The Case of the Missing Finger

by Karen Goldrick

Your Worship,

Once again we have been forced to leave before my work is complete. I must apologise for this barely legible scrawl, but the incessant rocking of this wretched vessel threatens to make me sick.

My companion is Dr Vladimir Moldov, whom as you will recall was of such great assistance to me during the affair of the black-eyed children. It is this debt I now repay…but…I am ahead of myself, and will take you back to the beginning of Summer so you may see what has transpired.

We arrived in Constanta, known by some as Briaskov, which is more of a village than a small town. There are no more than five score residents, if you do not count those living in the Carpathian foothills. The Kriov monastery is twenty measures from the main village, and is constructed, as are all the buildings, of grey-white limestone with a dark slate roof. Indeed your Worship this stone is so bright that if the sun shines it is almost unbearable. Fortunately, then sun almost never shines.

The monastery was deserted save for one elderly priest, and a caretaker. He was, as you had expected, at once grateful for my assistance, and in return for lodgings and food I relieved him of the dawn and evening matins, leaving him with only the less strenuous midday mass.

The masses seemed well attended, and, as I came to know the village, I concluded that most were present at least once a week. I spoke the mass in Latin, since my tongue does not seem able to master the Orthodox Slavic used by my colleague. I am sure neither is widely understood, nevertheless the congregation seem willing to attend, and not to mind a small lack of comprehension.

One evening, over supper, I remarked on the old priest’s ailing health, and asked him how long he had managed alone.He told me it had been several months since the last, and youngest acolyte, had unexpectedly left. He had chosen to cross the mountains at the very height of winter, and the priest felt it was unlikely he had survived.

“Why leave in such a hurry?” I asked.

The old man shook his head and crossed himself, and muttered something of the Devil’s playground in the hills.

“But I must protest, Father. The people here seem Christian enough.” I said.
Again the old man shook his head, and filled his mouth with so much dry bread and lard that he could not reply, even if so inclined.

“Perhaps he refers to the Unchristian souls in the foothills,” said the doctor. I must add, your Worship, that my friend had a small grievance with these people. He had tried to establish himself as a doctor of medicine, but the villagers stayed away. It seemed they preferred the sorcery of the quacks in the foothills when it came to sickness. Perhaps it was this the old Priest referred to. But although frustrating, this is hardly devilment, And I confess I began to wonder whether you yourself, your Worship, had indeed been ill advised.

My friend Vlad was deeply unhappy in Constanta, and longed for us to go to another place. A larger place, maybe Constantinople, he said, where there would be people with modern philosophies. But he would not leave without me. Since even now he knows not my true purpose, it became difficult for me to convince him that I stayed on behalf of the old priest. Nevertheless, he accepted this, and he devoted his time to study.

Constanta is a small, but somewhat significant Port on the Black Sea. This has turned out to be auspicious for us in our escape, but again I divert. Whenever a ship landed, Vlad would hound the poor unfortunate sailors until they could empty the mail bag and determine whether there was any correspondence for him. Many times there was.

He set up a small garden within the walls of the monastery, and proudly showed off foxglove, plantain and white willow struggling to grow without sun. He even endeavoured, unsuccessfully, to grow fresh garlic for me from the mouldy clove. He delighted in regaling me with new and gruesome methods of treating disease, learned, I gathered, from his aforementioned correspondence. It seemed modern Doctors would rid disease using poisons to empty the stomach, or by a deep cuts to remove illness from the blood. Fortunately, since the villagers stayed away, and since I myself remained in good health, he did not get to practice these.

And so, your worship, as I have said, I began to think you were in error having me sent to Constanta, when late one night there was a knock at the door.

Not wanting the old priest to take the trouble I threw on my brown woollen robes, and descended the cold stone steps to answer it. Two men stood at the door, in the grip of such hysteria I struggled to understand them. I could not fail, however, your Worship, to understand what had happened when one thrust a bloodied hand before me.

His middle finger was missing. As you well know, your Worship, my gut is not strong. Despite, or perhaps because, of my years spent on the battlefields, find the sight of blood repugnant. Before I could call Vlad, I am ashamed to say I deposited most of my supper on the steps.

He examined this poor fellow’s hand in some detail. He showed me, when I could bear to look, how the bone and flesh must have been cut with something sharp. Then, after examining the poor man’s mouth, and feeling his heart in his chest, told us that in his opinion not much blood had been spilled.

“How is this so?” I asked him, and he showed me the detail of the wound. The skin was pulled together with fine thread as if sewn by a tailor.

“See,” he said, it is human hair. If you look closely you can see the hair is braided so it will not pull through the skin.”

“But this is unthinkable,” I said. “Who would do such a thing? Surely our man must have been aware. He would have been in agony. How could this happen, without pain and without haemorrhage?”

But the doctor just shook his head. “Never mind how it happened. I must attend my patient.”

The injured man stayed in the monastery some several days. Vlad tended him with herbs for pain and healing. I was relieved he did not feel the need to use the poisons or bloodletting he had so enthused, for I felt sure if he had his first patient would also have been his last.

I asked him why the perpetrator had used human hair, and not thread, to sew the wound.

Vlad shook his head. ‘Perhaps it is a spell, or a charm of sorts,” he said.

“You are a man of science. Do you really believe a spell could stem the pain and bleeding.”

“I do not profess to know everything,” he said.

“Do you think this is the work of the hill dwellers?” I asked him.

“It is not my place to say,” he replied. And he was right. It was not his place. But I began to fear, your Worship, it might be mine. That perhaps there was a link between this new evil, and my own mission in these parts.

So, one morning, I gathered my cloak and what few rations the caretaker would spare, and made my way up to the foothills. The houses were different up there. Still the light grey limestone and slate tile roofs, but instead of being gathered together to fend off evil, as they were down in the village, these houses were scattered with some brashness amongst the trees. Despite my excellent eyesight I found them difficult to find. And, in my haste to get started, had not prepared myself for what I might find, or what I should do, once I found it. I had none of my usual defences. The sword was safely wrapped at the bottom of my trunk, the garlic now mouldy, and there were no olive trees nearby. All I had was my wooden cross tied to my rosary around my waist.

The first door was answered by a woman who might have been as old as my mother. She lacked the dark narrow features of most of the villagers. Instead she seemed fair, or fair turning grey, with wide green eyes and a prominent jaw. As if of more Nordic than Slavic descent.

If she smiled it was with cold welcome, as was the hearth which burned with coals barely warm enough to thaw the midsummer from my hands. A second woman came from the kitchen, younger. She might have been a sister, or even a daughter, with the same fair features, but where in the older women the fairness seemed pallid and the jaw thrust out, in the younger the features seemed softer and alluring, and I had to remind my self that it is unseemly for one such as I to stare at such beauty. For her part she kept her eyes to the floor, as if she ought not to look upon the eyes of one in the service of God.

I accepted her tea, a warm sweet brew, and as i sipped wondered what i should say. i erred on caution’s side, and simply preached a message of welcoming to the church. As I left, I expressed the hope that I would see them at mass the following Sunday.

The house seemed tidy, and devoid of such tools as we associate with sorcery. There was no cauldron on the hearth. no collection of vessels or scrolls, so far as I could see. the garden i noted had the usual array of root vegetables and plantain. marshmallow, burdock root.

All together I knocked at some dozen doors, and found nothing to arouse my suspicion. The only strangeness the fair features as i mentioned before. but it was easy to suppose these people had cone from the northwest, maybe some years ago. And, as we well know, any difference can arouse suspicion.

So, I concluded the missing finger may as well be some prank. It is well known that many of the male folk indulge in fortified spirits at the tavern, and who knows what may be performed without an inebriated souls awareness. I voiced my conclusion to Vlad and he agreed it seemed a fitting conclusion.

The following Sunday I looked amongst my congregation, and confess I felt some small disappointment that the fair maiden had not shown. but other than this my life progressed fairly and comfortably, until, that is, the second missing finger.

This time, there was a knock at my very own door at the same Godless hour. Thinking it would be Vlad with some nocturnal revelation, I ignored it as long as I could. At last IO called out for him to cone in, but the knocking persisted. So I upped and grabbed my robes, to fend off the cold even for a short walk across the stone floors, and opened the door.

Another bloodied hand was thrust before my eyes, and I though a nightmare was upon me. The owner did not cry out, but uttered instead a hideous hysterical rasp. For it was our very own caretaker, who had the misfortune to be born without a tongue. A second misfortune now, for he was without his left thumb.

At once I fetched my friend Vlad, and as before he carefully inspected the wound. Again it was sewn neatly closed with braided human hair, and I could see that where the hair was clear of blood, it seemed fair. I asked Vlad if he could save the hair,and he told me that it would need to stay in place several days to allow the wound to heal, but that then I could have it.

When the wound had healed, Vlad cut away the stitches with a small knife and handed me the remnants. I carefully cleaned them with spirit and a cloth,and unwound the fine braid. The hairs were of a light colour, and lacked the coarseness of grey. I knew at once, your worship, where such fair hair must come from.

I waited until lunch, when the old priest was away at the midday mass, to discuss my findings with Vlad.

“All very well,” he replied, “but you have shown that the hair merely cones from a head that is fair, not that the owner of the fair hair is responsible.”

I had to agree.

“How do you suppose it is done, without the poor soul knowing?” I asked him

“There may be some local herbs which have strong nervine abilities, maybe to remove pain, or memory of pain. My patients had no smell of alcohol on their breath. As to the bleeding, I think I may have a clue. Our second fellow had a deep red depression in the skin just below his dreadful wound. I have concluded that some form of tight stricture- perhaps of stout leather, was used to slow the blood.”

“But could this stop all bleeding from an amputation?” I asked him

“Mmmmmmm. perhaps not all. And I am sure the perpetrator has cleaned some away. But I have read in my correspondence of a method of using such a ligature made of thread, to close the blood vessel. Perhaps this was used.”

“So you are saying the perpetrator had privy to your correspondence?” i asked him.

He merely shrugged, but he did agree to accompany me on my investigations. Since I only had the fair hair as a lead, I elected to begin in the foothills, although my deepest hope was that these folk were not involved.

I thought myself better prepared this time. I had given my modus operandi forethought. We had decided to begin at the further most house from the village, and work back. This left the fair maiden’s house, which i had examined first them previous time, to the last.
my plan seemed effective enough, though not without risk. I knocked at each door, and offered to give each householder penitence. I used the excuse of approaching Pentecost, and advocated the benefits of a cleaned soul before the feast of the Holy Spirit. As I did so, Vlad made search of the gardens and refuse, to find anything which might give a clue.

As before, i found the foothill residents welcoming but strangely reticent. Nevertheless, I drank so much strong tea I was forced to pass water behind a tree. Vlad laughed at my discomfort, and made many a joke about getting back in time for a nice cup of tea.

But apart from his humour, Vlad had no success. When we arrived at the last house we had unearthed nothing. The older woman answered the door, and at first i thought she may not invite me in so cold was her greeting. Since this was a house i was most anxious to search, I entreated her with the virtues of penitence with more convection that i have ever truly felt on the matter, and at last she nodded me in.

While I said the prayers a most strange thing. the two women knelt, one each side of the hearth. I happened to glance upon the young fair maiden, and I found i could not tear my eyes away. As you know, your Worship, I had relations with women before I entered the priesthood, and i have forsworn them ever since. but, i felt an attraction to this girl as if it were not of my doing. I stumbled, then felt the gaze of the other on me so cold and full of hatred that i could barely continue.

It was almost sunset when I finally left, and Vlad was no-where to be seen. Slowly I made my way back down to Constanta. I had travelled nearly a quart when Vlad stepped out behind the bushes. He gave me such a scare I could not speak for fear of being sick. He seemed strangely victorious, and at last I had to ask what he had found.

“This,’ he said, and with a flourish dealt some yellow flowers into my hand. “And this,’ with the other hand another plant.

“And what are they?” I asked.
He broke open a leaf of the first plant, and bade me smell and taste the sap. It was bitter, and again I fought against the bitter bile in my throat.

‘If I am not misguided, this is Papaver somniferum, poppy flowers. Taken as a tea it will dull the brain, slow reaction, and , for a short while, remove pain. And this…” he broke open the second leaf, “Is Coca erythoxylum. Allow me to show you.”

He clasped my hand, and before I could remove it made a shallow cut on my palm with a small sharp knife.

“What have you done?” I exclaimed.”You will not practice your sorcery on me.”

“Sorcery, is it?” he cried. Then he crushed the leaf and rubbed it into my palm. Almost at once my pain receded and the wound felt fat and tingled. I stared at my hand in disbelief. The injury was plainly there, but I could not feel it.

“Where did you find them?” I asked him.

“In the garden of your last house, my dear Father.”

“Strange, I do not recall them?”

“They were hidden under some weeds, and would have been easy to miss.”

“So, we can conclude a fair hair was used in the repair of the wounds. And perhaps these plants were used in the making of them. But we still do not know these people are responsible.”

“No, indeed we do not. But my dear father Canis, I have saved the best to last.” And he retrieved from the pocket of his black cloak an old rag.

“I found this amongst the refuse. Look and see for yourself.” he said, and with appropriate misgiving, I reached my hand in. I felt something hard, and maybe a little moist. I pulled it out, and then was, this time, most horribly sick. Vlad laughed and urged me not to soil the evidence. For evidence indeed it was. Three small bones, still connected by sinew, yet devoid of all flesh and skin.

“See, the cut is clean,’ he showed me. “It is not through the joint, which would have been accomplished with any old knife, but through the bone. this was made with the sharpest of instruments.”

“What you describe is medicine of the blackest kind. But it is not sorcery.” I said.

“Not sorcery. What will you do?”

“What must I do. This is not really my concern.” And indeed I though it was not, for this crime, thought terrible, was not devilment of the sort I was sent to investigate.

“It is your concern if we all wake up missing fingers,” he replied. And I had to admit this was true.

“Then there is nothing for it but to ask them outright.” I said to Vlad, as we walked slowly back down the hill to the monastery.

“You mean, to accuse them of this crime?”

“Perhaps,” I said, though still unsure as to how I should proceed.

‘And what will you do with them, if they confess dear Father? Grant them penance and hope they do not sin again?”

But I had tired of the conversation, and walked ahead in the darkness.

We were late, and I had missed evening Matins. I apologised to the old priest over supper.

“Have no fear, young Man,” he said. “Indeed I am grateful for the assistance given me these last months. But may I ask what kept you away. I watched you walk towards the mountains. I must warn you as the days grow short, that cold and snow can arrive without warning. Perhaps you should take your walks by the sea until after the thaw.”

“We visit those who live in the foothills,” I explained. “I feel sure I can convince them to come to mass.”

The old man seemed inexplicably older, and I asked him if I should fetch Vlad, who was studying his latest correspondence

“ No.. no,’ he said, crossing his forehead. “It is the same devilry as before.”

‘What devilry?”

“The Prince of Darkness, These fair women are his vessels. They will seduce you, as they did the others.”

“But Father, I have only seen one young fair lady in the hills.” the others, I reflected, had been much older, and were unlikely choices for seductive vessels.

“Then it is she who has caused the downfall of all our brothers.”

“All, Father. They have all been seduced by her.”

“All. Then left in shame of their sin.”

For some minutes I believed him mad. If indeed the brothers had been seduced, then surely it was no more than the fallibility of a man. But, I admit, your worship, in light of my late held suspicions, it was perhaps convenient for my to place my own infatuation with the girl as some kind of spell, or as the old priest called it…devilry. It alleviated some of my responsibility.

Sleep deserted me that night, my feather tick to thin too hide the cold of the limestone floor. Each sound, no matter how small, might be an unknown foe come to remove my fingers. And her face, that lovely face. It was all I could do, your honour, to remember my vows.When at the the early morning sun chased the shadows from my room, I concluded that for one; she could not be responsible for any evil, and that I must see her again.

I heard Vlad’s snores from under his door as I crept down the stairs. I had no desire, your worship, to tolerate any more of his smug victory. So I set off, before dawn, and alone.

This time my welcome was cold, and I thought for a moment I would not be invited in. At last old lady reluctantly showed me to the fire. The fair maid was no-where to be seen.

I tried to be obliging, and to pass the time with her as tolerably as I could, but she looked at me as if her very gaze might drive me from the house. I was somewhat distracted, listening and hoping for any sound that might show the maiden to be home after all, but I did, manage to wonder why her attitude was so changed. Maybe Vlad was right, maybe even the old priest. My fingers stiffened about the mug of warm tea. I finished it hastily, begged her pardon, expressed my utmost wish to see her at church, which was almost true, and left.

Then, the most curious thing, your Worship, As soon as I was out the door, I had the strangest feeling that I had indeed been deceived, and held in the throng of a spell. This feeling was so strong, your Worship, i almost about turned and went back in to accuse her of the most awful crime.

I stood unmoving with indecision so long, I felt the cold might render me permanently frozen, and require me to partake of one of Vlad’s cures. Despite my uneasiness, I was not quite ready to surrender to Vlad’s theory, or the apparent hysteria of the old Man. I decided I needed to find some evidence for myself.

I looked around the garden to see for myself the incriminating plants Vlad had shown me. But saw no sign of them. Then, in the corner furthest away from myself in a rare circle of sunshine I saw a bare head bent over a small vegetable patch. It was none other than my fair maid, but there was not one fair hair remaining on her head, which had been shaved clean to the skin save a faint dark shadow. I could not help but gasp, and she heard me, turned and made to call out. Then, Your Worship, before I knew anymore something must have hit me from behind.

When next I was aware of my existence my head burned at the back where the unseen implement had hit, and the space between my eyes throbbed with each heartbeat. It was some time before I remembered my purpose or indeed, the very reason for my existence. When at last I did remember, I carefully counted each of my fingers, and was relived to arrive at ten. No sorcery had been performed as of yet. I was inside, in a darkened room, before a hearth in which burned dull coals.

I knew I ought to plan my escape, but seemed unable to take the thought any further than that. At length someone approached, and two cold hands lifted my head in the place where the pain was most acute. Your Worship I regret I could not refrain from shouting some obscenity. Then a warm cup of bitter tea was forced in my mouth, and I swallowed before I could stop myself. All is lost, I thought, and as my thoughts began to subside I tried desperately to hide my hands inside my cassock.

There was no pain at the next awakening, just a peculiar numbness in my head. It was still dark, but I could see a shadow seated in the corner, and I felt this person watched me as if there very soul depended on it. I dared not move, but was anxious to account for my fingers. I tried to bend and feel each finger in turn, but I know, your worship, that fingers removed in battle sometimes make their presence felt, and at last I realised I would have to see them for myself.

Slowly I raised my hands to my face. Before I could satisfy my self they were all present the shadow spoke.

“The pain has eased, yes?” It was the voice of the old woman. I nodded.
As if reading my very thoughts she asked me if my head was still sore. I shook my head.

”Then it is that I must apologise to you father. For the blow. I thought maybe you were like the other. Like many others. Like those who come to teach us about a God who is at once terrible and forgiving. Who return again and again, but I can see, father, that it is not our souls they seek. It is my daughter.”

“Her hair?” I said, wanting a drink but not daring to ask.

“No hair will remain on her head until it is course and grey. I will use hot coals to scar her face, and walnut to darken her skin. Perhaps then, Father, these foreign Men of God will leave us in peace.”

“And the others?”

“The priests? They must make their own piece with their God.”

She said no more that night, and left me to ponder not only my fate, but that of the priests who had disappeared from the monastery and were thought to be lost in the mountains. Whatever their fate, it was not mine, and at dawn she let me go. There was no sign of my fair shaved maiden, and even if I had wanted to save her from the future her mother described, I could not.

I felt fortunate, you worship, to leave with my life, and some unease about the fate of my fingers. The latter mystery as yet unsolved.

As the strange tea wore off my head became clearer, and a dull ache returned. When I arrived back at the monastery, I nearly ran into the old priest, who was setting off for morning matins. I offered to go in his place, for he seemed distracted and ill at ease. At last he told me what had transpired.

“There is another patient.” he said.

I dreaded his next words.

“It is your friend, the young Doctor,” he said.

I rushed at once to Vlad’s room, expecting to find him in shock or at least delirious. Instead he sat up in bed and showed his wound like a trophy.

“A most curious thing,” he said. “I feel no pain.”

The wound was sewn, like the others, with stitches made from fair hair, but to my unpracticed eye the stitches were awkward and messy, and I felt perhaps they might be done by another. Not our regular finger chopper, but a poor imitator.

“It is fortunate it is merely the smallest finger on your right hand. The perpetrator cannot have known you were left handed.”

“Fortunate indeed,” he replied.
”In a few weeks I should be able to carry on almost as before. Now, my dear fellow, hand me my notebook. I must record all of this. I estimate it is between six and eight hours since the crime, for I awoke just before dawn in this state, and I had been up late reading. And yet, I still feel no pain. I must record how long this effect lasts, and how the feeling of pain returns.”

“Do you believe it is leaves from the plants which remove pain?” I asked.

“Yes. Yes it is possible. Fascinating. So, where have you been? I thought you might be accusing our friends in the hills. Turning them over to the local lawmakers to be burned at the stake like the witches they are. But you see they continue there vile work.”

“I do not believe this to be their crime,” I said.

“Do you not? Then perhaps when it is your turn your opinion will change Father. Be sure to lock your door.”

I meant to tell Vlad more. Of the fair shaven maid and the missing priests, but something bade my tongue be still. Instead I confessed to rather a terrible headache, and asked if he had anything amongst his medicines to cure it.

“No bloodletting or poisons mind,’ I said.

“None indeed father. I have just the thing. And the result we will add to my notes. We can use the very same leaves, and see for how many hours the pain is relieved. Perhaps you should lie down, you do look ill, and will fetch you a cup.”

“But it is you that is injured, my friend. Tell me where I will find this tea, and how I will make it. I am not so much an idiot as you take me for.”

“We shall see,” he said, and told me how to find the plant drying in his study by the window, and how to crumble the leaves in a cup, and pour boiling water over it.

“Be sure to remove the leaves. Otherwise it will be bitter beyond all imagining.”

“How can you know how it tastes?”

“All medicines are bitter, my friend,” he replied.

I went downstairs to his apothecary, which was still dark in the early dawn, and had to rummage over a few dusty shelves before finally finding a candle and some flint. I found the plant hanging by the window as he had said, and pulled a few dry leaves into my hand. Then I looked around for a suitable vessel to crumble them in.

The room was messy, like Vlad himself most of the time. Papers were strewn across the table, and his black woollen cloak was thrown lazily in a corner on the floor. Without thinking I bent to pick it up, then noticed something caught in it’s folds. One long fine fair hair. I almost disregarded in in my quest to find the cup, then held it to the candle for a closer look. How came he by this one fair hair? I had to assume, your honour, that it be by accident, as he searched in their garden. But I felt unease. I replaced the cloak and looked about the room again, then took a closer look at the papers.

Diagrams and drawing of a skull and skeleton with the parts labelled. Them a drawing of a leg, with the skin being removed and the underlying flesh again labelled. the writing and labels all in Latin. These were the papers he had been studying, and I marvelled at his stomach, for I could not bear to look at them long before feeling utterly sick. Then I uncovered more papers in Vlad’s own scrawl, and read the title, again in Latin. It was a treatise on the dissection of the human hand. And another, newer article yet to be completed, on the use of Coco erythoxylum as an anaesthetic in the surgical removal of limbs.

The door to the apothecary suddenly shut, and the noise was so unexpected I could not help but drop the candle on the table. At once the paper caught, and before long there was a blaze maybe two feet high. Without pausing to think or indeed see who had shut the door, I grabbed the black cloak and used it to douse the blaze. It was some minutes before the blaze had slowed to a smouldering burn, and I could turn my attention to my visitor.

But Vlad merely leaned against the wall, his arms folded, the wounded hand tucked under the other, coughing from the smoke.

‘I see you’ve managed to destroy the evidence, my dear father Canis,’ he rasped when he was able. “What will you do with me now?”

And what indeed could I do, your Worship. I do not know by what authority I am qualified to make judgment. So I satisfied myself with hearing his confession, and although that was in confidence, you will discern from what I have written previously what has transpired. If you are wondering how he came by the fair hairs, as I myself was, then I may tell you that he had been poking about the garden in the foothills to find out more about their pagan medicine, and had come across a discarded hairbrush.

I did ask him afterward why he did such a thing. And he said it was in the name of science. He felt that a finger was such a small thing to lose, when so much could be gained. I pointed out that was all and good when it was his finger in question, but that perhaps next time he should seek permission from others when seeking to advance science.

“You must know, dear father, that sometimes you must do some evil, in order to achieve a greater good.” So for his penance, your Worship, I removed him from all temptation. I have decided we will travel north, and joint the battlefields of Ukraine here he can put his newfound surgical knowledge to good use. We shall make the port in one month. Perhaps if you have further use for an impotent priest and a wayward doctor you may send your orders there.

My greatest regret, your worship, and I have many, is that it seems those of us sent to this place to preach the word of God, have left a greater evil than we found here. I can only wonder if the folk of the foothills will ever leave their pagan ways after the example set by those of the Christian faith. My seasickness has worn off. perhaps the brew Vlad recommended is beginning to work. I have left him with his herbs to play with, but have locked his instruments safely away.

May God Bless You And Keep You Safe in These Troubled Times

Father Canis