15
Believ
Built like a fortress, the abbey is surrounded by a thick wall whose only visible entrance is a monumental riveted wooden gate protected by a portcullis.
Despite the number of monks I imagine must reside here, the place is quiet. Perhaps a little too quiet. Only birdsong and the whispering of the wind animate the place. Have they taken a vow of silence?
If this building was indeed originally intended to withstand a siege, it must have alternative accesses. I”m not sure what I”m looking for—tunnels, back doors, or some other way of getting back to the village or countryside undetected.
I follow the walls, my fingertips resting on the stone at eye level. The property is so vast that it takes me a little over an hour and a half to complete the circuit without having detected a single entrance.
“Any ideas, Einstein?” I ask, discouraged, as my specter twirls before me, perplexed.
Since our destination is in sight, he seems more preoccupied than usual. How I can sense his feverishness when he”s currently in a foggy state, I don”t know. But it”s impossible to deny that he”s stressed. I can understand that his desire to find his body takes precedence over everything else, and that the stakes are high, but we”re getting closer to the goal. Why this taciturn look? He should be thrilled. Okay, it”s a bit early to be claiming victory, but all the same, a little optimism would go a long way.
“Let me think,” he replies after a moment. “The idea being to conceal all comings and goings, I wouldn’t imagine that the access is here. In the event of a siege, it would be immediately detected and could be a disadvantage to the attackers.”
“So?”
“We”re too close. We need to distance ourselves to see the big picture.”
“Now you tell me?”
As I was saying, my ghost”s “mind” is elsewhere. When you put it like that, it”s kind of comical, but it”s impossible to describe it any other way.
“I didn”t think of it before, I admit,” he apologizes, confused.
He avoids my gaze. I”m beginning to wonder if he”s a lunatic.
“Which way?”
We”re surrounded by hills that all look the same: greasy grass as far as the eye can see, and the odd bushy grove.
He materializes his hand to take hold of mine and pulls me a little lower. One by one, he examines every unusual feature. Every bush, every stone is thoroughly inspected. Yet the morning goes by without us detecting the slightest trace of passage.
Discouraged, I sit down on a rock. At the same time, the rain invites itself into the game. Just what I needed! I”m already freezing, but if I”m soaking wet, I”m going to die before someone else does me in!
“Have a look!”
What”s he raving about now?
“The rain, it’s pouring.”
Fabulous! The rain is pouring. Now, that”s a useful observation!
I let out a nervous laugh. He stares at me, a little offended. I should explain to him how weary I am, struggling with physical and human contingencies, which he seems to have totally overlooked. Anyway, I let myself go and enjoy this moment, a veritable beneficial outlet.
“Stop laughing at me and watch a little more carefully,” he snarls, following the current as it makes its way downhill before disappearing underground.
My mirth ceases as suddenly as it began. I leap to my feet and approach him.
“A spring?”
“Underground!”
He disappears behind a bush. What the hell is he doing?
Cautiously, I push aside the branches and discover a low stone arch concealed by moss and a large quantity of leaves. As I approach, I realize that it covers a narrow staircase that plunges into the bowels of the hill. I push open the wrought-iron gate and enter the dark passage.
I don”t have much to go on; once at the bottom of the stairs, the little light that had penetrated the passage is swallowed up by darkness. Deprived of my sight, I grope feverishly, my head cradled in my neck so as not to scrape the overly low ceiling. Should I move on or turn back before it”s too late? If someone comes upon me here, I”ll have no way of hiding or escaping.
It”s downright risky, especially since, if this passageway exists, there must be others that are more accessible and less oppressive.
I freeze, hesitant. My heart is beating so fast it feels like it has migrated between my eardrums. I take a few steps forward when something brushes against my calf!
Because there are bugs here too?!
Trying to escape, I nearly slip on the damp, uneven cobbles; the perfect combination to end up in pieces.
Where”s that damn ghost hiding? Now”s the time I need him to glow in the dark!
“Hello?”
My voice, already weak, chokes without finding an echo.
I”m on my own.
For now.
“Roland[1], answer me...” I beg, not knowing whether to scream to get him back or whisper to avoid being spotted.
I”m really going to have to give my sidekick a name, as calling him out without offending him is becoming increasingly complex.
What the hell is he doing?
I should have grabbed the old man”s flashlight when I left him because right now, if I get to the end of the tunnel without spraining something or getting mauled by vermin, I deserve a medal.
“Casper? Yoo-hoo!”
I oscillate between terror and exasperation. Why is it that, in critical moments, I always find myself without support? When it came to feeling me up, there were plenty of people around, but now that I need a guide, my stiff is nowhere to be seen. Shit, it”s for him that I”m throwing myself into the lion”s den; he could at least pretend!
“Shhh! We”re going to be spotted!” he asserts in a whispered shout that sends me over the edge.
“Where the hell have you been?”
“Scouting. It”s this way,” he points out, while I”m still drowning in the gloom.
“Light?”
“Ah, yes, forgive me.”
And there he goes, phosphorescent again, moving forward into the tunnel, which I discover to be infested with rodents of all kinds. A real pleasure. After a few meters, the discomfort of the situation becomes even more pronounced. Not only am I folded in half, but the track is winding as it climbs. The cobblestones are dotted with hollows and bumps, a veritable obstacle course, which alone demonstrates the motivation of those who once walked it.
I don”t know if my ghost is aware of the point to which I”m physically surpassing myself. If not, I”ll be happy to remind him. And it”s all for nothing!
I grumble inwardly. Yes, well, no one has physically restrained me, let”s be honest, him less than anyone. I”m doing all this to... The answer won”t pass my lips.
Finally, we come to a grayish wooden door—probably original, given its faded appearance—which seems to lead to a basement. Or more accurately, a crypt.
“What do we do?”
Panic overwhelms me. That my job is creepy as hell, I freely admit, but this is the first time I”ve broken into private property—okay, the second, if you consider Sir Jones”s mansion—and desecrated a religious enclosure. Not that I”m particularly observant or even religious, but it does give me a strange feeling.
“The wisest thing to do would be to wait until nightfall. I imagine that after a certain hour, the corridors are less crowded.”
He has a point there.
“And where do we start?”
Here I am, getting annoyed by his slightly anxious questions, and now I”m imitating him. On the other hand, my ghost never loses patience and answers calmly, without panicking.
“Upstairs. That way, we”ll be back down here at the end of the night, and we’ll only have to leave in the early hours of the morning. Hopefully, we”ll have found the answers we were looking for in the meantime...”
The memory of my expedition around the abbey comes flooding back. I may have been slowed down by my inspection, but the estate was nonetheless immense. Will a single night be enough to complete the tour?
“I”ll have a look around in the meantime, scouting around in case I spot something...”
How convenient to be a ghost!
And what do I do in the meantime?
Will I have to wait several hours in total darkness with only rats for company?
So it seems.