffer drank. The brandy was stronger than the stuff he’d had at the hotel in Brascov. It went down smoothly, warming his belly when it arrived.
“Good, yes?” the Father said, having downed his second glass.
“Very.”
“You should have another before we go on.” And he filled Zeffer’s glass without waiting for a reply. “We’re a long way below ground here, and it gets hellishly cold … ” Glasses were filled, and emptied. The Father’s mood was noticeably better now, and his tone chattier. He put the glasses and the bottle back in the hole in the wall, and then led the way down the narrow corridor, talking as he went. “When the Order first came to the Fortress, there were plans to found a hospital here. You see, there are no hospitals within a hundred and twenty miles of here. It would be very practical. But this is not a place for the sick. And certainly not the dying.”
“So, no hospital?”
“Well, we made preparations. You saw yesterday one of the wards — ”
Zeffer remembered. He’d glanced through an open door and there’d been two rows of iron beds, with bare mattresses. “I thought it was a dormitory for the brothers.”
“No. We each have our own cells. There are only eleven of us, so we can each have a place in which to meditate and pray … ” He offered Zeffer a glance, accompanied by a small smile. “And drink.”
“I can’t imagine it’s a very satisfying life,” Zeffer said.
“Satisfying?” The idea was obviously a little confounding to Sandru. “Meaning what?”
“Oh, just that you don’t get to work in the community. You can’t help people.”
They had come to the end of the passageway, and Sandru sorted through his collection of keys in order to open the third and final door.
“Who can truly be helped?” he said, his face turned down to the labor of sorting. “I suppose perhaps children can be comforted, sometimes, if it’s dark and they’re afraid. You can tell them you’re with them; and that will sometimes stop them crying. But for the rest of us? Are there really any words that help? I don’t know of any.” He had found the right key, and now slipped it noisily into the antiquated lock. As he did so, he glanced up at Zeffer. “I think there’s more comfort to be had from seeing beautiful women on the cinema screen than in any prayer I know. Well, perhaps not comfort. Distraction.” He turned the key in the lock. “And if that sounds like heresy, well so be it.”
Sandru pushed the door open. The room was in darkness, but despite that fact there was a warmth in the air; at least in contrast to the chilly air of the passageway. Perhaps the difference was no more than two or three degrees, but it felt significant.
“Will you wait here a moment?” Sandru said. “I’ll just bring a light.” Zeffer stayed where he was, staring into the darkness, enjoying the slight rise in temperature. There was enough illumination spilling from the passageway behind him to light the threshold. There, carved into stone beneath his feet, was a curious inscription:
Quamquam in fundis inferiorum sumus, oculos angelorum tenebimus.
He didn’t linger to puzzle over this for more than a few seconds, but instead let his eyes drift up and into the room itself. The chamber before him was large, it seemed; and unlike the rest of the rooms and corridors, which were simply constructed, far more elaborate. Could he make out pillars, supporting several small vaults? He thought so. There were chairs and tables within a few yards of where he stood, and what appeared to be lamps or the like heaped on top of them.
The confusion inside was explained a moment later, when the Father returned with one of the bare bulbs, attached to a length of electric cord.
“We use this as a storeroom,” he said. “Many of the items we found in the Fortress when we arrived we put down here, just to get them out of the way.” He lifted the light to give Zeffer a better view.