bolt was stuck in a beam on the underside of the roof eave, and from it a string led down to the ground. When I pulled on the string, I pulled up Astiza’s rope. I doubled it around the beam, braced myself, and hauled my wife up. She helped by walking up the wall with her feet.
“Finally,” she gasped. “I’ve lived an eternity. Is Harry all right?”
“I hope so. I heard a dog.”
She moaned while I reeled in the rope from the chimney.
She quickly swung to the window we hoped Harry could open, climbing onto its French balcony. I followed.
“Nice that the crossbow worked,” I whispered.
“I missed twice. Priests must sleep like the dead.”
“Clear conscience. Women wouldn’t know what that’s like, would they?”
“Not funny, husband.”
“You have the substitute?”
She patted a satchel at her side. “In my bag.”
We tapped the window. A small face appeared on the other side and matter-of-factly climbed up on the window ledge and unfastened the leaded glass. It swung inward. That’s my boy.
“You said there wouldn’t be a doggie.” He was accusatory.
“Just friendly ones. Where is he?”
“I gave him candy.”
And indeed, a hound was snuffling at something on the carpet, growling a halfhearted warning as we dropped onto thick carpet. Some watchdog. I shook loose a curtain rope from its hook and gently approached, holding out my hand as if I had more food. The growl was a low rumble, but the beast looked warily hopeful. I gave it a pet, and then swiftly cinched its muzzle before it could do more than yelp. More rope around the thrashing legs, and I trussed the mutt like a calf.
I stood, breathing heavily. “You’re a very clever boy, Harry.”
“Papa said there’s more candy here, Mama.” Our son was covered in soot and seemed rather proud of it. I admired his mercenary instinct, which I consider common sense.
“You’re a very good son and shall get some treats.”
“And a bath,” his mother added.
The council room had a long central table with armoires, cabinets, and bookshelves alongside. We emptied one of folded tablecloths and put the struggling dog inside, throwing the fabric on top of him to muffle any scratching. I felt sorry for the beast, but fortunes of war and all that.
Now, where to look? It was a splendid home. Clergy work is steady, clean, and with good quarters; one could do worse except for the celibacy part. Gothic arches made a fine roof overhead, stone pillars coming down like trunks in a forest. The furnishings were a little bare, the place having been ransacked in the revolution, but what had been brought back in was Italian and finer than I could afford. There were wool carpets as thick as bear pelts, fine tapestries, gloomy portraits of popes, and bright ones of the Virgin. The latter seemed to be eyeing me with particular disfavor.
Now we had to find something small enough to be cruelly jammed on our Savior’s head.
I whispered to Harry to stay close and began creeping around, hating the way the board floors creaked and cabinet hinges squealed. Logically, I knew the sounds were barely audible, but when stealing Christendom’s most precious relic, every peep sounds like the boom of a cannon.
I don’t know how professional thieves bear the nerves.
We tried chests, armoires, shelves, mantles, and decorative boxes. Harry peered under furniture and behind curtains. Astiza had theorized that such a precious item might be hidden somewhere clever, such as a hollowed-out Bible, so she tugged open weighty-looking books. I tapped a globe, wondering if it might have a secret compartment in its hollow. We looked behind paintings in case there was a hiding spot in the walls. Each time we were disappointed. The Bishop’s Chapel next door had nothing unusual on its altar or in its tabernacle. We didn’t try the kitchen or cellars on the floor below, since I didn’t think a prelate would put a precious relic in a pantry. We also avoided the ground-floor antechamber out of concern it might hold guards or secretaries.
“Maybe he moved it to another church for safekeeping,” Astiza whispered worriedly.
“It has too much status. No churchman would willingly give it up.”
“I’m tired, Papa.”
“Here, I found more candy.”
“Ethan, the only place left is his bedchamber.”
“Our damnation if it is. What if Belloy wakes up?”
“Please be careful with your language around our boy.”
“Dammit, you’re right. I mean, sorry.”
“Can we go home, Mama?”
“Have another piece of candy.” It wasn’t good parenting, but most spies don’t have to bring the entire family along.