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Chapter Three
Gabriel woke twice during the night. The first time, he was awakened by Carl's return. He vaguely registered the cold, those damn toes, and a shivering body against him. He heard a low, rapid sound and realized Carl was saying his prayers. The room was dark, and Gabriel drifted off again.
The second time he woke, a pale blue-grey light crept across the stone floor. A candle flickered in the corner. Carl was dressing, judging by the light for Prime. He faced the wall opposite Gabriel and kept up a steady stream of murmurs. Gabriel watched the way he moved, the way the candlelight fell on his legs and left the rest a mass of shadow. Then Carl bent and blew out the flame. He hurried from the room, nothing but a moving shadow.
Gabriel fell asleep.
When he woke again, he had sprawled out as much as he could on the small bed. He knew this without moving from the cold he felt throughout his left hand and foot, both of which hung over the side of the bed. This was the first thing Gabriel noticed. Outside, a bird tittered. Had he missed Terce? No matter… Gabriel smiled and rolled his shoulders, then flexed the muscles in his legs.
Then he cracked open an eye. Yes, he had most certainly missed Terce. The light from the window was weak, but pure brightness. The sun would be nearer overhead than the horizon now, but the light felt too weak for afternoon. What did it matter, anyway? Gabriel did not work in the abbey. His work was outside. The abbey was a place to catch up on sleep, recuperate if wounded (not bloody likely, he thought) and receive new orders.
Gabriel tucked his arms under his head. He would not be receiving new orders for a while yet. Carl needed more time.
It wasn't long before Gabriel was simply too bored to stay still anymore. Gabriel was not one who enjoyed long, thoughtful reflection; Gabriel, rather, enjoyed moving. When he was chasing a demon or a monster across the countryside, it wasn't about destroying evil, not during the chase. Then it was about pure action. It was about his mind taking a pause and his body knowing what to do, just knowing, the way his legs knew to run and ride and climb. It was the closest he had come to happiness in a long time, before last night.
He pushed back the blanket and dressed, unable to keep from thinking that clothing was flat-out annoying, though necessary. The alternative made him smile. Strutting through the abbey nude as though it were—and it was—the most natural of things!
Gabriel chuckled. One of these days he would do something so wild. One of these days he would grow tired of mere defiant talk; still, the defiant talk was entertaining enough. Catholics! The right word in the right place and they were practically rioting. He loved them because they were like toys. He loved them because they were hilarious. He loved the quaint hypocrisy of teaching peace under the image of a bloodied man.
Catholics…
It was something Gabriel had never considered before, how Carl came to the Vatican. He had always thought, well, look at the Vatican, its science, its resources. The things Carl wanted to do and the things he could do because of his mind were realized by access to a monumental amount of supplies and ample time to work. Where else would he find such things? The only answers Gabriel could imagine were in the church or in the castle of a noble, and they both knew the working in the castle of a noble meant being a servant, however opulent your lifestyle. So Carl had come to the Vatican.
That he had come out of love of God had never occurred to Gabriel. Men like Carl relied on God to solve problems they couldn't solve themselves. They relied on God to warn, "Judge not lest ye be judged," or on Jesus to remind them, "Turn the other cheek," because they would undoubtedly lose in a physical fight. God was just another commodity to them.
Gabriel himself considered God a sort of presence in all people, something that felt like glowing in his veins and told him right from wrong. He assumed most people had the same sensations, though muted, more faith than knowledge. Again, it seemed strange that Carl would have faith. Carl didn't have faith. His world was divided between knowledge and mystery.
This was the man Gabriel saw, the man who followed after him, the man who gave him toys and the chance to joke at his expense and, unknowingly, great succor.
Great—Gabriel chuckled at the thought and shook his head. That was a good one. Too bad Carl hadn't said it or he would make a joke.
Yes. Carl. That was the man Gabriel Van Helsing saw in the little friar, who was not so small in the end but rather unnoticed. He thought he knew Carl inside and out. Carl was rational, clever, absent-minded, with little to no sense of humor. Where inside that friend was the nervous creature running to Mass? Where was the Catholic who sinned?
It bothered Gabriel greatly. He had worked six years with Carl and thought he knew him inside and out, but now he wondered. He knew the small things. He knew that Carl bit his nails when he was very nervous or upset or distracted, that heights and spiders terrified him--more than other things, anyway--what he looked like when he came. Surprisingly Gabriel had known the last for years, almost two and a half years, since the night Gabriel couldn't sleep and he learned that even friars have those dreams.
Gabriel knew the ins and outs of Carl's daily habits, there was no doubt about that, but there were facts missing. Where was Carl from? How did he begin to study chemistry? Did he have family? How had he come to the church? What did he believe about God?
What was his last name?
to be continued