Tomas thought for a moment. “It may be. The Templars are under contract as is the lord of Runkel.”
Alwin thought carefully. “Tomas, go ahead of us and see. Do you know which door?”
“It’d be down a small corridor that turns to the right, just ahead of us. Then it would be the last door on the left.” With that, the lad crept forward.
The other four waited nervously. They feared Perpetua might awaken and begin calling for help. If he did, they’d be found out. “Might he?” whispered Friederich.
“I don’t think so, lad,” answered Alwin. He hoped he was right.
It seemed a lifetime before Tomas came padding back in the darkness. In a low voice he said, “We’ve one guard fast asleep. But he’s a few doors down from the prior’s.”
Alwin thought quickly. He pulled his sword quietly from its sheath. “If he stirs, I’ll need to finish him. I pray God keeps him in his dreams. Now, Friederich, when you get to the door, you’ll need to go through many keys quietly. When you find the right one, open the door, and Helmut will follow you in. Arnold says the Jew vowed he saw the parchment put in a wooden box atop his desk.”
Helmut was perspiring and his mouth was dry. “We’ve no certainty that the key to the office is even on our ring.”
The group was quiet. It was logical that it would be there, but it was also possible that the prior would have his own key. No one had given that little detail a thought!
Alwin muttered under his breath, “I should have plied the key keeper!”
“Well, you didn’t,” said Tomas. “But here we are. I say let’s go with what we have.”
Helmut was trembling. “But why wouldn’t he have locked it in the strongbox?”
Alwin shook his head. “I doubt the prior has his own.”
The five squatted quietly, and then Friederich whispered, “Well, we’re here. Let’s be on with it.”
They clasped hands. “For Wil and Heinrich, then,” whispered Alwin. “Let us go with God.”
Otto was placed as a watchman where the group had paused. His duty was to keep an eye on that side of the cloister. Tomas was sent forward, beyond the turn and deeper along the corridor serving the offices. Alwin followed Helmut and Friederich to the corner, where they turned right. He would fix his eye on the sleeping guard whom the two lads sneaked past.
The rain began to fall harder, suddenly in great sheets. Alwin prayed that no thunder would follow. “Keep sleeping, my friend. Keep sleeping.”
Friederich was only seven, but he knew what grave consequences both he and his comrades would face if they were discovered. With steely determination, the little lad ran his fingers over the shape of his ring of keys. Some were long, some fat; some had a wide end, some narrow. He ran his forefinger over the keyhole of the prior’s door and closed his eyes, imagining its shape. Then, swiftly sorting through the keys once more, he picked one. The lad took a deep breath and lifted it to the hole. He slid it in ever so silently and gave it a twist.
Nothing moved.
Undaunted, the boy tried again, and then again. Suddenly near tears, he closed his eyes and let his fingers run over the whole of the ring once more.
“Hurry!” whispered Helmut. “Please!”
Friederich’s eyes stayed closed. He drew a slow breath through his nostrils and felt for the one key that might save them all, the single iron tool that would open the doors of hope. His fingers held fast on one. He could not move them past it. With a smile, he knew. The lad took the squat, short-shafted key and lifted it to the door. He slid it quietly, but confidently, forward. He turned it in its hole.
Click, snap, creak. The door opened!
“Oh, thank You, Jesus!” squeaked Helmut. The two shuffled quickly into the room. It was black as pitch, and the boys strained to see. “The desk should be by the window, Helmut,” whispered Friederich.
The trembling boy inched his way forward with arms outstretched. His knee bumped an unseen stool, which scraped loudly across the stone floor. The boys froze.
In the corridor, Alwin nearly cried out at the sound. It was muffled by the rain, but to his peaked senses, it sounded like the crash of a cymbal! The guard shifted slightly on his seat, and Alwin prepared to pounce. His hands gripped his sword tightly, and he gritted his teeth.
“Go around,” urged Friederich quietly.
Helmut moved to one side, then inched forward again. His hands guided him along a table, then past the high back of a chair. Nothing.
“Move farther down the room,” urged Friederich.
Helmut crept forward. He felt his heart pounding within his chest, and his breath was short and rapid. A flash of distant lightning lit the room suddenly, and the lad saw the desk just before him. He reached forward. His fingers ran along the well-worn wood of the top, past an inkwell and its quill, past a few dry leafs of parchment and an unseen Book of Hours. They lingered for a moment on the lead seal of a large letter. Had he known, he would have been surprised to be touching a document sealed by the pope.