Coimbra

When Widmayer came back from seeing Hunter off, Fandorin asked:
'So would you like to my plans for tomorrow?'

"Yes. " He closed the door behind him and all of his earlier act was lost, as he sat himself into the chair, his eyes bright and attentive, but far from being as submissive and correct as before. There was a trace of annoyance on his face, and a slight tired look for the sleep that called perhaps to either.

He leaned closer then, so that his fellow needn't speak too loud at all, and listened.

(ooc - and with this i have to go! Adieu!)

Fandorin lifted an ironic eyebrow at Widmayer, and twirled the quill between his long fingers.
'I shall await a reply to my letter. Once I deal with that, I shall take a stroll to the favoured place of Mr. Branco. I am not quite sure where the enquiries will lead me from there'. He kept twirling the quill for a moment longer, then dropped it abruptly and stood up.
'And now, if you are satisfied, I think we better retire for the night'.

[OOc: bye, bye!]

Hunter walked briskly back to the headquarters: the whole visit did not take much time and he was certain that he would be back before the dinner was over.

"Good night, sir." He nodded curtly and moved from the table. Business taken care of, it was no less appreciate to lie in bed and allow oneself to sleep and dream and above all rest as was desired.

He held a hand before his mouth as he yawned and turned to leave for his accommodation.

Fandorin watched Widmayer leave and settled more comfortably into his chair, stretching his legs out and lighting another cigar. He found that the older he got, the less he slept, and now free of any interraptions, he settled into deep thought, his eyes staring unblinkingly and unnervingly at something no one else could see.

Usually, George planned things like that a little more carefully, but as he walked throught the narrow streets back to Santa-Cruz convent, it struck him, that there was no time quite like the present. The crowds were getting rowdy and drunk and inattentive. Nothing betrayed an officer in Hunter: he was not wearing his hat and the uniform was well hidden by the cloak that could well pass for a university robe in the darkness. He walked purposefully, like he belonged there and turned into the small lane by Arco do Almedina. It was empty. Knocking on one of the few doors, he waited and when the door opened, he mouthed the pre-arranged signal and was let in.

Some short time later George stepped out from a deserted tavern on a parallel lane, and smiling not unlike the cat who got the cream, walked back to the headquarters to await the end of the formal dinner thrown for Wellesley.

[OOC: plays Dart Vader's theme from SW].

[OOC: We seem to have a plethora of Dark Lords suddenly...]

[OOC: could not help it, I originally planned him as, erm, Dexter-like person].

[OOC: As long as we don't start getting Jedi, I don't mind. ]

[OOC: yuck. *hates Jedi* My favourite was always Dart Maul (if im spelling that right). Good thing is, he is going to be veeery pleasant now].

The dinner was still going on, yet after two hours Wellesley had managed to excuse himself, pleading urgent business to attend to; though doubtless anyone who laid eyes on him that evening could see for themselves that he lacked energy.

He found his way back to the rooms had been designated as his. He had dismissed Beckerman earlier to go and enjoy a little of the evening's celebrations, and once inside the room he paused only long enough to remove his coat, stock, waistcoat and kick off his boots before he slumped onto the bed face down. He fell asleep almost immediately.

Being informed by the sentries that the General was resting, George asked them to tell Sir Arthur when he did wake that he had a letter for him and then prowled the monastery quite happily.

The refectory where the dinner was held was being cleaned out but the earlier splendour was still visible in the numerous candles that remained lit and the huge flower arrangements along the walls. George paused to sniff the fragrance, then continued on into the cloister where the air was dark and fragrant. He sat down by one of the trees and happily studied the stars, identifying what constellations he could. He could not sleep on a night quite as beautiful as this one.

Someone approached him in the darkness. Hunter recognised the man as the abbot of Santa-Cruz, who was among the dignitaries welcoming Wellesley. The abbot stopped and smiled at him.
'Should not you be resting, my son? Tomorrow will be a busy day'.
'I cannot sleep', answered Hunter looking at the Abbot.
'Is something praying on your mind?'
Hunter shook his head gently:
'No, quite the opposite. I feel too free at the moment to waste my time on sleeping'.
The abbot looked at the young man quizzically, then seeing that no explanation was coming, wished him good night and left.

George finally stirred when the heavy velvet darkenss started to lighten: it was not quite dawn yet, but one could see a strip of of sky a little less dark than the rest. Getting up, George took a stroll round the cloister to stretch his legs and then walked to the monastery's kitchen where he was obligingly given some fresh bread with honey and milk. Practically devouring his portion, George took some food for Fernao and walked to his room, where the boy slept peacefully. Leaving the food on the table, he slipped out quietly and made his way to the long and elaborately decorated balcony where the door of Sir Arthur's chamber came out. Descending from it, he picked up a candle and studied the gothic architecture of the lower floor with interest, bringing the candle close to small details on the walls and once in a while tracing them with a reverent finger.

There were dim sounds of activity throughout the monastery as the monks prepared for matins, the dawn prayer. Once in a while a solitary monk or a pair of them would pass George by, on their way to the church, their steps energetic and eager. It was a pattern broken only once, by a sound of footfalls a little more shuffling, a little less full of life. George looked up from a relief he was studying a to see a positively ancient man in a habit. He gave a half-bow to the man, who seemed to exude authority. The monk took it as an invitation for a conversation.
'You are interested in the architecture'. It was more a statement than a question.
'Well, I don't know much, but I have heard a lot of the splendour of the late gothic style, so peculiar to Portugal. A complex, composite style, that draws on the Plateresque style of Spain. I used to hear lectures on it in Salamanca'.
The old man studied George with a peculiar intenseness.
'It is always heartening to meet a young man of the world who appreciates knowledge. You may visit me if you have time. I am the librarian here. Brother William of Baskerville'. The librarian turned to continue on his way, but not before he said. 'You have a spot of blood on your left hand, son'.

George somewhat stunned by the librarian glanced down at his fingers that were wrapped round the candlestick. There was indeed a drop of blood on one of them. He licked it off.

[OOC: Kudos to those who recognised William of Baskerville, I just couldn't resist the allusion. XD]

As the morning crept closer, George's gaze fell on small tapestry. It looked old but some of its colours were still bright and vivid. Especially the crimson. He came closer, his eyes never leaving the patch of blood red textile. Slowly, he smiled.

Hunter was disturbed by the footfalls again. Only this time he was pretty sure they did not belong to monks. He watched in astonishment as a Colonel of Engineers appeared followed by men who probably belonged to Royal Sapers and Artificers, as well as several low-ranking officers: all the men were carrying gunpowder kegs. The Colonel was obviously showing the way, while a Captain of Engineers, a huge grin plastered on his face concluded the procession. As they passed him, the Captain approached him and looking him deep in the eyes said:
'You saw nothing', the words did not sound like an order, more a request.
'If you tell me what is going on: it does look like you are stealing our army's powder stores'. The Captain of the Engineers smiled.

'Actually we are preventing it from being stolen by the Artillery Corps from us. They are so greedy: their own powder is never enough, they always want to commandeer ours, so we are repositioning our stores here'.
'To the General's headquarters?' asked Hunter incredulously.
'Starley'll never dare to search them'. The engineer actually giggled. 'So, you won't mention anything? I'll make sure the Colonel feels obliged'.
'Er, sure, but if the General...'.
'Well, of course you can tell him, if he asks, but just don't tell anyone from artillery'.

Having reached an agreement, they shook hands and Needham sped away to catch up with his men, leaving Hunter alone again, who was starting to think that perhaps the world was a tad more bizzare than he thought.

The sky has turned lighter and more colourful, though the sun was yet to appear over the horizon, when Fandorin made his way to the study, a dressing gown thrown over his shirt and breeches, strands of hair falling onto his forehead. The maid brought coffee and placed on the table: as per his orders there were two cups on the tray.

Opening the window, he poured himself a cup and lit cigar.

"Good morning, sir." A man appeared at the door, clad in servant's clothing. Not as fine as that of his master, with a submissive look on his face he walked across the room and waited at the seat, to be offered to be seated.

'Sit down, Widmayer, have some coffee? Slept well?'
Fandorin sat himself down too, without once looking at the young man.

"... Yes, sir. Thank you." He slowly sat down and glanced to Fandorin. He took the cup of coffee and went to drink it, silence again stretching between the two men.

'Good, it shall be a tiring day. Do you remember your instructions?'
Fandorin finally looked at the youth: whatever he'd said about sleeping well, he was sure Widmayer would not have minded an extra few hours of sleep.

"Observe.. learn the habits, the ways and the movements of my target sir. " He nodded. He was tired, but it was no reason nor right for him to complain.

'Good, I shall need you to go to Santa Cruz monastery, I suggest it to be your first destination, while it's still dawning. Make up a reason, what I want is for you to study the inner layout of the monastery. It won't be easily accessible: the monks don't let general public in and, besides the General's headquarters are in one of the monastery's parts'.

(OOC: I can edit out the monastery part out if it seems weird. But I thought that's provide more playing tangents).

"I am to explore the monastery sir?.. May I inquire to the reason." He asked taking another sip.

"Become a monk, you want me sir." He murmured more to himself.

'Well, it's simply a contigency plan, after all that's where Hunter is residing'. Having sharp hearing Fandorin heard the muttered comment, and replied, raising an ironic eyebrow. 'And you think you'll make a good one, do you?'