Nightcrawler held true to his name, climbing from the roof of the annex to the church and entering below through the bell tower. From his wanderings on the large panels in the ceiling, he snuck around until the others were directly below. Movements masked by the obscurity of shadows pooling in the ribbed-vaulted ceiling, he somersaulted to lessen the impact of landing. Dropping behind Donny, he grabbed the poisoner before any of the trio could fire a shot, then spirited him away in a cloud of violet smoke to the bell tower.
Donny tugged at the strings of the flour sack pulled over his head and tied around his neck, but Kurt's large hand wrapped with savage strength around the diminutive villain's wrists. "If you plan to yell for the others," he hissed into the trembling fellow's ear, "I suggest you choose your last words carefully." Seeing that there was still a bit of fight in the other, he teleported to several different points until Donny wobbled from the disorienting effects. He bent his captive backwards over the waist-high wall of the bell tower's cupola. "The sound you hear is the wind ready to sweep you away if you struggle against me. And this revolver," his tail tapped the muzzle of the purloined gun at the part of the mask where Donny's temple would be, "is of no use to you now." Strange noises emanated from the poisoner's throat, the gurgling sounds of breath strangled by fear.
Kurt pulled him upright, then shoved him onto the floor. A bit of rope hidden in the belt loop of his trousers served to bind the captive's hands; one prehensile foot was sufficient to press Donny's knees against the cold concrete. "Is this how you wish to die?" He had always thought that poisoning was a coward's way, and now the proof lay quivering before him.
"No, Smudge – I wasn't gonna hurt nobody. It was all a act."
Kurt's voice was harsh as the wind. "This is no act, be certain of that! What will you give for your freedom?"
"Anything you want. Name it. I got money the others don't know about, I can show you some women who'll have ya worn out in a weekend. Whatever you need, Smudge, I'm your man."
"My needs are much simpler than that. You and the other partners will pledge never to harm the monks here. Not now, not in the future." His hollow laugh punctuated the statements. "Impossible as it may be for you to believe, I guarantee the priest will not reveal the secrets I told. But my trust is not as firm where you are concerned." Nightcrawler's foot twisted, locking Donny's knees, as the gun again stroked the sack covering his head. "I know many secrets of you three, because I have been listening when you did not know I was there. Remember how easily I overcame you now. If anything suspicious happens to these God-fearing men, no matter how far in the future, you shall be repaid in a most unpleasant manner, and more quickly than would seem possible."
"You're bluffing," Donny said, but his voice had no more strength than a toy trumpet.
"Anastasia. Mercury."
"I – I – I don't know what you're talking about."
"Taylor's Tontine."
The supine mercenary stiffened and though he was unable to see it, Kurt's smile gleamed like an electric eel. "I can tell the authorities what I know, and I can show them proof. And Passmaster and Tiny will be very interested to know about the settlement in that affair."
"Whatever you want. I'll protect the monks myself. The others, they'll listen to reason," came the hoarse reply.
Kurt thought, Got him on the ropes. He growled aloud, "Pray that you will be convincing. Or it will be the last mistake you make."
With Donny in his fierce grip, Kurt teleported into the crypt below the church, then took off the man's makeshift mask. "I will leave your hands tied up for now, less trouble for me. Lie face down on the floor between the bones of the good brothers and await my return." In a few moments the other two teammates, all disarmed in Kurt's surprise hostage-taking, were assembled in the musty chamber, nauseated by the teleportation and the nearness of row upon row of skeletons.
He waited until certain the pledges to leave the monks in peace, extracted of surety on the captives' lives, were going to be kept, then departed, leaving the trio to find their way back through the multitude of underground tunnels to the world of the living.
"Vater[1] Ludger?" His eyes swept the room where he had left the priest.
"In here," the monk replied, coming to the threshold of a door, wiping his hands on the inside of the scapular forming the front flap of his robes. "As long as I was confined, I thought it a prudent use of time to mix up some cookies."
"Our lives in danger and you make cookies?"
Father smiled. "You remember the Benedictine motto, yes? Ora et labora."
Kurt responded with a grin of his own. "Oh ja[2], pray und[3] work." How long it had been since he had felt such peace, such companionship!
"You know, Kurt, you are always welcome to return here, as a lay brother if need be."
His mood underwent a swift dive as reality set in. "My place is not here. There are many who still think I am dangerous." He crossed the space between them and held out his hand. "But your offer gives such warmth to my heart. I am grateful indeed."
The older man ignored the extended hand and wrapped Kurt in a hug, patting his shoulders before turning loose. "I will miss you ... again. If your journeys bring you to Winzeldorf in the future, you must visit us. Promise me this."
"I will return, you have my word." He knelt, steepled his knobby fingers, and bowed his dark head. "May I have your blessing before I leave?"
The priest placed his left hand on the waves of blue-black hair, "May the Lord bless and keep you, may He make his face shine upon you, may He smile upon you and give you peace." His right hand traced the Sign of the Cross in the air. "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost."
"Amen," Kurt responded. He could not bear to look at his friend and mentor again, and so teleported instead of walking away. He gathered his few belongings from the accommodation where the four had stayed, then teleported as far as his fatigue allowed. He took a room in another shabby hotel, curled on the bed, and wondered where his life would take him now that he had burned all his bridges. Where could one such as he find a niche? The empty room had no answers, and despite his renewed relationship with God, he felt unworthy to ask for guidance. Although the cleansing of his conscience was a comfort, the future seemed encased in darkness. He tossed and turned, feeling lost in a chaotic world with despair as his only companion.
* * *
Though the memories of his mercenary days still haunted him, recalling the ordeal of sundering his criminal connections before the joint cruise venture with Jimaine was preferable to reflecting on today's crushing failure of the latter enterprise. On the wooden chair in the grubby cantina, he shook his head to dispel the cobwebs; the stuffy room was making his mind as murky as his surroundings. He sat and swilled his beer alone, and it was not refreshing at all, but acrid. Fallout from the day's misunderstandings with Floyd and then Jimaine was taking its toll: his body was tingling with tension as sweat started to stream from his pores. The place took on a heavy feel. It even seemed dark: was something amiss with his eyes? He closed them ...
... and opened them to see a high ceiling, and far too close above him, dangled a shining, sharp-edged dagger.
[1] Father
[2] Yes
[3] and