Chapter Text
Dear Lauren,
My deepest condolences that we must put our counseling sessions on hold once again. I have been reminded that Skype sessions are one option open to us -- though regrettably, there isn't yet any way to bring the game online as well. The offer nonetheless stands. Here as there, my door is always open.
In the meanwhile, I'll be certain to bring you all kinds of wonderful souvenirs. Of one kind or another.
Yours fondly,
Kou Josef Hiraga
"It doesn't really look like chestnuts," Hiraga observes, almost absently, of the scene beyond the car window. Roberto cranes his neck to see. The landscape doesn't resemble anything of the like. Rather, the mountains of the Swiss landscape jut violently from the earth as if pushed up from below by the Devil's clawed hands. Road signage warns travelers to watch for falling rocks. Nature, it seems, has taken a stance on the presence of man in these mountains. The wire retention nets stand testimony to the encroaching of the wild.
"No," Roberto carefully agrees. "I don't suppose it does." When a moment passes without clarification, he adds: "Should it?" The initial report file is sitting forgotten in Hiraga's lap. Unusual for him to be preoccupied so, the poor fellow.
"I just thought it would look..." Here Hiraga begins to drum his fingertips against the file. "I don't know. Fluffier, perhaps?"
"Well, the dessert was named for the mountain, not the other way around." It's easy enough to make, Roberto thinks. Sugar and chestnuts for the purée, fresh whipped cream. Trade the meringues for discs of cake, since Hiraga prefers the texture. Yeah, Roberto thinks, that could be a fun project for when they get back. Ah, soaked in espresso, with a topping of mascarpone... "A tiramisu mont blanc," he says, and Hiraga's resolve returns. His warm smile, when he looks over, trips Roberto's heart off by just a beat.
"Yes, please!"
By the time their cab slows to a stop outside the hospice, Roberto's rather in over his head in designing the meal. Changing the nuance of the dessert means he'd have to change the flavor profile of the second course and the digestifs -- of course. Which, naturally, necessitates re-thinking how he'll have to use all those tomatoes he's been growing. Such that when they disembark and pay their fare, he's hardly noticed the stark complex before them.
"It's....definitely...different from other places we've been."
Hiraga chuckles, a laugh so private and fond that Roberto smiles at his own admission of ignorance.
"That's right, the Augustinians who founded the hospice were a mendicant order." Hiraga scans the grounds around them. "As far as I recall, it's is staffed almost entirely by clergymen and lay volunteers."
"I see." And a great deal of work it must be. Men in plainclothes are unloading trucks of food and supplies, spreading salt on the driveways, wiping down sidewalks and washing windows...priests in puff jackets and sneakers. From between open coat zippers, the occasional clerical collar peeks out.
"You can't possibly expect them to do the shoveling in full vestments," Hiraga says, watching the trajectory of his gaze from throat to throat.
"Now that just sounds like quitter's talk to me!" After all, what does a man have, if he doesn't have style?
"I can't even raise my arms in a cassock," Hiraga counters. Astonishing pragmatism from a man who has yet to manage a vacuum.
"Bet you a drink that you can." Roberto reaches for his wrist. "Just watch." He catches Hiraga's eyes with his own. Hiraga's eyes don't leave his as Roberto begins to raise the arm.
"Oh? You bet me a drink?"
"One drink. Name the time and place, old friend." This is how the abbot finds them in the courtyard:
"See? It's because you're so skinny. I don't make the rules, it's just science." Roberto waves Hiraga's arms for him. Side to side, then crossed and back. Hiraga's fingers wriggle idly as he catalogues this new information and stores it accordingly. Consummately thorough in his methodology, Roberto thinks.
"But that doesn't explain how you can do it! I have shoulder room in this. You don't, it defies the laws of physics!"
"Fathers Hiraga and Roberto?" They freeze in place and turn to find a narrow man leaning upon a cane as if bent by the gravity of his years on the earth. "I presume?" The gentleman, unlike the brothers at work in the yard, is dressed in the simple robe of a mendicant friar. Roberto releases Hiraga's arms.
"Father Adso?" Hiraga is the first to regain his composure, greeting their host with all the pleasantry of a man not found flailing his arms around in the yard like a madman. It's an enviable skill. Roberto, in the meanwhile, takes the opportunity to re-align his clothing so he might do the same.
"Welcome." The abbot takes Hiraga's proffered hand in his own. "We are honored to have you."
"The honor is ours." Hiraga steps aside to allow Roberto to shake the abbot's hand. "We're grateful for your hospitality."
"Of course. It's the least we can do. Come, let's get you settled in your quarters. Once you're refreshed, we can talk business."
A young novitiate is charged with showing them the way to their room-- subdued, quiet quarters with a great deal of light and ample space for their equipment. Roberto is pleased to discover a wireless internet connection in their room.
"It's definitely convenient...still." Hiraga digs in his suitcase for his ethernet cable. "I'd rather stick to secure measures for the more sensitive communications. Or else Lauren will cry." Roberto sincerely doubts the man has ever shed a genuine tear in his life. But if Hiraga is committed to his redemption, well. Far be it from Roberto to begrudge him his few indulgences. At least Roberto thinks he might remember how to set up a VPN without Hiraga's help. Probably.
They're collected again from their room just after Nones by another novitiate and herded to the abbot's study. When the the door opens to let them in, they find the abbot seated behind several stacks of paperwork -- and a compact laptop. He looks up from his work, peering at them over the wire frames of his reading glasses.
"Ah, good. I hope you don't mind my summoning you here so soon after you've arrived. But we mustn't let the trail go cold, if we can avoid it."
"I couldn't agree more." Hiraga takes a seat when beckoned; Roberto joins him soon after.
"By now I imagine you'll have been given some sort of briefing." The abbot regards them with a wry expression as he rifles through the stack on his desk. "The requisition process was incredibly thorough."
"We've reviewed the file, yes." Roberto accepts the thick folder from Hiraga and readies his reading lens. "A Marian apparition, you say."
"Yes." The abbot sighs. "An apparition, and then some. Well. I suppose it's best if you hear the story directly from the witness. I'll see if somebody can't track him down."
A hurried search among the brothers deposits one of the hospice's lay volunteers into the study, suited up for outdoor labor and still flushed from exertion.
"John here works with the ambassador dogs from the Barry Foundation."
John shifts in his seat under the scrutiny of their little council. Roberto supposes it's neither kind nor elegant to lean on him like this, but it's good to be sure of who a witness is.
"Yeah, I handle their walking and feeding while they stay with us. The hospice hasn't kept or bred dogs on site for some years now."
"I didn't realize," Hiraga says.
"But it's still part of the history, so they like to borrow some, uh, well. Ambassadors. For educational reasons."
"They're very sweet dogs," the abbot adds.
"Right. So. This is going to sound completely absurd, but. I guess you're more than a little used to that. You see, one of the dogs woke me in the middle of the night for a walk." John flushes even deeper as soon as the words leave his mouth. "That is, we're supposed to keep them to strict hours, but they're going back to the Foundation soon for the rest of the winter. I guess knowing I have to send them off makes me get a little too lenient with them." When the abbot does not speak to chastise him, he continues. "Still, I leashed up two dogs and headed out onto the mountain. Safety in numbers, and all that."
The abbot nods his head and amends: "The mountains are very dangerous, even more so as winter approaches."
"The dogs began to pull at their leads, sniffing furiously at the trail. Understand, one man is no match for a pair of bred rescue dogs. Two hundred kilos of pure muscle--" he scoffs. "No contest there. And so the two of them ended up walking me, all the way up to a glowing cavern on the mountain. In the light there, I saw the figure of a shrouded woman; when she turned I knew she could only be the Virgin herself. I fell to my knees and began to pray. The dogs were agitated by the smell, so I didn't linger long. But when I raised my head once more, the Virgin was gone, leaving only the glow of the cavern and the smell of sulfur in the air. I came back to report it immediately."
"It sounded to me not unlike the story of the Apparition at Lourdes," the abbot continues for him. "And so after consulting with the brothers a small task force was sent to investigate the scene. The cave has not been explored yet. The smell could be fumes from something dangerous, and we lack the equipment for any truly in-depth investigations. However," he adds, "initial ground samples taken at the site revealed gold flakes in the soil."
"Well, that's no surprise." Roberto crosses his arms and considers this. "Plenty of ore veins in Switzerland." Salt, copper, zinc, and gold. It's about all the terrain has to offer. "Could be you've stumbled on one."
"Yes, we've considered that. But the Pass region was never so lucky. The land is barren."
"So what you're saying is that--"
"--you believe the Virgin has blessed the land and turned the barren soil into a field of gold," Hiraga finishes for him.
"That is my instinct, yes." The abbot eyes some of the documents on his desk; Roberto's quick check finds it's a dossier similar to the one they've received. "But, then again, that's only my belief. As for the rest..." His expression softens. "That's why you're here, now isn't it?"
The bar Roberto settles on for the resolution of their deal is not the one in the hospice, but rather the one on the western side of the lake. It's only a few minutes' walk from where they are, and even in the bitter cold the view of the lake is very beautiful. The waters are still, a perfect mirror of the gray clouds drifting above. The mountains' vicious silhouettes hardly seem so threatening, framing the scene as they do. They stop a while to enjoy the serenity-- and then with the onset of a sneezing fit, they're forced to move for shelter. The winter clothes they've been lent should have done the trick, but Roberto supposes the rest is nothing some wine can't help with.
They take a seat at the bar, away from the tourist bustle of the dining room floor. A sturdy woman weathered by years on the mountain furnishes them with a bottle of wine for their selves.
"This ought to take the bite out of your trip over." She wrestles with the cork. "Where you boys visiting from?"
"Italy," Hiraga supplies, casual in his affect. "Rome." Roberto really should let him do all the talking.
"Rome? Beautiful city." The cork snaps free with a wet pop. The proprietress drops the bottle down hard in front of them with two glasses, no coasters. "Ate my daughter's best walking shoes. Damn near broke my ankle. Love to go again, though."
"Do you live here?" Roberto busies himself pouring their drinks while Hiraga works his magic. He listens attentively, eyes wide and honest. So much so that Robert isn't entirely sure his curiosity really isn't genuine.
"Sixty years!" She ducks under the bar for menus. "Met my wife at university in Lucerne and stole her away back home up the mountain with me. But the children left for nicer weather." In a photo above the liquor shelves, she is smiling beside a sleepy-eyed woman, two young boys, and a girl. Above the register hangs a metal crucifix.
"You really have to be a hardy type, don't you?" Even with the wine and the fire roaring away, the cold is soaked deep into Roberto's bones. The menu's looking very tempting about now and he happily takes the copy he's offered. With the proprietress's guidance they narrow the selection down enough to order a dinner. It's delicious, and every bit as warming as they've been promised. Hiraga's all too excited to talk about a paper he's been reading on....something to do with proteins in the blood, it sounds pretty complicated, but Hiraga's just so captivated by it, it's hard not to be caught up in the tides of his enthusiasm.
Until a piercing scream shocks the room to attention.
There's a clatter of chairs and so much shouting. Shattered glass and pooling beer-- and in the epicenter of the scene, a stocky old man lies on the ground, twisted in convulsion.
The server on duty drops to a crouch beside him and fumbles for a hold. He checks the man over and turns to the proprietress.
"It's a seizure! Call an ambulance!"
The man's entire body is taut, back curling in an eerie arc, every muscle in his worn frame stretched as if to snap. Hiraga pushes from his chair to aid; Roberto takes him by the shoulder. There isn't much that can be done to help. Not anything that isn't already done. The server cushions the man's head with his flimsy apron. Advice is sought on numerous smart devices and the man is turned, laboriously, onto his side. It's lucky that the medics arrive as fast as they do, though the convulsing has already subsided by the time he is strapped into a gurney. And in the stillness after, a pall remains over the evening. Someone sweeps up the broken glass and rights the chairs. The crowd trickles out into the darkness, bills paid in sober silence. Roberto hardly tastes what's left of his wine.
Closing out the register for the evening, the proprietress crosses herself and bids them: "You two get home safely now."
Roberto's the first to stir in the morning. He dresses in the dark and slips out to find some coffee. An hour seems like enough time to let Hiraga sleep, and he takes advantage of the early morning quiet to review the dossier and plan the first stage of the investigation. Hiraga will want to visit the site and confirm for himself. Probably take some samples. It won't hurt to gather background information on the area as well.
And he means to wake Hiraga before nine. He really does. But then the abbot finds him hunched over his laptop, third coffee growing cold at his wrist, and offers to show him the library. It's well past ten before Hiraga stumbles in, hair uncombed and incoherent in his grogginess. He curls himself around Roberto's forgotten coffee and rests his head on the rim as if he could steam himself awake. Fifteen minutes later, he can manage a few words.
"It's freezing here." The sound is a bit muffled by the mug. "Why would anyone ever come here?" It's a beautiful place, but Roberto's inclined to agree.
"The dogs, probably," he offers. "But there's good news, at least."
Hiraga grunts into the cup.
"Roherzenberg Castle." Roberto reaches for a ledger currently buried under several hills of brochures. "And the town of Roherzenberg just north of here. The Habsburgs installed it in the twelfth century as an outpost to supervise the mining of ores in the canton of Valais." Common enough for the era. "They quickly found out what we've already been told: there was nothing worth mining. So when managing their other interests became a higher priority, the mining operation was dead in the water. The family in charge retreated into the castle and as the forest states began to push back against foreign rule, the family allowed their ties to the Empire to wither."
"Is it far from here?" Hiraga's given up on fumigating himself awake and given in to drinking the cold coffee. Roberto frowns. There's probably plenty of fresh coffee available in the kitchen. He swipes the cup when Hiraga rests his temple against the table.
"Not too far. But the apparition site is a little closer." With this methodology to guide them, they begin.