Nate reached the sewer floor and immediately stood in something wet.
"Great" he muttered, shaking his foot, trying to kick off the water and muck. He examined his surroundings with his penlight the white beam running over the brick walls slick with water and mildew. The floor was a metal grate and had two rubbish-strewn paths running either side of an irrigation channel filled with black water that, for all Nate knew, could be centuries old and full of holy crap.
Nate chuckled at his pun and pulled the map of the sewer system they copied from local records from his back pocket and aligned himself to where he needed to go. Once satisfied he put the map back in his pocket, secured his backpack, and set off towards the depths of Berne Abbey.
Nate arrived at his destination 15 minutes later, a circular chamber set off from the main sewer channel. His light ran over the room until he spotted the ladder set in the middle of the chamber. The chamber itself was empty except for some old rotted crates, its contents discarded long ago that even the rats didn't pay it any heed as they scurried about in the light of his torch. Swinging his light over to the ladder he examined it closely and saw it was rusted, not a surprise considering the age and conditions of the room but seemed sturdy enough after giving it a shake. He shone the torch straight up, but it failed to pierce the deep gloom.
Placing his faith in nothing but himself and the strength of a centuries old rusted ladder, Nate put the penlight inside the pocket of his soft-shell jacket and began to climb. The rungs creaks and protested and the ladder constantly shook but it held as, guided by the dim light from his jacket, he made his way up.
THUNK!
"Crap!" Nate yelled, his voice echoing around the chamber, rubbing the crown of his head. He'd reached the top.
Hooking his arm around the rung, he pulled his penlight from his jacket and looked at what he cracked his head on. It was a grate with thick rusted bars running parallel to each other, some of the bars through in places, and hinged so opened upwards, like a trap door. Despite the age of the grate it still held and that was when Nate noticed a brand-new padlock clasped over the grate latch.
"Crap!" Nate grumbled. He grabbed one of the rusted-through bars and pulled with as much strength as he could muster given his awkward positioning.
Thankfully the bar bent, slowly, but enough that he could now reach his hand through.
Manoeuvring himself to the outside of the ladder to get his hand in a better position, Nate shrugged off one of the backpack straps off his shoulder and swung it round to the front, he unzipped it and pulled out a pair of handheld bolt cutters. Rezipping the bag, he swung it back around and over his shoulders and, with bolt cutters in hand, he reached through the newly created gap and placed the teeth of the cutters on either side of the padlock shackle and squeezed.
But the shackle was too strong and the bolt cutters too weak to cut through them. He tried again but they barely made a dent. He groaned, the prospect of having to climb down and go back through the rat-infested sewer urged him to give it one more shot. He squeezed, gripping the grate with the other hand trying to create any sort of leverage he could when, suddenly, there was a high-pitched screeching sound and the hinges of the grate gave way entirely.
The grate, held on by the flimsy latch and padlock, dropped and slammed into the ladder snapping it at Nate's knees and narrowly avoiding crushing Nate's arm, before the latch tore free and it fell into darkness.
There was a loud crash that reverberated around the chamber as the grate hit the floor. Nate hung onto the second last rung, his legs hanging in mid-air, when there was another screeching sound as the bolts holding the ladder up began to tear free.
The left bolt tore off and the ladder pivoted around violently, the metal twisting, as Nate desperately pulled himself up the remaining rungs and tried to get a grip on the ledge above. Just as he reached out, the right bolt tore free and the ladder fell away. As the bolt tore free, Nate lunged, reaching out with his hand and grabbed the ledge with his right hand as he heard the ladder clang to the ground.
"Holy crap" Nate said hanging in mid-air.
"Sully you there?" Nate whispered.
After he'd climb out of the chamber and into one of the Abbey's sub-basements, Nate made his way through various storage rooms filled with boxes and old furniture long since untouched if the thick layer of dust were anything to go by. Thankfully with his penlight showing the way he was able to move about the sub-basement with relative ease and little shin barking.
Now, if the map was correct, he was in the stairwell that led into the main corridor that Brother Janssen took them down two days earlier.
"Nate!" Sully's voice boomed in his ear. "What the hell took so long?"
"Yeah, happy to hear from you too."
"Where are you?"
"I'm at the door to the hallway," he said. "Are you in position?"
"Hang on, hang on" Sully grumbled over the comm.
While he waited, Nate took out his picks from his backpack and begun working the lock on the door.
Just as the final tumble fell, Sully said, "I'm here".
"Alright" Nate said. "I'm heading to the records room now. Let me know if anyone is coming."
"Will do."
The idea was for Sully to position himself near the back of the building, next to the church and around the corner from the gazebo where he could watch for the comings and goings. While he could not see anyone near the archive room, he could see anyone going into the main building which would have to be enough.
Door unlocked, Nate cracked it open and peered out. Seeing no one, he opened it a bit more and checked the other way. It was all clear.
The hallway was dim with every third light turned on casting eerie shadows over the busts and hanging pictures. Nate crept down the hallway, saying a silent, thankful prayer for the lack of security and then realised that God is probably not listening to a career thief who is breaking into an Abbey.
He reached the door to archive room and pulled out his picks and began working the lock.
"Sully, I'm at the records door. How's it looking out there?" he whispered.
"So far-" there was a pause, "so good."
"Are you drinking?"
"Nate, it's a beer tasting." Sully said matter-of-factly.
Nate sighed, "Sully-" he began but he was interrupted.
"Nate heads up. Someone's coming in."
"Alright" Nate said but kept working on the door.
He heard the sound of a door opening and closing. It sounded close, maybe the next room over.
"Nate...Nate how's it going?" Sully's voice was distant in his ear while Nate was busy concentrating on the door, a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead.
The sound of a door creaking open from down the hallway broke his concentration and he looked up and saw an elderly brother shuffling up the hall. Crouched down, he was partially hidden in the dim light and a sideboard buffet.
"Nate?"
With a final twist, the lock turned and Nate, as quietly as he could, opened the door and snuck in, closing it behind him and locking it. He leaned against the door, listening intently but heard nothing.
He sighed with relief.
"Nate!" Sully's voice was louder now.
"Sully. I'm in" he said.
"God damn it, Nate" Sully said.
"Using the Lords' name in vain, Sullivan?"
Sully mumbled something incoherent and Nate turned on his penlight and moved deeper into the room.
"Alright, what am I looking for?" he asked himself aloud.
"You're looking for records from the 13th century."
Nate rolled his eyes and approached the columns of shelves that dominated the room. It reminded him of the libraries at school when he was younger. Tall, industrial shelving units filled with books and boxes and, thankfully, labelled.
The labelled had the word "jaar" written on them following a range of years. The first row of the first column had 'jaar 1100?' which Nate assumed to mean they weren't sure of the correct date of the items contained but assumed it to be documents from the 10th century.
He ran the torchlight over the rows until, going from column to column until he reached one that said 'jaar 1200-1299'.
"Bingo" he said and walked down that row, his torch shining over the metal dividers that separated the records into decades or, if known, specific years.
1200.
1200-09.
1204.
1207.
1210-19.
1213.
1215.
1216-1225.
"Ahuh" Nate announced.
"You found it?" asked Sully in his ear.
"Not yet, right spot though."
"Well hurry up."
"Didn't they teach you that patience is a virtue in Sunday school?" Nate asked as he pulled a thick, leather bound tome. He opened it and, carefully, flicked through some of the brittles pages but found it to be written in Dutch and he didn't understand any of it.
"I have the patience of a saint" Sully replied. "But this shindig is wrapping up and I can't exactly hang around waiting for you."
The next book was a book of hymns, and another written in Latin. He moved to the next row.
"Go ahead without me if it-" he broke off.
"Nate? Nate, you alright?"
"Hang on Sully," he replied.
A box caught his attention, dusty and water worn. It was small, about the size of a shoe box, and looked like it would break apart in the slightest breeze but on the front of the box was a yellowed label with Dutch writing and underneath it, 'We..over".
Carefully picking up the box and using the flat of his hand to support the base of it, he brought it to the ground.
The lid was taped shut and Nate used a penknife from his backpack to cut the tape on either side of the box and removed the lid.
He was immediately greeted with the musky smell of old, damp paper. Under the guide of his penlight, he examined the contents of the box. There was a small book, some folded pieces of paper, and an old iron key.
Nate grabbed the key and examined it. It wasn't like any key he had ever seen before. It looked like a key for warded locks, like those for cells in dungeons except for the shaft, instead of being a smooth cylindrical shape, was covered in irregular bumps and small channels. Usually these types of keys had one or two prongs at the end - called the bit - which inserted into the lock. But this key had four bits sticking out in four different directions making it look like an X when you looked at it from the bottom.
Pocketing the key, Nate picked up the book and opened it. It looked like a diary and written on the inner cover was the word, 'Roger'.
Holy crap...His heart skipped a beat, this is what they had come for.
"Nate?"
"Yeah Sully?"
"They're closing up shop. I can't hang around any longer."
"I'm done here. Meet me in the front parking lot."
"Will do" his friend said.
Nate picked up the diary and placed it in a plastic zip lock bag he pulled from his backpack. Then, grabbing another zip lock bag, he carefully pulled the folded pages from the box and placed them in the bag. He had another look in the box and seeing nothing else of interest, he put the lid box on and put it back in its spot. There was nothing he could do about the cut tape, but he was sure no one would even notice, at least not any time soon.
Securing his backpack, Nate exited the room.