Chapter Three: A Scolaris Gestos V

He pulled a small key from within his habit and unlocked a cabinet built into the wall. From it, he withdrew a thin manuscript bound in green leather.

"Take this," he said, pressing it into my hands. "My private calculations regarding certain celestial events recorded during the period that interests you. I made these observations decades ago and have shared them with no one. If you insist on pursuing this matter, at least do so with accurate data."

I stared at the manuscript, hardly believing what had just happened. "Why would you help me, after warning me away from this path?"

Brother Clemens smiled faintly. "Perhaps because, despite my warnings, a part of me still believes as Heraclitus did: 'Nature loves to hide, and thus before all other things is not readily revealed.' Perhaps the scholar in me cannot entirely surrender to the monk."

He glanced toward the door, then lowered his voice. "But be careful, Brother Lukas. There are eyes watching you—not just Father Umbertus, not just the abbot, but others. Men who have dedicated their lives to maintaining the chronology as we know it."

"The guardians of true time," I murmured.

"So they style themselves." He grimaced. "Though what they guard may be a fortress built on sand."

I clutched the manuscript, already planning where I might hide it. "Thank you, Brother Clemens. I will use this wisely."

"See that you do." He turned back to his instruments, a clear dismissal. "And Brother Lukas?"

I paused at the door. "Yes?"

"If you find yourself in danger, come to me. I may be old, but I still have some influence... and more importantly, experience in navigating these treacherous waters."

I nodded my thanks and departed, the manuscript concealed within my habit, pressed against my racing heart. Outside, the spring sunshine bathed the abbey in deceptively peaceful light. Brothers moved about their daily tasks, novices studied in small groups, life continued in its ordained patterns.

Yet now the very stones of Saint Gallen seemed to conceal secrets. Every shadow might hide a watcher, every casual conversation might contain a test or a trap. The solid ground of history was shifting beneath my feet, revealing not bedrock but shifting sands.

As I crossed the cloister, I spotted Father Umbertus in conversation with a man I did not recognize—a visitor, judging by his attire. Tall and lean, with a scholar's stoop and a face like a carved mask, he carried himself with the authority of one accustomed to command. On his finger glinted a ring bearing a familiar symbol: a circle quartered by a cross.

I stopped, pretending to adjust my sandal while studying the stranger from beneath lowered lashes. Father Umbertus gestured in my direction, and the visitor turned, his gaze falling upon me with the weight of a stone slab.

In that moment, I felt a certainty as cold and clear as ice water: this man had come for me. Or rather, for what I knew—or what I might discover.

I straightened and continued on my way, fighting the urge to break into a run. The manuscript from Brother Clemens seemed to burn against my chest, a physical manifestation of the dangerous knowledge I now carried.

Back in the scriptorium, I found a temporary hiding place for the green manuscript—inside a hollow space behind a loose stone in the wall, near where I worked. Later, I would transfer it to my cell, adding it to my growing collection of forbidden knowledge.

Brother Adelbert appeared shortly thereafter, his round face flushed. "There you are! Father Umbertus has been asking for you."

"Has he?" I kept my voice neutral as I pulled another bundle of Reichenau documents toward me. "I was consulting with Brother Clemens on some astronomical references in these texts."

"Well, he wishes to see you immediately. In the abbot's study."

The abbot's study. Not Father Umbertus's office, but the formal chamber where the most serious matters of the abbey were discussed. My mouth went dry.

"Did he say why?"

Adelbert shook his head. "Only that it concerns a visitor from Rome. A Vatican archivist, I believe."

The stranger with the quartered circle ring. I drew a deep breath, steadying myself. "Very well. I will go at once."

As I made my way through the abbey's corridors, I composed my thoughts, preparing for what would surely be a challenge to my investigation. The Vatican itself had sent an emissary—whether to question me, warn me, or silence me remained to be seen.

One thing was certain: my discovery of the forbidden manuscript had set in motion forces more powerful than I had imagined. The guardians of time's lie were mobilizing, reaching out with long arms to contain the threat I posed to their carefully constructed fiction.

But they had underestimated the power of a scholarly curiosity, for the true scholar possesses more natural curiosity than any ten of the proverbial cats. And as Seneca the Elder had written, "Ignis aurum probat, miseria fortes viros." Fire tests gold, adversity tests strong men.

And it all too likely that I, a humble assistant librarian of Saint Gallen, was soon to be tested by fire and adversity alike.