Fragility

9 The Black Bowels of Ol Saint Hildegard

The sun was just about to set over the wall of fog that encircled the island, giving the place an off-colouration of an orange-golden brownish haze or tinge. We travelled down the cobblestone road all day and finally came to the outskirts of Ol Saint Hildegard. We stood on a grassy knoll of the hillside, feeling the cool wind of the sea kiss our faces, and here we have a panoramic view down into the old city. Sure enough, it has that old feeling look to it. Still has its massive thirty-foot stone walls built back in the 16th century. A fort is right in the mouth of the port's bay, where many fishing boats were moored.

To the west of the city, on the waterfront, is an old industrial factory built in the 1850s; it seemed; there was a lighthouse built on a rocky crag. Part of the city in the north sections seemed to have been destroyed. Buildings are crumbled into ruins and looked black as coal. Probably a fire swept through some time ago and destroyed these now-abandoned districts. In the heart of the city, where it would seem the city hall would be built, a grand cathedral resided; its architectural design was of the turn of the century neo-gothic and art nouveau. The cathedral's walls were outfitted with high arch windows, decorated with brightly coloured stained glass, made into strange designs, with four slender cone-shaped bell towers hundreds of feet tall. And on the southeast is an old grey stone manor, three or four stories tall. It looked like a castle built upon a sea cliff face, having a dominating view of the Atlantic and Saint Hildegard. I suspected that is where Ostermann lives.

"The sun is not set yet, and I don see the Leviathan in port. We must be an hour early." Captain Jethro pondered, stroking his beard as he turns to us.

"We'll get in ta the city and try ta sneak into thar cargo, waitin on the docks ta be loaded into the Leviathan, and then it's smooth sailin back to Portland." all of Jethro's crew held a look of relief on their faces, but not me, my gut had a bad feeling about this plan.

We continued on our way to Saint Hildegard, passing the hillside cemetery and the burnt-down ruins of an old stone chapel where a blackened steeple fell right over onto the front stoop. From the looks of the old church, it seemed Roman Catholic in its design, with a gothic aesthetic common in northern European churches and cathedrals. It has arch windows, with stained glass smashed, and the roof above caved in. My mind went wild with thoughts and speculation; probably, arson occurred. Yet from the looks of the city's north side and what we found in the Hoffenburg Farm, I felt something worse happened, a purge of some kind, maybe?

We made it to the north side wall of the city, and right at the north gate entrance, a massive ten-foot wooden door held by well-maintained iron hinges.

"Let's see if it opens up." Jethro went ahead and pushed on it. It wouldn't budge.

"Eh, thar beam lock still holdin it in place," Jethro turned to me, "Lancy, ya gotz yar rope?"

"Yeah, I have it here." I immediately go to my duffle bag and grabbed the rope with the grappling hook.

"Handy lad ya are." Jethro chuckled, taking the rope from me and goes to one side of the gatehouse. Jethro had the bundled-up rope in his left arm as his right-hand swung the hook for a few revolutions before throwing it over his head.

At the bottom of the wall, we all hear the metal clang on the stone wall walkway. Jethro gave a firm hard yank of the hook that the metal drags and catches itself between two embrasures.

"We'll head up one at a time," Jethro ordered as he climbs up the wall's surface first and makes it to the top. Each of his crew members goes up than me. Yet, my injured right knee can't bend naturally and is painfully stiff.

"Uh, little help, guys?" I called up, looking at Jethro and his crew looking down on me.

"Let's leave him cap; he's no good to us. He'll only slow us down." Santos advises.