(Yes, I'm drawing this out as much as possible. big smile But what fun would it be if we didn't have some suspense?)
Van Helsing shook his head as he left the Cardinal's office. Well, he was getting that break he wanted. But why him? Yes, he considered Carl a friend. The gregarious friar certainly treated Van Helsing like one. The friar always chatted eagerly, providing humor and information, chivvying the monster hunter out of depression, or lending a sympathetic ear. In fact, Van Helsing was willing to go so far as to say Carl was his best friend. Maybe his only friend. Funny how he'd never thought about it before.
Clearly, Carl had not reported some of the more questionable aspects of their Transylvanian assignment. Van Helsing had bullied the man into going, only to land them in mortal danger every minute. But he trusted Carl. Trusted him enough to believe Carl could kill him if it had proved necessary. And Carl had lived up to Van Helsing's expectations. He was very proud of Carl, and had meant to include the friar on more assignments, but none of them since Transylvania had seemed to need the friar's unique abilities. Now that he really thought about it, Van Helsing had barely seen the friar in months. He tried to remember the last time he'd actually spoken with Carl. He'd collected weapons from him before the Banshee assignment. And then..... No, after that, he'd gotten his equipment from one of the apprentices. There was always at least one that knew where everything was in Carl's lab.
The laboratory was as good a place to start as any. Certain he'd find Carl there, Van Helsing strode purposefully through the workshop. Slowly, he began to note that people would look at him, and then whisper quickly to a neighbor. Sometimes, these were accompanied by glances towards the large archway to Carl's lab. Passing by Father Olaf's forge, Van Helsing stepping thought the arch.
"Carl! I've brought back the...." He trailed off, realizing the lab was utterly empty of people. Numerous bits of equipment stood about unattended. Everything was still. Nothing smoked, nothing bubbled. The only noise came from the main workshop. Then a hand descended onto his shoulder. Whirling, he found Father Olaf right behind him.
"He's not here."
Van Helsing rolled his eyes. "Clearly. When will he be back?"
Father Olaf shrugged. "Notice anything wrong?"
"You mean, besides the lack of Carl? No."
"Look closer." The hirsute Norwegian turned back to his forge.
Puzzled, Van Helsing wandered about the lab, just looking. He noticed there were no open books, no spilling pages, no open containers of chemicals. He ran a finger across the lid of some oily yellow fluid, and came away with a grime covered finger. Dust. There was dust on Carl's equipment! That could only mean that the friar hadn't worked on anything at all for a while. That more than anything sent worry spinning through Van Helsing's head. That Carl could go more than a day without tinkering with something was a disturbing idea. That he could not tinker for this long was down right frightening.
Van Helsing immediately set out for the Monastery. All the holy men who worked for the Order lived in one building, set tight against the walls of the Vatican. Even Van Helsing had a cell there. Just a bed and a closet and a few books on a shelf, but still, it passed for home. Other members had more or less, depending on their various callings. Sometimes, one could smell a dozen different incenses burning during one walk down the stone halls. The building itself was designed to be subtle, unassuming, bland, keeping visitors to the Vatican from becoming curious. Order members who were not ostensibly Catholic were encouraged to use the underground tunnels to get to and from the workshops.
Once he reached the Monastery, Van Helsing suddenly realized he had no idea where Carl's room was. He stopped a passing monk to ask.
"Third floor, twelfth door. The side without windows," the monk said, as if that was significant.
"What do windows have to do with it?"
The monk arched a brow. "Brother Carl has never asked for a room with a window as long as I've been here, and that's 15 years! A man could go mad without a regular amount of sunshine." Here the monk glanced around, then leaned in to impart some gossip. "If you ask me, the man already HAS gone mad!"
"I didn't ask you," Van Helsing growled.
He climbed the stairs to the third floor. Most of the doors were open, as the holy men living here not only trusted each other, but distributed cleaning chores amongst themselves. But the twelfth door was shut. Van Helsing knocked, then called, "Carl? You in there?"
He got no response. Another knock, another call, and still nothing. Finally, he dared to open the door, praying there wasn't some sort of innovative booby-trap on it that would do something like dump acid all over an intruder or some such nonsense. Instead, he found a room that looked almost too lived in. A narrow bed was unmade in a corner. The closet door was ajar, and there were several rumpled monk's robes lying on top of what looked like discarded lab equipment. Books were stacked everywhere, piled in corners and peeking out from under the bed. A small desk stood covered in papers, spilling out of the drawers and around a rickety looking chair. The walls were covered in bits of paper with drawings, chemical equations, notes, and observations. The only really clear space was right below the only decoration in the room not bearing Carl's handwriting: a carved crucifix. Van Helsing noticed that many of the books bore a layer of dust, just as the lab had. The only clean area was the space below the crucifix, just enough room for one man to kneel.
More concerned than ever, Van Helsing swiftly rose and began to hunt for his friend in earnest.
Van Helsing shook his head as he left the Cardinal's office. Well, he was getting that break he wanted. But why him? Yes, he considered Carl a friend. The gregarious friar certainly treated Van Helsing like one. The friar always chatted eagerly, providing humor and information, chivvying the monster hunter out of depression, or lending a sympathetic ear. In fact, Van Helsing was willing to go so far as to say Carl was his best friend. Maybe his only friend. Funny how he'd never thought about it before.
Clearly, Carl had not reported some of the more questionable aspects of their Transylvanian assignment. Van Helsing had bullied the man into going, only to land them in mortal danger every minute. But he trusted Carl. Trusted him enough to believe Carl could kill him if it had proved necessary. And Carl had lived up to Van Helsing's expectations. He was very proud of Carl, and had meant to include the friar on more assignments, but none of them since Transylvania had seemed to need the friar's unique abilities. Now that he really thought about it, Van Helsing had barely seen the friar in months. He tried to remember the last time he'd actually spoken with Carl. He'd collected weapons from him before the Banshee assignment. And then..... No, after that, he'd gotten his equipment from one of the apprentices. There was always at least one that knew where everything was in Carl's lab.
The laboratory was as good a place to start as any. Certain he'd find Carl there, Van Helsing strode purposefully through the workshop. Slowly, he began to note that people would look at him, and then whisper quickly to a neighbor. Sometimes, these were accompanied by glances towards the large archway to Carl's lab. Passing by Father Olaf's forge, Van Helsing stepping thought the arch.
"Carl! I've brought back the...." He trailed off, realizing the lab was utterly empty of people. Numerous bits of equipment stood about unattended. Everything was still. Nothing smoked, nothing bubbled. The only noise came from the main workshop. Then a hand descended onto his shoulder. Whirling, he found Father Olaf right behind him.
"He's not here."
Van Helsing rolled his eyes. "Clearly. When will he be back?"
Father Olaf shrugged. "Notice anything wrong?"
"You mean, besides the lack of Carl? No."
"Look closer." The hirsute Norwegian turned back to his forge.
Puzzled, Van Helsing wandered about the lab, just looking. He noticed there were no open books, no spilling pages, no open containers of chemicals. He ran a finger across the lid of some oily yellow fluid, and came away with a grime covered finger. Dust. There was dust on Carl's equipment! That could only mean that the friar hadn't worked on anything at all for a while. That more than anything sent worry spinning through Van Helsing's head. That Carl could go more than a day without tinkering with something was a disturbing idea. That he could not tinker for this long was down right frightening.
Van Helsing immediately set out for the Monastery. All the holy men who worked for the Order lived in one building, set tight against the walls of the Vatican. Even Van Helsing had a cell there. Just a bed and a closet and a few books on a shelf, but still, it passed for home. Other members had more or less, depending on their various callings. Sometimes, one could smell a dozen different incenses burning during one walk down the stone halls. The building itself was designed to be subtle, unassuming, bland, keeping visitors to the Vatican from becoming curious. Order members who were not ostensibly Catholic were encouraged to use the underground tunnels to get to and from the workshops.
Once he reached the Monastery, Van Helsing suddenly realized he had no idea where Carl's room was. He stopped a passing monk to ask.
"Third floor, twelfth door. The side without windows," the monk said, as if that was significant.
"What do windows have to do with it?"
The monk arched a brow. "Brother Carl has never asked for a room with a window as long as I've been here, and that's 15 years! A man could go mad without a regular amount of sunshine." Here the monk glanced around, then leaned in to impart some gossip. "If you ask me, the man already HAS gone mad!"
"I didn't ask you," Van Helsing growled.
He climbed the stairs to the third floor. Most of the doors were open, as the holy men living here not only trusted each other, but distributed cleaning chores amongst themselves. But the twelfth door was shut. Van Helsing knocked, then called, "Carl? You in there?"
He got no response. Another knock, another call, and still nothing. Finally, he dared to open the door, praying there wasn't some sort of innovative booby-trap on it that would do something like dump acid all over an intruder or some such nonsense. Instead, he found a room that looked almost too lived in. A narrow bed was unmade in a corner. The closet door was ajar, and there were several rumpled monk's robes lying on top of what looked like discarded lab equipment. Books were stacked everywhere, piled in corners and peeking out from under the bed. A small desk stood covered in papers, spilling out of the drawers and around a rickety looking chair. The walls were covered in bits of paper with drawings, chemical equations, notes, and observations. The only really clear space was right below the only decoration in the room not bearing Carl's handwriting: a carved crucifix. Van Helsing noticed that many of the books bore a layer of dust, just as the lab had. The only clean area was the space below the crucifix, just enough room for one man to kneel.
More concerned than ever, Van Helsing swiftly rose and began to hunt for his friend in earnest.