Chapter Nineteen
In which we break thirty thousand Portia tackles tourists, Oscar geeks out, and Félix sings.
Please remember to scroll down: chapters Seventeen and Eighteen have also been posted.
Chapter Nineteen
They were stopped in London for maintenance and refueling when Portia got busted by Heathrow Security.
They could have stayed on the airplane, if they wanted, since it was all exterior work, but Malo wanted to go explore the airport and Oscar admitted he could use to stretch his legs a little, so they had wandered around until they found a cafe to settle down in and watch the travelers pass on their way to and from the rest of the airplanes. Oscar was showing Malo how he drew people, explaining the theory of spheres and boxes while Malo consumed an enormous platter of chocolate cake, when Portia leapt up as if she'd been shocked by the chair.
"What is it?" Félix asked, alarmed, but Portia was already running. She hadn't even bothered to let go of the package of chocolates she'd bought at the Duty Free.
"Stay here," Félix said to Oscar and Malo, and took off after her before the pair could even blink in confusion.
The airport was crowded, and Portia had a head start; Félix, in addition, was not a runner by nature, being a fan of the sauntering school. He kept losing sight of her in the masses of people, and began shouting her name, which drew the attention of two airport security guards, who saw a woman running with a suspicious parcel and a man chasing after her, yelling an unusual name.
Then she flung herself on an unsuspecting tourist, and the police came down on both of them like a ton of uniformed bricks.
Félix skidded to a stop in time to see the police hauling her off of the man, who was --
-- laughing.
"Luc?" Félix asked in disbelief.
***
A few hurried explanations and Luc's refusal to press assault charges later, they had rejoined Oscar and Malo at the cafe, with Luc and a large suitcase in tow. Oscar, delighted to see his former crew foreman, shook his hand and offered him his seat next to Malo, who was still placidly working away at the chocolate cake.
"What are you doing in England?" Félix asked, settling back into his seat.
Portia, who was still straightening her clothing after a brief tussle with two of Heathrow's Finest, beamed as Luc replied, "Getting knocked down by strange women."
"Totally worth it to see the look on your face," she announced.
"It's always my pleasure to be accosted by lovely Americans," Luc said gravely. "I could ask you the same, Mr Carvell."
Félix smiled. "We're refueling on our way back to France. You look well, are you well?"
Luc shrugged. "I am, I suppose. I've been hired to do some work in England."
"Thinking of emigrating?" Oscar asked interestedly. Luc looked slightly shifty.
"Perhaps," he allowed. "My English is pretty good..."
"Hard to get a job in France?" Félix asked, quietly.
"I'm sure you understand, Mr Carvell," Luc replied, just as quietly. "A reputation for burning down buildings -- "
"That wasn't your fault," Portia said sharply.
"It wasn't anyone's fault," Félix snapped.
"Yes, well. Makes it difficult to get a job in France. The English like me, though," Luc added, brightening a little. "I have been hired by the church."
"The church?" Félix asked, blinking.
"Yes! There are churches in England they want to sell, but they want to make sure they're not dangerous first. They want me to inspect and repair them," Luc said proudly.
"The Catholic church?" Oscar asked.
"It's an act of faith," Luc said airily.
"The church pays above the going rate," Félix added shrewdly.
"Twenty percent. I call it the religious discount," Luc replied with a grin. "But it's good money and a chance to travel, and if I manage not to burn anything down, I might be able to get a job in France again as something more than a forklift operator."
"You get to drive forklifts?" Malo asked, impressed.
"You should come see -- I'm sure you'd enjoy it," Luc said to Oscar. "Some of them are ancient -- old medieval things with the roof falling in."
"A roof falling in is how I got this," Félix said, pointing to the bruise on his cheek.
"I thought it might be rude to ask. I assumed you proposition Portia," Luc grinned. "Are you in any hurry to return to Paris?"
"No," Malo said eagerly. Félix gave his brother a warning look. "Well, I'm not," the boy added snootily.
"We're just here while we refuel," Félix said regretfully. "Family business."
"I understand," Luc said.
"Isn't it weird?" Portia asked.
"What's that?" Oscar inquired.
"Well, of all the places to run into Luc...while he's on his way to see a lot of places in desperate need of renovation..." Portia said, raising her eyebrows and grinning.
"Yes, the world is full of coincidences," Oscar drawled.
"I mean it! We should go. Come on, Oscar, when else are you going to get to shout in church?"
"Why would I want to shout in a church?"
"I always wanted to," Félix said thoughtfully. "Like in those gospel churches you see in the movies. AMEN!"
"Félix!" Oscar hissed, as people stopped to stare. Félix grinned.
"Land's going cheap," Luc continued, accepting the cup of coffee that was brought to him. "Hard to find buyers. People want it for the land, but the church is insistent that the buildings not be torn down, and the only uses anyone ever has for a former church are cinemas and art galleries. They're not exactly ideal for either, and some of them are actual ruins. No electricity, no running water."
"Yeah, but all those great carvings," Oscar beamed. "Gargoyles and columns and stuff."
"French invention, you know, gargoyles," Félix said proudly.
"Gargouille, meaning throat," Oscar said to himself.
"Listen, it'll be like, a day," Portia said. "Not even. It's only a couple of hours away, right Luc?"
"An hour at most. First stop's on the outskirts of London; I was going to rent a truck and drive there. I could have you back by this evening," Luc said.
"Can we, please Félix?" Malo begged. "I want to see it."
"Me too," Félix agreed. "Oscar?"
Oscar shrugged. "There's no hurry for me to be back in Paris."
"I'll get my purse," Portia said with a grin.
***
Félix upgraded Luc's truck, much to the foreman's delight, to a Land Rover capable of carrying the five of them through a blizzard, much less over the well-kept roads just to the south of London.
"It's a very small village," Oscar said, reading from the packet of information Luc had passed him. It bore the official seal of the Catholic Church, and that, combined with MapQuest printouts, lent a surreal air to the whole proceeding. "Named after the church, I'm guessing. St Thomas."
"Ruins," Luc said. "They built a new one two hundred years ago, and the old fell apart as the town shifted."
"Hmm...yeah, moved west. Old one used to be the centre of town, it says. Now it's barely incorporated. Small now, must have been tiny two hundred years ago. Where do they dig this stuff up?"
"I think the local priests prepare it," Luc answered. "This one seems more well-informed than most."
"Yeah, he's...zealous," Oscar agreed, flipping to the second page. "Hobbyist historian. Nice work, if you can get it."
Portia let out a sudden snort of laughter, and Oscar turned to her. "Something you'd like to share with the class, Rainer?"
"Just picturing you in a white collar, that's all," she replied, laughing. Malo began to laugh as well.
"There's the new church," Luc interrupted, pointing out the windscreen at a spire that rose up from a group of trees, a few streets over from the market street they were currently on. "And there," he added, gesturing further to the east, where a looming, abstracted shape made of dark stone seemed to leer at the town from a low hill, "is the old."
"Scary," Malo said, leaving fingerprints on the window as he stared at it.
It didn't take them long to reach the hill on which the old church stood, flanked on three sides by green-belt and on the fourth by a small orchard, beyond which stood the foundations of what must have been lodgings for the church staff. The edges of the stone foundation were black with age.
"Must be pretty in the summer," Oscar said, climbing out of the Land Rover.
"Apple blossoms all over the churchyard, sticking to the outside wall...pain in the ass," Luc answered.
"Language," Félix murmured, and Luc glanced apologetically at Malo.
"What's the date on the church again?" Oscar asked, as Portia and Félix followed them up the wall to the front door of the church, Malo running ahead.
"Building finished in 1540, taken out of use in 1811," Luc read off the sheet. "No reason given."
"If I get nearly three hundred years of use I'd be grateful for a rest too," Portia said. Luc looked amusedly at the broken windows, and then dutifully punched a code into the lockbox on the large wooden door.
"Perpendicular Gothic," Oscar said. "Late, but it looks like it started early enough to get its licks in. Fan vaults, decorated flying buttresses, tons of decoration -- oh, this is nice."
There was something spongy and mossy beneath their feet, which turned out to be rotten carpet, covering the entryway only; there were torch-mounts inside the doorway, and candle brackets all along the walls.
"Greek cross," Oscar murmured, as they passed out of the entry porch and into the nave. The church was indeed cross-shaped, but each separate area seemed of equal size, as if they were merely four chambers clustered around the large, open space of the central dome, through which shone a single spot of light from a carved opening at its peak.
"Floating dome...architect knew his history. Very nice Byzantine style. Compact, good for small congregations. Luc, are there any notes on the dome?"
"It's still there?" Luc ventured. Oscar grinned, and crouched to examine a carved stone brace that had once held a wooden pew, if the fittings were anything to judge by. "The pews were removed and burned, apparently."
"Rose window," Portia called, from where she was standing in the centre of the church, under the dome. "Been filled in, look."
There was a lot of light in the old church, but barely enough to see the details of the darkened walls; Luc took an electric torch out of his back pocket and shone it in the direction of the far end. The beam fell on modern-looking brick, filling in a circular shape in the wall, high up.
"Probably took it down and sent it over to the new church," Oscar said, joining her in the crossing for a moment. "Hah, they adjusted the dome's opening, look. It's not centered. Somebody really knew what they were doing here. Probably the stonemasons."
"Adjusted how?" Luc asked, staring up also. Malo had walked outside again, and was throwing small stones in through the already-broken windows, laughing.
"The hole's situated to created a spotlight, where the light through it falls, but the light is set to fall on the altar during the service. Church architects in Byzantium were concerned with light, and what they could do with it -- do we have the architect's name?" Oscar asked, peering behind the altar. "Yeah, and see? There's a baptismal font here, where rainwater would fall when the rain came in through the opening."
"No name," Luc confirmed, wandering towards the rose window. Portia was busily examining the dingy, semi-circular apse on one end of the transept, which crossed the main section of the church. Oscar was still staring up into the opening of the dome, bathed in early-autumn light. When the noise began, he started and turned; Luc dropped his flashlight, and Portia gasped in surprise.
Félix, who had been standing on the verge between nave and crossing, was singing, his voice just a shade too high to be baritone, head tilted back slightly.
Ave Maria
Ave Maria Mater dei
Ora pro nobis pecatoribus
Ora, ora pro nobis
Ora ora pro nobis pecatoribus...
Portia looked to Oscar, who hadn't noticed; he was watching Félix, instead, an inscrutable grin on his face. Luc had crossed himself and was listening with the air of someone attending worship. Malo came skidding into the nave, looking worried, and then stopped when he saw his brother singing.
Nunc et in hora mortis
In hora mortis, mortis nostrae
In hora mortis nostrae
Ave Maria!
There was silence for a minute, then, until Luc crossed himself a second time and murmured, "Amen," as Portia came forward to lean on his shoulder, contemplatively. Malo crossed his arms and nodded approvingly.
"So," Oscar said, his words sounding very large in the empty church, "I'll call Eugenia about buying it."
"What?" Portia demanded, staring at him.
"He's going to buy the church," Oscar said, with a shrug and a smile. "This is my work."
Portia glanced at Félix, who was grinning too, now. "Félix, you can't be serious, what are you going to do with a church?"
Félix looked around him, at the weathered stone carvings, the falling-in roof, the floor full of lumpy projecting stone pew-braces, and the bricked up rose-window.
"Fix it," he said.
Please remember to scroll down: chapters Seventeen and Eighteen have also been posted.
Chapter Nineteen
They were stopped in London for maintenance and refueling when Portia got busted by Heathrow Security.
They could have stayed on the airplane, if they wanted, since it was all exterior work, but Malo wanted to go explore the airport and Oscar admitted he could use to stretch his legs a little, so they had wandered around until they found a cafe to settle down in and watch the travelers pass on their way to and from the rest of the airplanes. Oscar was showing Malo how he drew people, explaining the theory of spheres and boxes while Malo consumed an enormous platter of chocolate cake, when Portia leapt up as if she'd been shocked by the chair.
"What is it?" Félix asked, alarmed, but Portia was already running. She hadn't even bothered to let go of the package of chocolates she'd bought at the Duty Free.
"Stay here," Félix said to Oscar and Malo, and took off after her before the pair could even blink in confusion.
The airport was crowded, and Portia had a head start; Félix, in addition, was not a runner by nature, being a fan of the sauntering school. He kept losing sight of her in the masses of people, and began shouting her name, which drew the attention of two airport security guards, who saw a woman running with a suspicious parcel and a man chasing after her, yelling an unusual name.
Then she flung herself on an unsuspecting tourist, and the police came down on both of them like a ton of uniformed bricks.
Félix skidded to a stop in time to see the police hauling her off of the man, who was --
-- laughing.
"Luc?" Félix asked in disbelief.
***
A few hurried explanations and Luc's refusal to press assault charges later, they had rejoined Oscar and Malo at the cafe, with Luc and a large suitcase in tow. Oscar, delighted to see his former crew foreman, shook his hand and offered him his seat next to Malo, who was still placidly working away at the chocolate cake.
"What are you doing in England?" Félix asked, settling back into his seat.
Portia, who was still straightening her clothing after a brief tussle with two of Heathrow's Finest, beamed as Luc replied, "Getting knocked down by strange women."
"Totally worth it to see the look on your face," she announced.
"It's always my pleasure to be accosted by lovely Americans," Luc said gravely. "I could ask you the same, Mr Carvell."
Félix smiled. "We're refueling on our way back to France. You look well, are you well?"
Luc shrugged. "I am, I suppose. I've been hired to do some work in England."
"Thinking of emigrating?" Oscar asked interestedly. Luc looked slightly shifty.
"Perhaps," he allowed. "My English is pretty good..."
"Hard to get a job in France?" Félix asked, quietly.
"I'm sure you understand, Mr Carvell," Luc replied, just as quietly. "A reputation for burning down buildings -- "
"That wasn't your fault," Portia said sharply.
"It wasn't anyone's fault," Félix snapped.
"Yes, well. Makes it difficult to get a job in France. The English like me, though," Luc added, brightening a little. "I have been hired by the church."
"The church?" Félix asked, blinking.
"Yes! There are churches in England they want to sell, but they want to make sure they're not dangerous first. They want me to inspect and repair them," Luc said proudly.
"The Catholic church?" Oscar asked.
"It's an act of faith," Luc said airily.
"The church pays above the going rate," Félix added shrewdly.
"Twenty percent. I call it the religious discount," Luc replied with a grin. "But it's good money and a chance to travel, and if I manage not to burn anything down, I might be able to get a job in France again as something more than a forklift operator."
"You get to drive forklifts?" Malo asked, impressed.
"You should come see -- I'm sure you'd enjoy it," Luc said to Oscar. "Some of them are ancient -- old medieval things with the roof falling in."
"A roof falling in is how I got this," Félix said, pointing to the bruise on his cheek.
"I thought it might be rude to ask. I assumed you proposition Portia," Luc grinned. "Are you in any hurry to return to Paris?"
"No," Malo said eagerly. Félix gave his brother a warning look. "Well, I'm not," the boy added snootily.
"We're just here while we refuel," Félix said regretfully. "Family business."
"I understand," Luc said.
"Isn't it weird?" Portia asked.
"What's that?" Oscar inquired.
"Well, of all the places to run into Luc...while he's on his way to see a lot of places in desperate need of renovation..." Portia said, raising her eyebrows and grinning.
"Yes, the world is full of coincidences," Oscar drawled.
"I mean it! We should go. Come on, Oscar, when else are you going to get to shout in church?"
"Why would I want to shout in a church?"
"I always wanted to," Félix said thoughtfully. "Like in those gospel churches you see in the movies. AMEN!"
"Félix!" Oscar hissed, as people stopped to stare. Félix grinned.
"Land's going cheap," Luc continued, accepting the cup of coffee that was brought to him. "Hard to find buyers. People want it for the land, but the church is insistent that the buildings not be torn down, and the only uses anyone ever has for a former church are cinemas and art galleries. They're not exactly ideal for either, and some of them are actual ruins. No electricity, no running water."
"Yeah, but all those great carvings," Oscar beamed. "Gargoyles and columns and stuff."
"French invention, you know, gargoyles," Félix said proudly.
"Gargouille, meaning throat," Oscar said to himself.
"Listen, it'll be like, a day," Portia said. "Not even. It's only a couple of hours away, right Luc?"
"An hour at most. First stop's on the outskirts of London; I was going to rent a truck and drive there. I could have you back by this evening," Luc said.
"Can we, please Félix?" Malo begged. "I want to see it."
"Me too," Félix agreed. "Oscar?"
Oscar shrugged. "There's no hurry for me to be back in Paris."
"I'll get my purse," Portia said with a grin.
***
Félix upgraded Luc's truck, much to the foreman's delight, to a Land Rover capable of carrying the five of them through a blizzard, much less over the well-kept roads just to the south of London.
"It's a very small village," Oscar said, reading from the packet of information Luc had passed him. It bore the official seal of the Catholic Church, and that, combined with MapQuest printouts, lent a surreal air to the whole proceeding. "Named after the church, I'm guessing. St Thomas."
"Ruins," Luc said. "They built a new one two hundred years ago, and the old fell apart as the town shifted."
"Hmm...yeah, moved west. Old one used to be the centre of town, it says. Now it's barely incorporated. Small now, must have been tiny two hundred years ago. Where do they dig this stuff up?"
"I think the local priests prepare it," Luc answered. "This one seems more well-informed than most."
"Yeah, he's...zealous," Oscar agreed, flipping to the second page. "Hobbyist historian. Nice work, if you can get it."
Portia let out a sudden snort of laughter, and Oscar turned to her. "Something you'd like to share with the class, Rainer?"
"Just picturing you in a white collar, that's all," she replied, laughing. Malo began to laugh as well.
"There's the new church," Luc interrupted, pointing out the windscreen at a spire that rose up from a group of trees, a few streets over from the market street they were currently on. "And there," he added, gesturing further to the east, where a looming, abstracted shape made of dark stone seemed to leer at the town from a low hill, "is the old."
"Scary," Malo said, leaving fingerprints on the window as he stared at it.
It didn't take them long to reach the hill on which the old church stood, flanked on three sides by green-belt and on the fourth by a small orchard, beyond which stood the foundations of what must have been lodgings for the church staff. The edges of the stone foundation were black with age.
"Must be pretty in the summer," Oscar said, climbing out of the Land Rover.
"Apple blossoms all over the churchyard, sticking to the outside wall...pain in the ass," Luc answered.
"Language," Félix murmured, and Luc glanced apologetically at Malo.
"What's the date on the church again?" Oscar asked, as Portia and Félix followed them up the wall to the front door of the church, Malo running ahead.
"Building finished in 1540, taken out of use in 1811," Luc read off the sheet. "No reason given."
"If I get nearly three hundred years of use I'd be grateful for a rest too," Portia said. Luc looked amusedly at the broken windows, and then dutifully punched a code into the lockbox on the large wooden door.
"Perpendicular Gothic," Oscar said. "Late, but it looks like it started early enough to get its licks in. Fan vaults, decorated flying buttresses, tons of decoration -- oh, this is nice."
There was something spongy and mossy beneath their feet, which turned out to be rotten carpet, covering the entryway only; there were torch-mounts inside the doorway, and candle brackets all along the walls.
"Greek cross," Oscar murmured, as they passed out of the entry porch and into the nave. The church was indeed cross-shaped, but each separate area seemed of equal size, as if they were merely four chambers clustered around the large, open space of the central dome, through which shone a single spot of light from a carved opening at its peak.
"Floating dome...architect knew his history. Very nice Byzantine style. Compact, good for small congregations. Luc, are there any notes on the dome?"
"It's still there?" Luc ventured. Oscar grinned, and crouched to examine a carved stone brace that had once held a wooden pew, if the fittings were anything to judge by. "The pews were removed and burned, apparently."
"Rose window," Portia called, from where she was standing in the centre of the church, under the dome. "Been filled in, look."
There was a lot of light in the old church, but barely enough to see the details of the darkened walls; Luc took an electric torch out of his back pocket and shone it in the direction of the far end. The beam fell on modern-looking brick, filling in a circular shape in the wall, high up.
"Probably took it down and sent it over to the new church," Oscar said, joining her in the crossing for a moment. "Hah, they adjusted the dome's opening, look. It's not centered. Somebody really knew what they were doing here. Probably the stonemasons."
"Adjusted how?" Luc asked, staring up also. Malo had walked outside again, and was throwing small stones in through the already-broken windows, laughing.
"The hole's situated to created a spotlight, where the light through it falls, but the light is set to fall on the altar during the service. Church architects in Byzantium were concerned with light, and what they could do with it -- do we have the architect's name?" Oscar asked, peering behind the altar. "Yeah, and see? There's a baptismal font here, where rainwater would fall when the rain came in through the opening."
"No name," Luc confirmed, wandering towards the rose window. Portia was busily examining the dingy, semi-circular apse on one end of the transept, which crossed the main section of the church. Oscar was still staring up into the opening of the dome, bathed in early-autumn light. When the noise began, he started and turned; Luc dropped his flashlight, and Portia gasped in surprise.
Félix, who had been standing on the verge between nave and crossing, was singing, his voice just a shade too high to be baritone, head tilted back slightly.
Ave Maria
Ave Maria Mater dei
Ora pro nobis pecatoribus
Ora, ora pro nobis
Ora ora pro nobis pecatoribus...
Portia looked to Oscar, who hadn't noticed; he was watching Félix, instead, an inscrutable grin on his face. Luc had crossed himself and was listening with the air of someone attending worship. Malo came skidding into the nave, looking worried, and then stopped when he saw his brother singing.
Nunc et in hora mortis
In hora mortis, mortis nostrae
In hora mortis nostrae
Ave Maria!
There was silence for a minute, then, until Luc crossed himself a second time and murmured, "Amen," as Portia came forward to lean on his shoulder, contemplatively. Malo crossed his arms and nodded approvingly.
"So," Oscar said, his words sounding very large in the empty church, "I'll call Eugenia about buying it."
"What?" Portia demanded, staring at him.
"He's going to buy the church," Oscar said, with a shrug and a smile. "This is my work."
Portia glanced at Félix, who was grinning too, now. "Félix, you can't be serious, what are you going to do with a church?"
Félix looked around him, at the weathered stone carvings, the falling-in roof, the floor full of lumpy projecting stone pew-braces, and the bricked up rose-window.
"Fix it," he said.