The two men made their way back to the Monastery, down to the lowest levels, where huge furnaces kept cisterns of water heated. Around each cistern were a number of baths, connected to both the heated water supply, and a non-heated water supply piped in from the many aqueducts that fed the city from the days of the Romans to these. The bathing room was barely ten years old, devised and constructed entirely by the members of the Order, and Van Helsing had come to bless the place on numerous occasions. One could fill the tubs with entirely hot water, and soak away aches and sores. Nearby storerooms contained towels and spare habits. Van Helsing had already stashed a change of clothes in one corner, against the hope that he'd talk Carl into this very relaxing activity. He was a bit surprised at how easy it had been to get the friar to go along with the plan. For some reason, he knew that doing so fell in with Carl's wants, not his. It was one more thing to get the friar to talk about.
Both men quickly prepared baths and settled in. Van Helsing kept a corner of his eye on Carl, subtly making sure that the friar actually washed himself. Carl did in fact wash up, even his hair, and the expression on the friar's face told Van Helsing that the man had almost forgotten the pleasure of being clean.
They cleaned up, drained the dirty water, then refilled the tubs and settled in. Van Helsing waited until he saw Carl's shoulders sag, relaxing into the hot water.
"So, why did you go along tonight? Last night, you wanted nothing to do with me." His tone was casual, and he was pleased to see that Carl did not tense up at the question.
"I know you're a stubborn man, Van Helsing." Carl's voice seemed almost dreamy. He kept his head back and eyes closed. "You would keep coming after me, until you got what you wanted."
"Oh? What's that?"
Now Carl turned, and his eyes stabbed into Van Helsing's. "You're under orders to find out why I haven't been to the lab in two months. Why I haven't invented anything new. Why I'm not being a good little tool of the Holy Order." His voice became hard, but still even.
"So? Make my job easy then, and I'll get out of your hair."
Silence reigned for a few minutes. Carl seemed to be weighing his options. Finally, an expression of loneliness and desperation crossed his face so intense, that Van Helsing nearly jumped. Carl sat back and stared at the ceiling. "You know, all I've ever known is the Order. I was only ten when I came here. Ten. Oh, sure, I had already finished school. Did you know, I went to Oxford? Graduated with honors at ten years and three months old. Prodigy, they called me. Of course, I didn't go to regular classes. Some of the lads could have beaten me to death. I lived with the theology master and took all my lessons privately, thanks to the interest of one Reverend Michael. I later found out that he'd been grooming me for this. Turns out he was a former Order member, a researcher. As soon as I finished Oxford, he brought me here. At first, it was horrible. I was ten, for God's sake!" His voice echoed plaintively. "Bad enough I'd just spent three years seeing my family at only Easter and Christmas, but now I felt like I was on the other side of the world! However, I quickly picked up Italian, and was already fluent in Latin among other tongues. Soon, the Order became my whole world. Learning, you see, was and still is my weakness. The Cardinals threw open the library to me. Every book, every scroll." Carl closed his eyes and sighed, reliving the wonder. Van Helsing stared at him, absorbed in the image of small, frightened boy being seduced by the sheer volume of knowledge held by the Church of Peter. He rather thought the Cardinals knew exactly what they were creating out of that brilliant little boy.
Carl continued. "I quickly devoured," he chuckled, "everything. Soon, I was making up experiments, testing my own theories. Anything I wanted, I got. Greek fire. Oil. Bits and bobs I drew up were forged or carved or cast." He opened his eyes long enough to shoot Van Helsing an ironic look. "Your Tojo blades I invented before I was sixteen! Pretty soon, I was being called on to produce more and more. Create better weapons. Find this information. Compile these reports for patterns, reasons, whatever. I was so busy. I was so lonely. And, imagine adolescence without anyone willing to explain to you what's happening to you. For a while, I could barely manage. I became extremely clumsy, and I kept...." He trailed off. Van Helsing noticed a blush staining the friar's face.
"Kept what?"
Carl wrinkled his nose. "I'm getting pruney. Let's get out of here." The complaint was so typically Carl that Van Helsing laughed the whole time they dried themselves and dressed.
As they walked out of the baths and headed up a level to the kitchens, Van Helsing studied his friend like he would any other stranger. The bath had done Carl good. Color had returned to his face, and clean, his fair hair brushed his shoulders. He'd not cut it in ages, which told Van Helsing that Carl had not worked in a very long time. Previously, the friar always hacked his hair off himself to prevent it from getting in the way of his magnifying glasses, or flames, or chemical fumes. In clean robes, the friar looked like a young saint from some illuminated manuscript, pale and fragile. Yet, Van Helsing reminded himself, Carl couldn't be very much younger than he. Of course, that assumed Van Helsing really was in his mid- thirties too.
As they entered the empty kitchens, Carl moved unerringly to the baskets where leftovers were kept for distribution to the poor and the pilgrims. He quickly selected a hunk of bread and a meat end for himself, and filled a wooden mug from the water buckets. Van Helsing followed suit, and they seated themselves at a small cutting table.
For a moment, Carl paused, staring at the food. Van Helsing assumed he was silently saying grace, but Carl said, "Why is it that today I feel compelled to tell you my life story, when only last night, I might have shot you myself?" Startled, Van Helsing answered, "I don't know. I wonder why you're telling me too. Not that I don't want to hear it." A moment later, he heard the second part of Carl's question. "Hey! Why would you want to shoot me?"
Carl ignored Van Helsing's indignation. "Seven deadly sins, you know. Seven. And you can be damned for just one of them."
Van Helsing frowned. "Explain."
"I'm trying." Picking at the bread, Carl resumed his narrative.
(But you all have to wait for the next chapter! FYI: A meat end is a hunk at the end of a block of meat sliced up, like at delis. EG: the end of the giant bologna sausage. Good local delis will sell them cheap if you ask for them.)
Both men quickly prepared baths and settled in. Van Helsing kept a corner of his eye on Carl, subtly making sure that the friar actually washed himself. Carl did in fact wash up, even his hair, and the expression on the friar's face told Van Helsing that the man had almost forgotten the pleasure of being clean.
They cleaned up, drained the dirty water, then refilled the tubs and settled in. Van Helsing waited until he saw Carl's shoulders sag, relaxing into the hot water.
"So, why did you go along tonight? Last night, you wanted nothing to do with me." His tone was casual, and he was pleased to see that Carl did not tense up at the question.
"I know you're a stubborn man, Van Helsing." Carl's voice seemed almost dreamy. He kept his head back and eyes closed. "You would keep coming after me, until you got what you wanted."
"Oh? What's that?"
Now Carl turned, and his eyes stabbed into Van Helsing's. "You're under orders to find out why I haven't been to the lab in two months. Why I haven't invented anything new. Why I'm not being a good little tool of the Holy Order." His voice became hard, but still even.
"So? Make my job easy then, and I'll get out of your hair."
Silence reigned for a few minutes. Carl seemed to be weighing his options. Finally, an expression of loneliness and desperation crossed his face so intense, that Van Helsing nearly jumped. Carl sat back and stared at the ceiling. "You know, all I've ever known is the Order. I was only ten when I came here. Ten. Oh, sure, I had already finished school. Did you know, I went to Oxford? Graduated with honors at ten years and three months old. Prodigy, they called me. Of course, I didn't go to regular classes. Some of the lads could have beaten me to death. I lived with the theology master and took all my lessons privately, thanks to the interest of one Reverend Michael. I later found out that he'd been grooming me for this. Turns out he was a former Order member, a researcher. As soon as I finished Oxford, he brought me here. At first, it was horrible. I was ten, for God's sake!" His voice echoed plaintively. "Bad enough I'd just spent three years seeing my family at only Easter and Christmas, but now I felt like I was on the other side of the world! However, I quickly picked up Italian, and was already fluent in Latin among other tongues. Soon, the Order became my whole world. Learning, you see, was and still is my weakness. The Cardinals threw open the library to me. Every book, every scroll." Carl closed his eyes and sighed, reliving the wonder. Van Helsing stared at him, absorbed in the image of small, frightened boy being seduced by the sheer volume of knowledge held by the Church of Peter. He rather thought the Cardinals knew exactly what they were creating out of that brilliant little boy.
Carl continued. "I quickly devoured," he chuckled, "everything. Soon, I was making up experiments, testing my own theories. Anything I wanted, I got. Greek fire. Oil. Bits and bobs I drew up were forged or carved or cast." He opened his eyes long enough to shoot Van Helsing an ironic look. "Your Tojo blades I invented before I was sixteen! Pretty soon, I was being called on to produce more and more. Create better weapons. Find this information. Compile these reports for patterns, reasons, whatever. I was so busy. I was so lonely. And, imagine adolescence without anyone willing to explain to you what's happening to you. For a while, I could barely manage. I became extremely clumsy, and I kept...." He trailed off. Van Helsing noticed a blush staining the friar's face.
"Kept what?"
Carl wrinkled his nose. "I'm getting pruney. Let's get out of here." The complaint was so typically Carl that Van Helsing laughed the whole time they dried themselves and dressed.
As they walked out of the baths and headed up a level to the kitchens, Van Helsing studied his friend like he would any other stranger. The bath had done Carl good. Color had returned to his face, and clean, his fair hair brushed his shoulders. He'd not cut it in ages, which told Van Helsing that Carl had not worked in a very long time. Previously, the friar always hacked his hair off himself to prevent it from getting in the way of his magnifying glasses, or flames, or chemical fumes. In clean robes, the friar looked like a young saint from some illuminated manuscript, pale and fragile. Yet, Van Helsing reminded himself, Carl couldn't be very much younger than he. Of course, that assumed Van Helsing really was in his mid- thirties too.
As they entered the empty kitchens, Carl moved unerringly to the baskets where leftovers were kept for distribution to the poor and the pilgrims. He quickly selected a hunk of bread and a meat end for himself, and filled a wooden mug from the water buckets. Van Helsing followed suit, and they seated themselves at a small cutting table.
For a moment, Carl paused, staring at the food. Van Helsing assumed he was silently saying grace, but Carl said, "Why is it that today I feel compelled to tell you my life story, when only last night, I might have shot you myself?" Startled, Van Helsing answered, "I don't know. I wonder why you're telling me too. Not that I don't want to hear it." A moment later, he heard the second part of Carl's question. "Hey! Why would you want to shoot me?"
Carl ignored Van Helsing's indignation. "Seven deadly sins, you know. Seven. And you can be damned for just one of them."
Van Helsing frowned. "Explain."
"I'm trying." Picking at the bread, Carl resumed his narrative.
(But you all have to wait for the next chapter! FYI: A meat end is a hunk at the end of a block of meat sliced up, like at delis. EG: the end of the giant bologna sausage. Good local delis will sell them cheap if you ask for them.)