Hermetic Oath seriously. Ergo, I maintained discretion.
“But as for you–what slight and uncertain auguries I was able to obtain
after hearing from you suggest that here may be a weapon proper to your
hands.”
Lightning flared. Thunder crashed.
————————————————————————
22
—
We slept late the next morning, and then had things to do. Among them
was ar-ranging accommodations in York. With August Bank Holiday
approaching, that wasn’t the easiest job in the world. We waved money at
a travel agent and got a suite in a posh hotel. Besides the expense,
this was showier than we wanted. On the other hand, we might well need
more privacy than a single room in a B&B offered. We shopped for several
items we’d need– better here than elose to the scene of the crime–and
caught a train that brought us there by midafternoon.
We’d seen it before on our travels. One time isn’t enough. The world has
some towns that compare with it for beauty and charm–not many^ but none
that surpass. Mellow gold-hued sandstone of ancient walls and towers,
crooked narrow streets with names like Whip-Ma-Whop-Ma Gate,
half-timbered houses whose arcades line them and galleries lean over
them, pubs where the beer and the friendliness are as genuine as you’ll
ever find and you can still hear the broad dialect of yeomen come in to
market, history reaching back beyond the Romans and not embalmed but
alive, here all around you– As we passed by the Merchants’ Guildhall
after we’d checked in at our lodging, we swore we’d come back when this
miserable business of ours was behind us, and bring the kids, and take a
week or more.
We found St. Oswald’s on Oglethorpe Street. For a while we stood and
stared, letting pedestrians surge around us. Though I strained my
senses, nothing came to me but voices, shoe-clack, odors of man and
smoke faint in the sunny air. Ginny couldn’t very well unlimber a wand
and check for peculiarities. The building did for sure look unpromising,
brick, squarish. “Failed neoclassical,” she muttered. Maybe the dull
appearance wasn’t entirely its fault. It lay almost in the shadow of the
Minster. That most glorious of churches rose above roofs like God’s
personal benediction.
“Well,” I said, “let’s do it.”
She nodded. We mounted the steps and entered. The interior was cool and
somewhat dark. I don’t know whether that was merciful to the altarpiece
or made it still more rococo. Memorial tablets were sparse on the walls,
under nineteenth-century stained glass that hadn’t benefited from the
Burne-Jones influence. A couple of bewigged busts in niches seemed to
disapprove of us.
Nobody else was here but a little gray verger. We hadn’t the heart not
to let him show us around and tell us about the two gentlemen
represented. Since one of them had fought in the American War of
Independence and we were Americans, we heard about him at length.
Finally we could drop some money in a collection box and ask to see the
crypt.
“Certainly, certainly. Tickets are a shilling, if you please. Goes
toward upkeep… Thank you very much. This way, if you please.” He
pottered to a door, unlocked it, switched on an edison, and led us down
a flight of stairs. The first few were brick, evidently part of the
rebuilding, but beyond that they were stone, deeply worn, hewn out in
early Norman times. “The undercroft is quite small, you see. Undoubtedly
it was much larger beneath the abbey, but earth and rubble have buried
most. We believe proper excavation would uncover parts of the
twelfth-century walls and foundation, as well as–who knows?–treasures
the monks hid away from King Henry’s expropriators. That would also mean
a modern metal stairwell–do watch your step, please–but I am afraid
our humble house of worship lacks glamour.”
A lightbulb hung in a cramped vault. Flagstones lay damp underfoot. The
walls were masonry. “Observe the herringbone pattern,” the verger said
with pride. “The work is timber grillage, but otherwise the materials
are largely Roman.” He gestured toward a flat brick wall at the far end.
“Except for that, of course. The Georgian builders put it in to keep
this remnant clear. Who knows what lies behind?”