Coimbra, 16th - Late Afternoon & Evening

The General had not yet visited the side of the monastry to which the monks had retreated - he had not yet had business to, preferring to leave the Order which they had distrubed enough already as much to their peace as possible - yet this development could not be ignored, if indeed it was true.

He was now walking down one of the connecting corridors, flanked by Sanders, in search of one of the senior brothers who might be able to enlighten him.

The abbot looked away from the novice master at the sound of confident footsteps down the corridor. It was the English General whose headquarters now occupied part of the monastery. What did the man want here on the side where the monks retreated to?

Ahead there were two monks standing talking, and as the elder of the two turned his face to look towards them Wellesley recognised the Abbot who he had met a couple of times before. The best person to ask in the circumstances, and Wellesley slowed his pace, nodding his head politely.

"Forgive me, Father Abbot," he said. "I am sorry to intrude upon your peace, yet I have just now heard a disturbing piece of news from a pair of my sentries. I was hoping that you might be able to tell me whether it was true."

The abbot nodded to the General politely, then with a gesture dismissed the novice master.
'Disturbing news, my son? Pray tell me of what is it you speak.'

Had the matter been a less serious one the General might have raised a disapproving eyebrow at the 'my son' - so far as he was aware he was black marked as one of the Heathen Protestant. He lowered his voice slightly.

"That a monk was found dead late this morning in this half of the monastry."

The abbot stared at the man in surprise.
'I assure you that none of the brothers...,' then the abbot smiled sadly. 'I think I know of what you speak. One of the novices met with an accident this morning, but I assure you that God was watching over his own, and the boy is conscious and well, and the infirmarian tells me will be fit to return to his duties in one or two days.'

"I am relieved to hear it," Wellesley said, and he blessed the sense he'd had to ascertain the truth of the matter. "And that the boy shall make a full recovery. I have learnt from experience never to trust the word of a private soldier unless it is backed up by a more reliable source or plain circumstance; happily this time proved to be a case of misinformation."

'It is indeed. Is there anything else you wished to speak of, my son?' Enquired the abbot, his voice calm and patient, as if he had all the time in the world and was ready to devote all his attention to the General if the man needed it

"No, thank you," Wellesley said. "You have put my mind at ease. Might I ask, though, how he came by his accident? It must have been quite serious to cause such gossip."

The abbot shook his head, with small sad smile touching his lips.
'You must not be deceived by the fact that our monastery stands in a middle of a town. We are a closed society, and, unfortunately, this gives a fertile ground for rumours, and the smallest things can get blown out of proportion. We might be men of God, but we are still men.' He paused, face becoming serious again, but not forbidding.

'The boy seems to have taken a fall down a flight of rather steep stairs, while it was still dark.'

"An unfortunate accident, as you say," Wellesley commented. "Thank you, Father, I shall not take up any more of your valuable time."

The abbot nodded. 'Very well. I thank you for the concern you showed over our affairs, my son, but do not worry yourself so much about them. It is my duty to carry the responsibility for my flock.' Replied the abbot, when he heard a note of disbelief in the man's statement: whoever he was, the abbot certainly did not want him prying into the realm that had nothing to do with him.

"Indeed. Good day to you, Father."

Wellesley turned and left, calmly returning down the corridor back to the army quarter of the building.

"Well, that was a waste of time!" he murmured quietly to Sanders once they were out of earshot of the abbot. Sanders made a noise of affirmation; it certainly did not pay to put too much of a score on the word of private soldiers - especially ones that had been standing around for severasl hours with nothing to do.

The rest of the afternoon passed by without incident, and at a half past seven Wellesley finished his dinner in the Mess and returned to his rooms. He had told Hunter to ask Von Dorn for a meeting this evening, yet he had received no reply in the positive. However, it might merely be that Von Dorn was not the kind to send replies to invitations - his cryptic messages so far and use of Hunter was enough indication of that - so he decided to wait.

He settled down in a chair before the fire and studied the letter again. It did not, as before, reveal much about the man. Bold handwriting, a few spelling mistakes here and there with evidence of creative grammar, but he did not even know whether the letter had been written by Von Dorn and not some other hand in his service. He folded the paper up again and put it in his breast pocket.

And waited.

Fandorin approached the Headquarters at about five minutes to eight. It took sometime for the sentries to locate Hunter, who apparently just finished his dinner. The two greeted each other amiably enough, but beyond that they did not speak.

George led Fandorin through the corridors to the room where Wellesley was secluded and asked the sentries to inform the General about Von Dorn's arrival.

The knock came on the door and Wellesley was informned that Von Dorn was here. As he'd suspected; not a man to generally make his intentions known. The General nodded to the sentry, and stood from his chair, back to the fireplace, to face the visitor.

Fandorin came in, leaving Hunter in the corridor. Once inside he stopped. and rested his cane on the floor, taking in the sight of the General.
'Good evening, sir. I thank you for agreeing to see me.' Said Fandorin in slightly accented English.

"Good evening, mein Herr," Wellesley replied, his blue eyes scrutinising every aspect of von Dorn's appearance. He indicated Hunter with a lift of his head.

"Would you object to my officer staying?"

Fandorin looked straight at the General.
'I would for it is not for his ears, but if you cannot be persuaded to see me otherwise...' Fandorin's voice trailed off, and he waited for the General's decision, twirling the cane lightly.

Wellesley considered for a moment. He did not like the look of this man. He was too confident, too cold and too well-dressed for a mere banker or lawyer, even if he was Prussian. There was somethin that was unsettling about him. An assassin? Possibly. But Wellesley had taken precautions. He nodded.

"Very well," he said. "Hunter, be so good as to take the gentleman's cloak, hat and cane and wait outside."

He could have said 'accoutrements', but that would have left too much open to interpretation.

Fandorin gave up his things without a protest. Hunter took the things and left the room.

'Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, sir, perhaps we can get to business.' Fandorin remained standing on the same spot, clasping his hands behind the back. He did turn to look out of the window for a moment but soon the gaze of his 'pupil-less' eyes was back on the General.

"We might, sir," Wellesley said flatly. "But to do that firstly I must know what your business is, as I am - to use a common phrase - somewhat 'in the dark' as to your intentions."

Fandorin drew a small pouch out of his jacket and stepping slowly to the desk placed it there.
'I have, what you might call, a gift for you, sir.' Stated Fandorin coldly, the word gift said as if it left an upleasant taste in his mouth.

"For me or for my government?" Wellesley asked, keeping his eyes fixed on Fandorin, not moving from his curent position by the fire.

'If you are inclined to be precise, it would be best to say for your army.' Fandorin words were clipped and precise. He rather disliked 'dancing' around the matter.