Smoke in the Wind Read Online Free Page A

cold autumnal day as this one. There was usually some activity about the gates and the fields.
    He came to a halt at the gates, compelled by a sudden feeling of unease. No one stood in attendance. After a moment’s delay, he went to the wooden pole to ring the bronze bell which hung there. The chime echoed eerily but there was no movement in answer; no responding sound followed the dying peal; there was no sign of anyone beyond.
    Brother Cyngar waited a few moments and then caused the bell to send out its clanging demand again, this time ensuring that its peal was long and insistent. Still there was no response.
    He moved slowly inside the deserted courtyard and looked round.
    Everywhere was as quiet as a tomb.
    In the centre of the courtyard stood a great pyramid of branches and logs piled high as if waiting to be ignited into an immense bonfire. The dry wood was structured so that it stood fully four metres or more in height. The young man rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he examined it.
    He suppressed the shiver that threatened to send its icy finger down his spine. He marched across the quadrangle to the chapel door and swung it open. The chapel was shrouded in gloom, in spite of the brightness of the morning. Not even the altar candles were alight. He could discern nothing among the shadows.
    Having been a visitor to the community on several occasions, Brother Cyngar knew the layout of the community’s buildings, and turned through a small door which he knew led to the main living quarters. The brethren shared one large dormitory that now stretched before him. The beds were all neat, tidy and undisturbed. Their occupants had either risen very early and made them or not slept in them at all during the previous night.
    Brother Cyngar’s lips had become slightly dry and his feeling of disquiet began to grow as he walked between the rows of empty beds. Some unconscious prompting caused him to move lightly on the stone-flagged floors, trying not to let his leather sandals make a sound.
    Beyond the dormitory was the refectory, the communal dining room.
    It was deserted, as he now expected it would be. But he was not expecting the manner of its desertion. It was lit by several flickering, smoking candles and, to his amazement, Brother Cyngar observed that each place was laid, each platter contained a half-eaten meal. By these platters, knives and spoons were laid down as if the eater had been disturbed. Jugs and beakers containing water and wine stood at each place setting.
    A sound made him start nervously and drop his black-thorn stick with a loud clatter on the floor. A few feet away on the table, a black rat dragged a piece of food from a platter and went bounding away with it. With mouth firmly compressed to keep his lips from trembling, Brother Cyngar bent down to retrieve his stick.
    There seemed no disarray anywhere to explain why the meal appeared to have been deserted halfway through the eating of it. Stools and benches were pushed back as if everyone had risen, but he saw nothing that indicated any confusion or panic. He walked up and down the tables searching for something to account for the scene that met his incredulous eyes.
    He realised that the candles were burning low and deduced that they must have been alight for a long time before he arrived because, in one or two places, the candle grease had spilled onto the wooden table top. This must have been the evening meal and, so it seemed to Brother Cyngar, at a given moment, before the meal had ended, the brethren had simply stood up, leaving everything in an orderly manner, and . . . and vanished! Brother Cyngar exhaled sharply. This time he could not suppress the shiver.
    Steeling himself, he turned and began to explore the rest of the buildings of the community, one by one. The quarters of the Father Superior were neat and tidy, the bed not slept in, and, again, there was no sign of any commotion to account for the disappearance of the occupant. The tiny