Birgitta the Nun

Part 9 - The Search

As luck would have it, the next day, after a sparse breakfast, the wizard found herself alone, no reluctant host or funny games in store for her. Were the nuns to have forgotten about her completely, it would have suited her perfectly. Finally, she could relax and focus on what was important, the real reason for her visit to the monastery. She pulled her hat hard down over her head, let the brim shade her eyes, and sneaked out of her room.

Unfortunately, she had learned nothing. The monotonous corridors had yet to seem familiar, make themselves recognizable. They refused to give her any sense of direction, and she was as lost as the day before. Thus, as she tiptoed away from her quarters, all around her lay anonymous - stonewalls and portraits, and some more stonewalls and portraits, giving away no details, displaying no uniqueness.

But, as she had learned nothing about orientation, she had also learned nothing about defeat. Her mission was set, planned in minute details - well, perhaps not in details, more of a holistic approach kind of a plan, a hunch - and she would push for her goal like the best of entrepreneurs. Just showing up was half the battle won, she knew as much. Then, let her courage take over, sooner or later she had to stumble upon something curious—something, perhaps, a bit restricted from inspection? And not meant for the eyes of a newcomer?

By chance, this time, no cat was stalking her, or so she tried to convinced herself. She wouldn't let her guard down. Around every corner, she was sure to bump into some annoyance - an inquisitive nun, a sarcastic feline, or a loud cook.

Thus she made her progress, bit by bit, not smoothly, but at least forward. At all costs, she wanted to keep her expedition private, and as far as she could see, no one was following her trail. Neither did she meet anyone on her way through the hallways.

At a turn, down yet another stony corridor, she came to an abrupt halt. Something had caught her attention. She hesitated, retraced her steps, then, turned towards the wall. An extra unpleasant-looking portrait hit her eye. She made herself look, took it all in - the stern eyes and the hooked nose, the stiff uniform, the uncomfortable atmosphere filling the whole of the frame, an aura of nastiness—it was not that it was a very bad portrait - the brushstrokes were rather clever - just that the face of this very venerable nun was particularly unpleasant. Was that a smile? Something was happening in the corner of the nun's mouth, but Charlie couldn't wrap it up. Also, she noticed a cat lurking in the picture, at the bottom, just above the frame. Who would paint a cat? At a second glance, it seemed to be mocking her. Charlie shuddered.

The painting was hard to look at, indeed, made one's eyes tear up, but the wizard steeled herself and studied it with forced interest. Ugliness crept under her skin, under her eyelids. It wasn't supposed to be there. No, the wizard was sure now, the painting had to go. And so, in a swift movement, she took it down. The painting went to the floor with a thud and a clean space of wall opened up before her.

She paused to consider her next move, carefully raising her hand to feel the bared surface. Then, she went for it, her fervor without restraint. She flew at the wall, at the stones, at the surface, devoured it with her greed. Her sharp fingers picked between the bricks, searched for suspicious cracks, traced the outlines of every stone, every edge and dent—only to find nothing. The wall refused to reveal its secrets, its hidden treasures, despite her being certain that the hideous painting must be protecting something. Who would put up such a scary portrait, if not to conceal something? Or divert attention? Charlie's attention sure enough was diverted. She turned away as she put the portrait back on the wall, tried to avoid eye contact with the ironic-looking nun. It drained her energy. She hung her head, sighed, and left for a new place to search.

Now and again she stopped in the middle of the corridor, consulted a piece of paper brought out from under her robe. It must have been some encryption or fragment, or ancient greek, because the wizard behave as if she had no clue what she was dealing with. She studied the paper with close attention, turned it upside-down, back and forth - she even brought it to her nose and sniffed it - and yet, an expression of befuddlement was all that appeared and remained on her face.

As it happened, Charlie put away the note and looked ahead, just as the corridor upped and ended, leaving her exposed to the open area of a grand salon. Very much surprised, she leapt back to hide behind the corner. What was this now? The wizard shot out her head from her hiding-place—where did this pompous salon come from? She could swear it hadn't been there just the day before, this—phenomenon. It looked like any other salon, only—it had to be in the wrong place. Could she have reached the northernmost salon of the monastery? But no—not according to her calculations. No calculation would bring her here. Again, she consulted her cryptic paper. It seemed she had stumbled upon something out of the ordinary, something waiting to happen—and by all means, she would see to it that it did.

Once more, Charlie found she had encountered some kind of magic. She pulled her head back and gathered her courage. For being a wizard, suspicious events and eery objects made her rather nervous. A last glance over her shoulder told her she was alone. Then, she edged her way around the corner, into the salon.

The grandness of the place struck her anew and the wizard took it in with awe. In the middle of the widespread floor, she raised her head and felt the vastness of the ceiling. It took her by surprise. She almost forgot about her snooping. But only almost. As the impressions settled down around her, in a fit of agony, she clasped her hat and ran for cover. Like an eel in a current, she flowed with the rush of defeat, to and fro, among the furniture and the windows. A pair of heavy curtains would save her, their thick, comforting fabric wrapping her up good. Silence ensued.

The curtains tightened their grip around Charlie's arms and she relaxed. They had a way of conveying a feeling of safety - fabric and silence, that is, had. Yes, they could do that. This was a good place, they communicated, and she understood. She could stay here for a while, all snug, and figure things out. She was in no hurry, really—or was she?

Then came the heat. Perspiration formed on her forehead and made her skin slippery. Her pompous hat slid further and further down her face - her eyes and ears disappeared.

She felt nothing like the effective spy she had set out to be, all wrapped up in heavy, dusty fabric, with a hat over her face. What was she doing here anyway? Doubt came over her. Sure, initially excitement had ruled her agenda, but now—her conviction faltered. Sweat flowed down her face, her pulse picked up speed.

She leaned on her staff and pushed back a corner of the curtain—it was now or never. Again, a quick glance at her note - then she set to work.

The curtains rustled as she bounced out of her hiding place. She stopped in front of the wall of her choice, nodded, and put her ear to the cold bricks. Yes, this would be it. This was the place—no nasty picture in the way this time, thank heaven.

Her hands raced over the brickwork. Tap-tap, in rapid succession, her fingers patted the surface. A crack in the concrete made her pause. She picked up her staff, shoved the top-end into the crevice, in between two unconnected bricks, and heaved herself upon of the lever—

Incidentally, hiding behind another curtain, a cheeky little cat made observations. She appreciated neither guests nor wizards, and had made it her mission to keep an eye on the suspicious character. She could find nothing normal about the behavior of this guest. A guest shouldn't sneak around like this. A guest shouldn't be poking behind paintings, and certainly not be hiding behind curtains. That wasn't quite the thing, either, to be spying on honorable nuns. The cat shook her little head. Who would have thought? Well, call it cat-instinct, but she sure had her reasons for suspicion.

Pleased to find her distrust in the right place, she now bided her time, calculating how to deliver the revelations to her mistress. Just a minute more now, and the wizard would be in deep trouble—Birgitta would love to hear about this.

A sharp, 'crack,' made the cat bristle. The echo of the clamor crept under her skin, locked her paws to the floor. She hadn't expected this, this—noise. No, not noise—she hated noise. Again came a, 'crack,'—hit her poor, oversensitive ears. Her claws shot out and she made ready to flee. How could she keep her calm, overwhelmed by this noise? She was a cat for Heaven's sake, a fur-ball full of reaction and instinct. Yet again, there came a, 'crack,' - and the cat took off like a cannonball.