Eliot Pattison - Eye of the Raven

Moses quickly leafed through the rest of the pages. "Not here. A separate book apparently. They would not want the adopted returnees to easily piece together their prior life. A clean break is sought." He stood, returning the book, closed the cabinet, and led them into the adjoining room, which judging by its furnishings was the office of an important personage.

"Leave everything as we find it," Moses warned, discomfort entering his voice for the first time. "This is the bishop's office."

Duncan and Conawago carefully opened the cabinet beside the large desk, finding financial records, birth and death records, ledgers of immigrants from Germany, even several Bibles of various sizes.

"The bishop interviews the families in great detail and records his findings," Moses whispered when their search proved fruitless. "The decision on adoption rests with him."

"And anyone who has been adopted would know this, would know the bishop kept such notes?" Duncan asked.

"Of course. And often the decision is made in the spring, before the summer work begins."

"Which means," Conawago said, "that he would be writing in the same journal now, making entries even today."

Moses nodded. "He often works late, making use of the evening light at the table by the window." The table was the one piece of furniture they had not touched. Duncan held the candle close, illuminating a long single drawer underneath. Conawago tried it and found it locked.

"Not locked," Duncan said, pointing to a small wedge of wood that had been jammed into the gap between the drawer and the frame around it. "Only made to appear so." He knelt, studying the lock carefully, pointing out the way the wood had been slightly splintered around it. Popping out the wedge, he pulled on the drawer. It was empty save for a few quills and a quill knife.

"I saw the bishop working at this table this very evening," Moses said. "He waved from the window. This tampering happened tonight, after he left."

"If you knew the building, and the routines of its inhabitants, what would be the safest way to steal the book?" Duncan asked.

It was Conawago who answered. "Enter while the daily business is underway and hide, then take the book and leave in the middle of the night. Perhaps take a nap, wait for the big clock in the central hall to strike midnight since many of the faithful keep working until they need sleep."

It was a long chance, but the only one they had. Duncan glanced at the smaller clock on the bishop's desk and lowered his voice to a whisper. "In a quarter hour."

"Then we must make ready now," Moses confirmed, and he turned to look back into the hallway. "Upstairs would be the place to hide. There is another floor, then an attic, neither used as much as the lower ones."

Duncan blew out the candle and quickly conferred with his companions. At either end of the second floor was a set of stairs to the third floor, then one central one to the attic, all three with doors into the stairwells. They quickly placed a tall chair stacked with books against the one at the west end, leaving Conawago to watch there. Then Duncan and Moses crept up to the third floor. The first two chambers were storerooms stacked with crates against the walls. They positioned themselves in the open doorways on either side of the hallway. As they settled in Duncan began hearing small sounds and occasional creaks of boards. Such a huge log building would have noises of its own, Duncan told himself, and no doubt hosted more than a few rodents.

The large clock downstairs chimed a hymn then struck the hour on a big bell that resonated throughout the building. Less than a minute later Duncan heard something new, a succession of squeaks from floor boards, and he ventured a look down the corridor. In the moonlight cast through the window at the far end of the hall was a new shadow, a figure creeping along the wall toward the far stairs. Moses was on his feet, ready to spring their trap once the man was forced to retreat to the stairs they guarded.

But the intruder did not retreat. Moments after he slipped into the stairwell, they heard the sound of pounding, then a splintering of wood.

"Conawago!" Duncan cried, and leapt down the stairs. By the time he reached the second floor the sounds of struggle were unmistakable. The old Nipmuc was holding his own, sitting against the door, pushing with all his might as someone on the other side hacked at the thin wood with a hand ax. "A table!" Duncan called, as he reached his friend's side. "I will bring a table to press against the door!"

But his words were enough. The sounds from the other side instantly stopped. Without an instant's hesitation Conawago flung the door open and was in chase, Duncan at his heels. At the top of the stairs they could see Moses silhouetted at the far end, his hand raised in signal. Their quarry was in one of the chambers off the hallway. Duncan darted into the first room, leaving Conawago to watch the hall. He found a broom and recklessly probed the shadows with its handle, aware that the intruder could be armed. But he had no time for caution. Every minute increased the likelihood he would be missed from the jail.

Finally, in the third room, a figure sprang out from behind a crate. Duncan jumped forward, seizing the man's leg. "The book!" he called to Conawago, who leapt toward them, knocking the journal from the man's hand then launching a stack of dusty ledgers from a small table as the two men fell.

"Bastard!" the stranger cursed in English, lashing out with his elbows, kicking off Duncan's grip, and slamming a fist into the old Indian's belly before grabbing his book and leaping up to flee along the hall. As he did so he uttered an urgent command in a tribal tongue.

"There are two!" Conawago warned, and an instant later Duncan heard a familiar hiss. He flattened against the wall as the arrow rushed by, not expecting the second arrow that quickly followed the first. He heard with dread the thud as the arrow hit, heard the gasp as Conawago dropped to the floor.

Duncan stood paralyzed a moment, stricken with fear for his friend, glancing at the shadowy shapes.

"Go!" Conawago groaned. Duncan willed himself to move forward, gathering speed as he ran down the hall. Suddenly a war whoop erupted and one of the shapes launched himself out the window. Then all was silent.

He was back at Conawago's side in an instant. His comrade leaned against the wall, an arrow protruding from his chest.

"Noooooo!" Duncan moaned as he knelt.

"It quite. . takes the wind out of you," Conawago said, his breathing labored.

"They have a hospital here," Duncan said, cursing the low light as he lifted his hands to probe the wound, praying the arrow had struck in a rib and not a vital organ. "Where is the pain?" he asked.

"Like I said," Conawago said in a lighter, more level voice, "it takes the wind out of you." With a shove of unexpected strength, he pushed Duncan away then stretched out his hands, extending a heavy journal. As he did so the arrow too came away from his chest. A moment later Moses arrived with a candle, and Duncan could clearly see the projectile. It was embedded in the book, which had slammed into Conawago's chest with the impact.

"The fool took the wrong book," Conawago declared.

"Judging by these others," Moses said as he opened two of the journals scattered across the floor. "He made off with one of the annual reports of linen usage in the Sisters House."

A thin croak left Conawago's throat, then Moses chuckled, and suddenly they were all three laughing with abandon.

"The one who leapt out the window," Duncan finally asked. "Did he not know he was on the third floor?" It now seemed clear the second man had slipped down the stairs in the confusion.

"He must have assumed he would land on soft grass," Moses answered. "But instead it is cobblestone where he landed. And in the air his foot became entangled with his bow. He did not get up."