Nuns with Puns for Itchio

*Dearest Lady Eldelaide, I read a small item in the ‘Shetland Sheet’ about your visit to the islands and I recognized God’s hand in this, for I am in dire need of an investigatrix. If you would consider consulting with me on a mysterious matter of great importance, I would be most grateful. May I call upon you today? The boy who brought this message shall wait for your response. Sincerely yours, Sister Tamala Order of Saint Agmontra Burrafirth Abbey* Intrigued, I scribbled a reply on the other side and handed the note back to the tow-headed lad who had brought it, tipping him a tuppence. He thanked me and departed. Much to my surprise, two minutes later I heard a soft knock on the door of my hotel room and when I opened it I found a nun standing there, about fifty-five years of age, slightly shorter than myself and dressed in a black habit. “Oh, that was fast,” I said. She smiled. “I was waiting downstairs. I didn’t want to call on you unannounced.” “That was most thoughtful of you. But how could you be sure I was here at the hotel and not out gallivanting about?” “I had faith you would be here when I needed you. And if you were out, I was willing to wait. Patience is a virtue.” “I see. Won’t you come in?” She entered and I offered her tea, which she declined. We sat down. I held up her note. “Would you like to tell me about the mystery?” “Surely. It concerns a book. A library book. One that is overdue. Very, very, very overdue.” I blinked. “You must be joking.” She shook her head, then reached into a slit in her habit, retrieving something from an inside pocket -- a small, slim book bound in red leather. “Some workmen were making repairs in the cellar at the abbey and they found an old storeroom that hasn’t been used in ages, and in that storeroom they found a large pile of boxes. In one of those boxes they found this book, along with a diary dating back to the seventeenth century, written by Sister Bertha, who was the assistant librarian at Muckle Flugga and later at Burrafirth. “Uh ... Muckle what?” “Muckle Flugga.” [[op 3 Muckle Flugga<-Muckle Flugga? You made that up!]]

No, it’s an actual place. The name is Old Norse and means “large steep-sided island,” although it’s actually a small, steep-sided island. It’s the northernmost point of the British Isles (if you don’t count Out Stack) and is famous for its lighthouse. According to local folklore, Muckle Flugga was created when two giants named Herman and Saxa got into a fight over a mermaid and hurled gigantic boulders at each other, which became Muckle Flugga and Out Stack. The mermaid, desiring neither giant, urged them to follow her to the North Pole – perhaps hoping to cool them off. They eagerly did her bidding, forgetting they couldn’t swim, and were drowned. And thus ended their rocky romance with the mermaid. You can’t make this stuff up. [[op 4<-continue]]

She leaned forward and eagerly continued, like a society lady sharing the latest gossip with her friends over tea. “Are you familiar with Muckle Flugga Abbey?” “I never heard of it before.” “It’s near the lighthouse and has been abandoned for over two hundred years. The nuns of my Order left there rather suddenly due to ‘inhospitable conditions,’ as they put it. They resettled in Burrafirth and we remain there to this day. “In her diary, Sister Bertha told of a hidden room within the old abbey. Its original purpose was to hide the abbess and the senior nuns if the building were attacked by Henry VIII – or maybe it was the Vikings. I don’t remember which. Later on it was used to store forbidden books that went against the teachings of the Church -- very important books by some illustrious authors, such as Aristotle, Abelard, Ovid, Sappho, Copernicus and the Sibyl of Cumae, among others. Those books would be worth a small fortune today -- and of even greater value to scholars. I want you to help me retrieve those books.” “They’re still in the library at Muckle Flugga?” “Presumably.” “Why didn’t the sisters take the books with them when they moved?” “According to Sister Bertha, and I quote, ‘all agreed it was best to leave those behind.’ She did not elaborate, but I assume the Church would’ve disapproved if it knew the sisters were in possession of banned books. “Of course things have changed since then. In these modern times we’re more enlightened about such matters, and the books would be a Godsend to my Order. If we choose to keep them they will add to our prestige. If we sell them we shall reap financial rewards we could apply toward many worthy charitable projects.” “Why do you need my help?” “The only way to access the secret room is through a hidden door. According to Sister Bertha’s diary, there are carvings on one of the library walls that have to be pressed in a certain order to unlock the mechanism. The only other way to gain access would be busting through the walls with a sledgehammer until one found the hidden entrance, but in a structure of such advanced age that might bring the ceiling crashing down.” “I see.” “Sister Bertha wrote down the combination that opened the door, to jog her memory in case she forgot. As a precaution she put it in the form of a riddle, so if anyone else found the note it would be meaningless to them. After she moved to Burrafirth she kept the note, just in case, but hid it somewhere ‘no one would ever look for it.’” She held up the red book. “This is one of the books that was kept in the hidden room -- not because it’s too blasphemous to read, but too terrible to read. Sister Bertha borrowed it and never had a chance to return it. Or perhaps she forgot she had it. I dropped the book on the floor not too long ago and the note fell out of the gap behind the spine.” “You say that book is too terrible to read? What do you mean?” She handed me the book. I glanced at the title, embossed on the spine in faded gilt-leaf: *THE FUNNY FRIAR By Friar Yuck* “Friar Yuck?” I said. Sister Tamala nodded. “Obviously a pseudonym. You can imagine how dreadful the writing is.” I opened the book. The pages were yellowed and brittle and had that delightfully musty old-book smell. But that would turn out to be the only pleasant thing about them. *Why did the priest cross the road? He wanted a blessed journey. (The priest didn’t walk across the road, he made the sign of the cross ON the road.)* I looked up, grimacing. “If there’s anything worse than a bad joke, it’s a bad joke that has to be explained.” “Agreed.” With trepidation, I continued. *What do you get when you cross one of the devil’s minions with a monkey? A ch-imp.* “At least the author didn’t have to explain this one,” I said, then read another ‘joke’: *Why did the beaver cross the river? Damned if I know!* Cringing, I flipped the page and came upon a crudely drawn cartoon depicting two cats clad in priestly vestments cornering a cowering church mouse. The caption: *Let us prey.* I closed the book. “Self-published?” “I assume so.” I handed it back to her. “And the abbey librarian was charitable enough to accept the book from one of her brethren, this so-called Friar Yuck, not wishing to hurt his feelings?” “Possibly. I know nothing about the book’s history. The book itself is not important. Just the note.” She thrust a hand into another slit in her habit and took out a piece of folded parchment. It crackled as she slowly and carefully opened it. She handed it to me. The writing was faded, but an excellent example of the calligrapher’s art. *Start with a wine thou doth not drink, then poke an eye that doth not blink. Find the one that cannot pass through, then give a quick look to another clue. Find the one that goeth with hood, then baby’s toy shall scare thee good. Then up thou goest, eyes open wide, to find the book nun dares to hide.* I looked up. “Well at least it’s better than the jokes.” She looked at me expectantly, as if she thought I could solve the riddle on the spot. I folded the paper and put it in my bag and stood up. “I shall be delighted to help you, sister.” She clasped her hands together, beaming. “You are such a blessing!” “Thank you.” “How soon can we start for Muckle Flugga?” “Give me a few minutes to get myself organized.” “Excellent. I shall wait for you downstairs. I brought a pony cart and some empty boxes to carry the books after we retrieve them.” “I hope your efforts won’t be wasted. Your faith in my abilities is gratifying, but I make no promises.” “I understand.” After she left I went next door to Gremmings’ room and informed him of our new adventure. “Sounds intriguing, m’lady,” he said. “Will we be gone long?” “I don’t anticipate so. But best pack a small overnight bag, just in case.” “What about our weapons?” [[op 5 - don't take guns<-Don't take]] [[op 6 take guns<- Take weapons]]

"Yes, we'd better take them, just in case." (set: $takeGuns to 1) [[op 7 chapter 2<-Chapter 2]]

Don’t bother. I think we’ll be safe exploring an abandoned abbey with a nun. (set: $takeGuns to 0) [[op 7 chapter 2<-Chapter 2]]

The noonday sun bathed the side of Muckle Flugga Abbey, but couldn’t dispel the grim aspect of those stark gray walls. A chill breeze tousled my hair and rippled the bottom of my skirt, and another chill swept through my mind, for I detected faint vibrations of a sinister nature within those walls. But perhaps it was merely my imagination reacting to the gloomy atmosphere of the place. Beyond the abbey, on a nearby peak, perched the famous lighthouse. Below stretched an austere but breathtaking view, the rugged sea slashing against the steep and rocky shore. With Gremmings leading the way, the three of us walked up a steep and winding dirt path flanked by brambles, and arrived at a wooden gate set in the stone wall. The gate resisted Gremmings’ first attempt to open it, for the hinges had accumulated much rust over the years, but it was no match for his strength. I noted the admiring glance Sister Tamala gave to his flexing muscles, and could not fault her good taste. I clutched the blue-gray witchstone amulet at my breast, hoping to gain some special insight into the vague foreboding that had come over me. I am sensitive to psychic vibrations, although not a true clairvoyant, but I could not discern anything specific. The abbey was too far north of the ley lines, and the energy given off by the aurora borealis, although not visible at this latitude, even at night, often interferes with occult readings in this region. We crossed the flagstone courtyard -- empty save for piles of dead leaves from the trees just inside the abbey walls. The denuded, scraggly branches waved at us like skeletal hands rising warningly from their graves. “Do you know where the scriptorium is?” I asked. “I haven’t the foggiest,” Sister Tamala replied. “I’ve never been here.” We approached the main entrance to the abbey and Gremmings tried the handle on the double doors. Unlocked. He swung the doors open with only a moderate protest from the hinges and we stepped into a sea of shadows. The three of us produced our small glowstone lanterns and twisted the lenses to bring the stones into contact with the reflectors. Greenish-white light sprang forth to dispel the murk. [[op 8 go straight<-go straight]] [[op 9 go left<-go left]]

We eyed the hallways branching to left and right, but decided to head for another set of double doors straight ahead of us. We opened them and found ourselves in the church. Sunbeams streamed through stained-glass windows, forming lovely pools of multicolored light on the floor like a broken rainbow -- islands in the gloom. The pews were covered with dust and small chunks of plaster from the peeling ceiling. We walked down the aisle to the altar, disturbing the contemplation of several churchgoers as we passed – rats, who scurried under the pews to avoid us. The altar table was devoid of holy objects – except a big chunk of plaster that, fittingly enough, formed a rough cross shape. At the back of the church we found the door to the bell tower. I opened it and started to enter. “Why are you going in there, Lady Eldelaide?” Sister Tamala said. “It’s a dead end.” “I know. But I’ve never been in a bell tower before. I thought I’d take a quick peek, if you don’t mind.” “Very well,” she said stiffly. I went inside. Gremmings followed. Sister Tamala sighed and joined us. I craned my neck to peer up at the belfry, where the bell glinted dully in the sunlight slanting through the louvers. And then, to my astonishment, the nun scurried past me, grabbed the bell rope and began tugging on it frantically. But it wouldn’t budge. “Oh God, won’t someone help me?” she said. But it wasn’t Sister Tamala’s voice; this one was higher and had a youthful timbre. “What are you staring at, Lady Eldelaide?” I jumped, startled, and spun to the left, where Sister Tamala was eyeing me strangely. My head whipped back to the right, where the other nun still struggled to pull the bell rope, her back facing me. “Who are you?” I said, approaching this second nun, but she did not turn around or acknowledge my presence. “Who are you talking to?” Sister Tamala said. “The bell must be rung!” the other sister sobbed. “The bell must be rung!” I came up behind her and tried to touch her shoulder, but my hand passed right through her. A ghost! I walked around to the other side so I could see her face. She was a frail looking girl with the eyes of a timid fawn, yet there was grim determination in her countenance as she fought with the bell rope, her feet planted, her back bent, legs thrusting as she put her entire body into each tug. “The bell must be rung! Won’t somebody help me?” Her pleas were so heart-rending I grabbed the rope and gave it a good yank, and the bell swung to the right, let out a loud clang, then swung back the other way. The nun’s face lit up. “Thank God!” And with that, she vanished. *Crack!* The wooden beam above the bell suddenly broke in two. The bell slid sideways on its mountings, hung for a moment, then plunged downward. “Look out!” I cried. Sister Tamala tried to jump out of the way, but too late. *THUD!* Gremmings rushed over and rolled the bell off of her, revealing her crushed corpse and the terrified expression on her face. I looked away, clamping a hand to my mouth to quell the nausea rising from my innards. Gremmings picked up the nun and grimly carried her out of the abbey and back to our pony cart as I trailed behind, totally distraught. We took her body to Burrafirth -- where, oddly enough, Abbess Jestinia informed us she had never seen the woman before and stated emphatically that she was not a member of the Agmontran order. And when the habit was removed so the corpse could be repaired and prepared for a Christian burial, a loaded Bulldog Pup thirty-eight revolver was found in one of the pockets. I never returned to the abbey. I could not bear to do so. As for Sister Bertha’s riddle, I left the note with Abbess Jestinia, but she was adamant that the hidden room should remain undisturbed, keeping its secrets for all time. I never did discover who Sister Tamala actually was. And I never knew, nor ever learned, her true name. [[op 9 go left<-Go back and try the left wing]]

Nine statues of saints stood in alcoves lining the hallway. I could’ve sworn their marble faces changed expression, frowning at us as we passed, but it must have been the shifting shadows spawned by our lamps. We came to two doors. [[op 11 first door mop closet<-try the first door]] [[op 12 second door apothecary<-try the second door]]

(set: $mopCloset to 1) I opened the first one and our lamps pierced the total blackness, revealing mops and brooms and a bucket... And two naked young ladies sitting on the floor, with two black habits lying in a tangled heap nearby. One nun was a short, slightly stout redhead, the other a tall, slim brunette with ample breasts, which the first young woman was nibbling on voraciously as both sisters’ hands roamed over their parted thighs and sweat gleamed on their flushed flesh. “Oh, I am terribly sorry!” I said. The lovers ignored me and continued with their frolic. “Lady Eldelaide, who are you talking to?” Sister Tamala said. The couple vanished before my eyes. “There were two nuns in here,” I said. “But they’re gone now.” “How could they be gone? This is a mop closet. There’s no way out but the doorway we’re standing in.” “It must have been a vision of the past. I rarely have such vivid visions, but perhaps the memory of the incident is so powerful, the energy still resonates within these walls.” “Too bad you didn’t see a vision of someone opening the secret door in the library.” “Perhaps I shall see that also, when we find the library.” “Let us hope so.” She sounded like a school teacher scolding an inattentive student. It rankled me slightly, but I let it go. [[op 12 second door apothecary<-second door]] [[op 13 nun quarters - biscuits<-third door]]

We entered the apothecary. A big granite mortar and pestle sat on the end of a long wooden table marred by stains of various colors. The walls were lined with shelves and cupboards and cabinets, all empty save for one glass jar sitting on the lowest shelf of a cabinet in the corner. A single heart-shaped leaf lay at the bottom of the jar, black in color with blue veins, and little yellow dots along the edge. Despite my vast experience with herbs and exotic plants, I’d never seen anything like it. [[op 14 open jar<- Open the jar]] [[op 15 herb garden<-Looks dangerous. I'd better leave it alone.]]

(set: $biscuits to 1) We entered a long hallway containing twenty narrow doors with little glassless windows -- undoubtedly the nuns’ quarters, commonly called “cells.” To my surprise, a light suddenly appeared in the window of the second door on the left. I hurried up to it and peeked in and saw two nuns sitting on the side of a plain bed with a thin straw mattress, a threadbare woolen blanket and a saggy little pillow. The light came from an oil lamp on a little table. Pale moonlight shone through the small window in the wall. (if: $mopCloset is 0)[[[op 17 biscuit no mop<-continue]]] (if: $mopCloset is 1)[[[op 16 biscuit mop<-continue]]]

I picked up the jar, pulled out the cork, turned the jar over and let the leaf fall into my palm. Although it was over two centuries old, the leaf was still pliable. I ran a thumb over its waxy surface. My skin began to tingle. To burn. The heat intensified as it spread from my thumb into my palm, then up my wrist. I cried out in agony and my heart began pounding. I fell into Gremmings’ arms, gasping for breath, my lungs on fire, as violent spasms wracked my body and drool poured from my grimacing mouth. When I awakened from my coma three weeks later, I was in a hospital bed in Haroldswick. I remain there still, three months after the incident in the apothecary. I’ve been told the leaf I touched is called moonwort, one of the rarest and most deadly plants on the planet. The identification was made by Professor Ullene Alderdice from the University of Edinburgh, one of the foremost herbalists in the world. She said I was most fortunate to be alive. As for Sister Tamala, she told Gremmings she was returning to Burrafirth Abbey until I was well enough to resume the investigation. Oddly enough, when he wrote to her to report on my progress, the letter was returned. He wrote to the abbess and she informed him there was no nun in their Order named Tamala. Around that same time a woman in Burrafirth named Belladonna Fyfe was arrested on a charge of murder in connection with the death of a handyman employed by the abbey to make repairs to the cellar. I can only speculate as to what this all means, but it will be some time before I am physically and mentally fit to return to Muckle Flugga Abbey. Until then, the mystery of the hidden room shall remain unsolved. [[op 12 second door apothecary<-go back]]

(set: $herbGarden to 1) As I straightened up from the cabinet I noted movement outside the window. I hurried over and looked out at an herb garden filled with neat rows of well-tended plants. A nun with a sweaty face and calloused hands was bending over, digging some black cohosh out of the soil with a trowel, then placing the plants in a basket held in the crook of one elbow. Another nun sat nearby in the grass bordering the garden, legs folded, arms resting in her lap, hands folded in prayer, her face upraised to the sun, eyes closed. The window was ajar and I could hear the women’s voices clearly. “Sister Pella,” the nun with the trowel said. “Would you mind giving me a hand?” “My hands are busy, Sister Eva,” the sitting nun replied. Sister Eva straightened up, glowering. “What would you know of busy? When were you ever busy? You’re the laziest person I know!” “I am busy communing with the spirit of the Lord. Besides, bending over hurts my back. If the Lord wanted me to bend over, he would give me a spine suitable for such activity.” Sister Eva picked up another trowel from a second basket lying nearby. She stepped across the furrows and dropped the trowel in Sister Pella’s lap. The lazy nun opened her eyes and looked down, then stood up, the trowel falling to the ground. “I’m tired,” she said. “Time for a nap.” She headed toward the door of the apothecary. Now it was Sister Eva’s turn to commune with the Lord, asking for the strength to quell her anger. And then she vanished and the well-tended garden transformed into an unruly mass of weeds and tall, brown grass. I turned away from the window and found Gremmings and Sister Tamala staring at me curiously. “Just an amusing vision from the past,” I said. “Nothing enlightening. Let’s move on.” [[op 13 nun quarters - biscuits<-continue]]

Unlike the two nuns I had seen in the mop closet, these sisters were fully dressed and their minds were not focused on their sexual appetites, but a half-dozen biscuits lying on a red-and-white napkin that was spread out on the bed between them. The nun on the left, a stringy-haired brunette with wide-set eyes, dipped a small knife into a little wooden bowl, then slathered butter onto one of the biscuits. [[op 18 gluttony<-continue]]

A half-dozen biscuits lay on a red-and-white napkin that was spread out on the bed between the two sisters. The nun on the left, a stringy-haired brunette with wide-set eyes, dipped a small knife into a little wooden bowl, then slathered butter onto one of the biscuits. [[op 18 gluttony<-continue]]

The other nun, who had a pointy chin and piercing green eyes, watched her disapprovingly. “You should not have taken those, Sister Gerthelle.” The first nun looked up. “Why not? I made them. Why shouldn’t I enjoy the fruits of my labors?” “They are not fruit, which God gives us for free, to be plucked off His vines when they’ve ripened. They are biscuits. The grain must be harvested and ground into flour and mixed with milk and salt and ...” “I know the recipe for biscuits, Sister Ungar. I’m a baker.” “But others harvest the grain and grind it. Others milk the cows and stir the butter churns. Those things belong to the abbey.” “I made more biscuits than normal. No one went hungry at dinner. The larder overflows with abundance.” She brought the biscuit to her mouth and took a bite and moaned with pleasure. “If it’s such an innocent thing,” Sister Ungar said, “why did you spirit the biscuits away from the kitchen so furtively, hidden within a folded napkin?” “I wanted to keep them warm.” She took another bite, swallowed. “If you disapprove so much, return to your own cell and go hungry. Or stay here and eat in silence. I saved a biscuit especially for you, but if you don’t want it, leave it behind and I shall be more than happy to eat it myself.” Sister Ungar glared at her friend. “You saved me one? One? You have a half-dozen and only one is for me? You are so selfish!” She got up and stormed toward the door, then stopped, turned around, went back to the bed, grabbed two of the biscuits. “Hey!” Sister Gerthelle said. Sister Ungar ran giggling from the cell, passing right through me as if I wasn’t even there. “Lady Eldelaide, what delays you now?” Sister Tamala said. I turned away from the now dark and silent cell and shook my head. “Nothing of importance.” We moved on, climbing the stairs to the second level, and here were more cells, all dark. Another set of stairs led upward. I started toward it. “Lady Eldelaide,” Sister Tamala said wearily, “I highly doubt the library is up there.” [[op 19 go to third level<-go to the third level]] [[op 20 do not go to third level<-do not go to third level]]

(set: $takeCross to 0) I was tempted to pick it up, but it did not belong to me nor the Church. It was a personal item owned by the abbess and I did not wish to rob the dead. [[op 21 <-go to right wing]]

(set: $takeCross to 0) I picked it up and gave it to Sister Tamala so she could return it to the Church along with the library books. [[op 21 <-go to right wing]]

(set: $takeCross to 1) I sensed positive vibrations issuing from the cross, so I decided to borrow it. I picked it up, blew off the dust, then hung the chain around my neck, slipping the cross into my cleavage where it nestled next to my amulet. Perhaps it would bring me luck as I continued exploring this spooky old abbey. [[op 21 <-go to right wing]]

(set: $thirdLevel to 1) “I’m sure it isn’t, but I’m intrigued by this old abbey, so steeped in history. I may never have the opportunity to explore a place like this again, so kindly indulge me. Since I don’t charge for my services, I think that isn’t too much to ask.” Sister Tamala’s eyes hardened and her lips compressed into a thin, hard line. “As you wish,” she muttered. The third level contained only one door, at the far end of the hallway, different from the plain, thin doors of the cells below -- wider and made of walnut with a brass handle and no window. I tried the handle. Locked. Despite the heavy sigh from Sister Tamala, I decided to enter. This was undoubtedly the living quarters/office of the abbess, and I sensed strong resonations issuing from beyond that door. I was curious about the woman who had been in charge of this venerable place so long ago, and hoped to get a glimpse of her. I pulled out my hairpin and stuck the twin prongs into the lock -- a simple mechanism, easy to pick. I opened the door and stepped inside. The bed was nicer than those afforded the other nuns, a four-poster of highly polished maple, although the canopy was gone, as were the mattress, blankets and pillow. A large table and desk were covered with dust, the desk drawers open and empty. No chairs. Bare squares on the wall marked spots where picture frames had once hung. Thick burgundy carpet covered the floor. A mullioned window, missing several panes, admitted a faint breeze, which accounted for the room’s lack of mustiness. I went to the window and gazed out at the leaf-strewn courtyard below, and as I turned around I saw a yellow canopy over the bed, and thick, carefully folded blankets and a plump silken pillow. And seated sideways on the bed was a woman of about sixty with gray hair and alert hazel eyes with lines creasing the corners. She wore a pectoral cross on her habit, signifying her rank, but as she pulled up on a silver chain hanging from her neck, a different cross emerged from the top of her habit, about five inches tall and two across, made of some rough-hewn wood enclosed in a golden frame with gems at each point -- three emerald-green gnomestones and an onyx. They glittered in the light of a fancy brass oil lamp sitting on a carved walnut table next to the bed. The abbess kissed the cross and hung it from a small hook attached to one of the bedposts and then lay down, gazing up at the canopy and letting out a long sigh as she folded her hands on her stomach and shut her eyes. A moment later she disappeared, along with the canopy and the bedding and the cross. Even the hook was gone. I started toward the door. Gremmings and Sister Tamala exited the room ahead of me. I hesitated, then turned around and returned to the bed, impelled by some instinct. I looked down and saw the cross lying on the floor beneath the bed frame, coated in dust. [[leave the cross]] [[give the cross to Sister Tamala]] [[take the cross]]

(set: $thirdLevel to 0) “I know,” I said. “I’m just curious what’s up there.” “More of the same, I’d imagine. Empty cells. Hardly worth bothering with.” “I suppose you’re right.” [[op 21 <-go to right wing]]

The larder -- empty now except for a small tan porcelain jar with a label on it, sitting on one of the top shelves. Why had it been left behind? Burning with curiosity, I asked Gremmings to lift me up so I could retrieve it. I heard Sister Tamala sigh behind us, but I wasn’t sure if she was irked by yet another delay or envious as she watched the handsome and muscular Gremmings squeezing my waist. He set me down and I read the label affixed to the side of the jar with beeswax: *For Abbess Somberta, in appreciation.* There was no signature. I pulled the cork out of the jar and looked inside, sniffed, smiled. “Honey.” I stuck a finger into it and brought it toward my mouth. “Surely you’re not going to eat that, m’lady!” Gremmings said. “Not the whole jar, of course. Just a taste. Or two.” “But it must have gone bad long ago. It’s been sitting on that shelf for over two centuries!” “Ah, that’s where you’re wrong, Gremmings. Bacteria cannot grow in honey. Archaeologists have found jars of three-thousand-year-old honey in Egyptian tombs and consumed it without any ill effects.” “Really? That’s quite remarkable.” “Quite,” Sister Tamala said stiffly, clearly peeved at this latest delay. I stuck the dollop of honey into my mouth, savoring its sweetness, then swallowed. I was about to dig out a second finger-full when my throat began to swell and my lungs constricted and my heart started racing. I clutched at my throat, gurgling, and sank to my knees, the room spinning, my vision blurring. Vaguely I heard Gremmings cry my name, and a shriek of horror from Sister Tamala. I became aware of Gremmings cradling my violently convulsing body in his arms and then all became still and quiet and dark. For the record I wish to state that I was right about honey. It cannot harm you, no matter how old it is -- pure honey, that is. But clearly someone had added something to this jar of honey intended as a gift for the abbess. Poison! Although my body is interred at Highgate, my spirit lingers here, drifting down hallways and seeping through the stone walls, communing with the sisters. They have told me how the poison came to be in the honey jar. The story varies from sister to sister. I’m not sure who to believe. But it matters little now. Sometimes I float up into the hidden room and peruse the forbidden books that no living eyes have seen in over two hundred years. But there is one book I never go near, and I strongly suspect it’s the book that brought Sister Tamala – or whatever her true name is – to the abbey. If she ever solves the riddle of the hidden door, or hires workmen to bust through the walls, she will come up here to take the book and unleash its power upon the world. But we shall stop her. Abbess Somberta and myself. Sister Tamala shall get that book over our dead bodies. And the dead are not to be trifled with. [[op 21 <-go back]]

We passed through the refectory, then crossed an inner courtyard and came at last to the scriptorium. Bands of sunlight from tall, arched windows fell across ten dusty desks with slanted tops. I started down the aisle, then stopped abruptly as books materialized on the desktops and more books appeared on wooden stands in front of the desks, or to the side. Chairs appeared, with nuns sitting in them, hunched over their tomes with featherless quill pens in hand as they painstakingly performed their duties. I moved closer to one of the desks to get a better look at a gorgeous illuminated manuscript. A nun with a cherubic face was carefully transcribing the text onto a blank page, leaving space at the top for the picture, which an illuminator would copy later. A husky nun with a mole on her chin was sitting behind her. She looked up, studied the other nun for a few moments, then rose from her desk and approached. “Well, well, well, Sister Callia,” the standing nun said. “I see Sister Corgi gave you the Galen to work on.” The sitting sister smirked. “Of course, Sister Valda. Who else?” “You also worked on the Sherborne Missal, as I recall.” “Naturally. She couldn’t trust it to just anyone.” “It’s too bad none of the other scribes ever get a chance to work on the more important manuscripts. How can we hone our skills if we are denied such opportunities?” Sister Callia simpered. “Some skills cannot be taught.” She lifted her quill pen, extending a pinky finger. “Fine calligraphy requires more than just a steady hand and a keen eye. One must have finesse and artistry. One is born with such talents or one is not. God’s will decides.” She dipped the pen into the ink well, gently tapped the side of the quill with her middle finger, and brought the tip toward the parchment. Sister Valda reached for the ink well. “Oh, it’s almost empty.” “Actually, I just refilled...” Sister Valda lifted the inkwell out of the hole. It slipped from her fingers and fell on the desk and tipped over, flinging out its contents as it rolled to the bottom of the desktop and landed in Sister Callia’s lap. She leapt to her feet, shrieking and grabbing the Galen, but the ink had already soaked into the top pages. As Sister Valda scurried back to her own desk, Sister Callia unleashed words rarely uttered by women, let alone nuns. The sisters at the other desks whipped their heads around, staring at the spectacle. Perhaps it was my imagination, but I could’ve sworn several sisters suppressed smirks. And then an older nun appeared at the front of the scriptorium, marching down the aisle. Her face was as dry and crinkled as parchment and one eye was cocked and filmy, but the other one burned with cold fury as it beheld the scene. She approached Sister Callia and took the Galen from her hands, staring at the ink blots on the ruined pages. “What is the meaning of this!” Sister Callia sputtered, “It’s not my fault, Sister Corgi! Sister Valda dropped my ink bottle on the Galen! Deliberately!” “That’s not true!” Sister Valda said. “I was here at my own desk the entire time.” “You’re lying!” Sister Callia said. Sister Corgi raised a hand. “Silence!” She turned to the other scribes. “Did any of you see what happened?” They all shook their heads. “Oh come now, someone must have seen something.” She pointed at the nun whose desk was next to Sister Valda’s. “Sister Bernadine, did you see Sister Valda leave her seat?” The nun rose slowly. Sister Valda’s eyes drilled into her. Sister Bernadine averted her gaze and licked her lips. “I ... I’m sure I would have noticed if she had.” “She’s lying too!” Sister Callia said. “They’re in cahoots!” Sister Corgi turned to her. “Why would Sister Valda deliberately destroy a priceless piece of literature?” “She hates me! She’s envious of my talent! She always has been! They all are!” Sister Corgi arched a thin eyebrow. “You formally accuse your sister of committing one of the seven deadly sins?” “I do!” The librarian turned to Sister Valda. “Well?” “Is not pride also one of the seven deadly sins? Perhaps Sister Callia is so filled with pride she cannot accept responsibility for her blunder.” Sister Corgi set the book back on the desk, slid a hand into a pocket and brought out a wooden paddle. “Both of you have transgressed. You know what to do.” The two young nuns opened their mouths to protest, but the glower of the librarian silenced them. They nodded and turned around, glaring at each other, then bent down, cringing in anticipation. The librarian came up behind Sister Callia and drew back her arm, but just as the spanking was about to begin, all the nuns vanished along with the inkwells and quills and books and stands and chairs. I started to describe what I’d just witnessed, but Sister Tamala interrupted me. “That’s fascinating, Lady Eldelaide, but we near the end of our quest. Let’s not tarry here, but press on quickly.” [[op 24 ch 3<-Chapter 3]]

She gestured at two nuns, one a short, slightly stout redhead, the other a tall, slim brunette. “Sister Adora and Sister Barbara, guilty of the sin of lust!” The two nuns gazed into each other’s dewy eyes and clasped hands affectionately. (if: $herbGarden is 1)[[[lazyNun<-continue]]] (else:)[[[no lazy <-Continue]]]

She gestured at two nuns I recognized from the lurid scene in the mop closet. “Sister Adora and Sister Barbara, guilty of the sin of lust!” The two lovers gazed into each other’s dewy eyes and clasped hands affectionately. (if: $herbGarden is 1)[[[lazyNun<-continue]]] (else:)[[[no lazy <-Continue]]]

The nun with the book pointed at the lazy sister I had seen in the herb garden. “Sister Pella, as fine an example of sloth as ever was.” Sister Pella stifled a yawn. “Can we hurry this up, Sister Lattie? I need a nap.” “Be silent,” Sister Lattie snapped, then continued her roll call. [[op 27 seven deadly sins<-continue]]

The sister with the book pointed at a nun with sleepy eyes. “Sister Pella, as fine an example of sloth as ever was.” Sister Pella stifled a yawn. “Can we hurry this up, Sister Lattie? I need a nap.” “Be silent,” Sister Lattie snapped, then continued her roll call. [[op 27 seven deadly sins<-continue]]

“Sister Gerthelle takes more than her fair share of biscuits from the kitchen, an act of gluttony.” Sister Gerthelle suppressed a burp. “I’m hungry.” Sister Lattie ignored her and continued. “Sister Callia’s overweening pride is second to none.” “I am never second, in anything I do!” the cherubic nun replied haughtily. Sister Lattie pointed to Sister Callia’s nemesis, sitting on the opposite side of the circle. “Sister Valda vandalized a priceless book out of envy.” The two squabbling scribes glowered at each other. Sister Lattie placed a hand on her breast. “And my desire for unlimited power is an act of greed. My hatred for the abbess and her cohorts is wrath. And that totals up to seven sins.” She turned to another nun sitting to her left, a frail looking girl with the eyes of a timid fawn. “And last but not least, I must mention Sister Trebella, who assisted Sister Corgi so ably and endured so much at the hands of that ungrateful harpy. It was Sister Trebella who told me about the “*Luciferrous Accursedro Blasphurnaca* and the secret method for gaining access to this room. Her act of betrayal may not be one of the Seven Deadly Sins, but I am sure it will please our Master.” Sister Trebella’s eyes gazed at the floor as she murmured, “Thank you for the kind words, Sister Lattie, but I wonder if it might be best to delay these proceedings.” “What? You’ve having second thoughts?” “An angel appeared in my dreams last night. She warned me not to stray from the path of righteousness, but remain steadfast to our Lord Almighty and keep my faith with Him. Perhaps if we just prayed a little more...” “If God wished to answer our prayers, He would have done so by now. Has Abbess Somberta dropped dead of a heart attack as we requested? Have Sister Corgi’s eyes been pecked out by crows, as we begged? Has either one suffered apoplexy while in the bath and drowned, as we pleaded? Hell no!” Sister Trebella shrugged. “I just thought I’d mention it.” “Say no more about it, sister. There is no turning back now.” She brought the book closer to her face. “I shall now read the first spell.” She had barely begun when a new voice boomed through the room like a thunderclap: “How dare you defile this house of God!” I must have jumped a foot, for the voice came from right behind me. The encircled sisters jumped as well, and leapt to their feet, staring right through me. I spun around and saw two women standing at the top of the stairs. “Abbess Somberta!” Lattie gasped. “Sister Corgi!” Trebella quavered. The two new arrivals came forward, passing effortlessly through my body, oblivious to my presence, and approached the cowering nuns. Sister Lattie stammered, “I ... I thought you were attending the papal debate in Kirkcudbright.” “Obviously,” the abbess said. “But I felt my presence here was more important. I noticed you troublemakers with your heads together in shadowy corners, whispering amongst yourselves on the eve of our departure. I knew something was afoot. And as Sister Corgi and I traveled south, an angel appeared by the side of the road, ordering me to return to my abbey because the devil was at work within these walls! It looks like I arrived just in time, and now...” “Not quite!” Sister Lattie roared. She quickly rattled off the rest of the spell and thrust an arm toward the abbess, her fingers forming a blasphemous symbol. The candle flames flared bright, leapt from the wicks and darted into the air like arrowheads, hovering near the ceiling and multiplying, forming a face, then a head with horns and eyes full of fire and fangs dripping molten drops from a leering mouth. More flecks of flame burst forth from the bottom of the head like a swarm of fireflies, assuming the shape of a torso. Bat-like wings sprouted, then a turgid phallus and sinewy arms ending in claws and hairy legs with cloven hooves. The figure swelled and towered, looming over the abbess and the librarian. Sister Lattie roared, “In Satan’s name, I command you to attack! Kill them! Destroy! Annihilate!” Sister Corgi sank to her knees, eyes wide with fear, but Abbess Somberta stood resolutely. (if: $thirdLevel is 1)[[[no need for cross description<-continue]]] (else:)[[[cross description<-continue]]]

She tugged on a silver chain hanging from her neck, pulling out the cross I had seen in her bedroom. Something in her manner suggested a knight drawing a sword from its scabbard. [[op 28 abbess battles Lattie<-continue]]

She tugged on a silver chain hanging from her neck, pulling out a cross about five inches tall and two across, made of some rough-hewn wood enclosed in a golden frame with gems at each point -- three emerald-green gnomestones and an onyx. Something in her manner suggested a knight drawing a sword from its scabbard. [[op 28 abbess battles Lattie<-continue]]

Sister Lattie snickered “You think some well-worn bauble of a worn-out god can save you?” “It is made from the wood of the True Cross,” the abbess said, her voice ringing off the chamber’s walls. “Its gems come from rings worn by the first four popes.” “Ooh, I’m impressed!” Sister Lattie mocked. “A lovely trinket. I think I’ll take it from your cold, dead hands after my Dark Master devours your soul. It shall be a nice souvenir of my triumph!” The abbess raised the cross above her head. “In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost, I bless this room and all within it, and that which is unworthy of blessing shall hold no sway here, but shall be as shadows, dispelled by the divine light of Almighty God.” The gems in the cross blazed with light, shooting out in blade-thin beams that carved up the fire demon like swords slicing through butter, and the demon crumbled in a shower of sparks like a log cracking in two and falling into a fireplace, and its face took on a mournful expression and melted, pouring down upon Sister Lattie. She screamed in agony and fell to her knees, cradling the book to her bosom, her body glowing orange like a gigantic ember, and then the glow abruptly vanished with a loud hiss, as if water had been poured upon her, and thick gray smoke twirled outward, encircling the pentagram as the rebellious nuns shrieked and gasped and choked and toppled over, their wits fleeing from their heads, perhaps never to return... And then the evil nuns and the abbess and librarian and pentagram and candles vanished and I found myself back in the present. Had Sister Bertha known of the *Luciferrous Accursedro Blasphurnaca* and the foul ceremony that took place in this chamber so many years ago? Did she record it in her diary? Was that the real reason for Sister Tamala’s visit? Pretending nothing had happened, I went to the nearest table, set down my lamp and picked up a book at random, opening it carefully, for the leather cover was loose. I watched Sister Tamala out of the corner of my eye as she stood at the table nearest the back wall, going rapidly through the piles of books, barely glancing at the title pages before setting aside each volume -- as if she were looking for one book in particular. As she neared the bottom of one pile she gasped and glanced quickly in my direction. I pretended to be absorbed in my own book, bowing my head slightly and moving my lips, as if I was reading the text, but I continued to watch Sister Tamala as she took the book she’d discovered and surreptitiously slipped it into her habit. She examined a few more books and then walked toward me. “Shall we fetch the boxes now?” I turned to Gremmings. “Why don’t you go ahead. I’d like to speak to Sister Tamala alone for a moment.” He nodded and headed for the stairs. I turned back to the nun. “I’m curious about the book you slipped into your habit, Sister Tamala. It must be very special. Might I see it?” She stiffened. “Whatever do you mean?” “The book you took. I’d like to see it.” “I took no book.” “I saw you. Why deny it?” “I did nothing of the kind and I resent your accusation!” “Very well then. When we reach Burrafirth I’m afraid I shall be compelled to mention the book to your abbess. It is, after all, the property of the church.” Her voice shook with barely controlled fury as she replied. “Let me remind you, Lady Eldelaide, you are here at my request! You are in no position to give me orders!” “I’m not giving you orders. I’m merely informing you I cannot countenance thievery.” An eerie calm settled over Sister Tamala and she replied in a cordial voice. “Very well, Lady Eldelaide. You want to see what’s in my pocket? I shall be more than happy to show you!” She reached into the slit and took out... A revolver! [[op 29 chapter 4<- chapter 4]]

“I’ve heard that nuns carry some surprising things in their habits, but ... a pistol?” Sister Tamala laughed. “I’m no more a nun than you are! And my name is not Tamala. I’m a friend of one of the workmen who discovered the diary at Burrafirth Abbey. He was smart enough to recognize the value of the book. And stupid enough to trust me.” She cocked the hammer on the Bulldog Pup thirty-eight. “I was hoping to abstain from such crude powers of persuasion, but your overly inquisitive nature leaves me no choice.” “I must confess I’m not totally surprised,” I said. “I had misgivings about you from the beginning. I only wish I’d listened to my instincts more closely.” “Oh? And what gave you misgivings?” “I thought it odd that you brought the joke book to show me but not the diary -- unless there was something in the diary you didn’t want me to read. And I also wondered why a nun would not kneel and make the sign of the cross when standing before the altar. And why someone who preached that patience was a virtue would be so impatient.” “You’re very clever, Lady Eldelaide.” “Not clever enough. You’re the one holding the gun.” “True.” “So what happens now?” “If you’ll be kind enough to step aside, I shall leave. I’m afraid you and that handsome assistant of yours shall have quite a trek back to Mid Yell because I’m taking the pony cart, but I’m sure you can manage. And don’t bother informing the authorities about this theft. You have not a shred of proof.” “I’m in no position to argue. But before you go, would you mind showing me the book you went to such extraordinary lengths to obtain? I’m very curious.” She hesitated. “I suppose there’s no harm in that.” She switched the gun to her left hand, reached into her pocket and took out the book, about seven-by-ten inches, with a black cover with a pentagram embossed in the center, outlined in silver. “This is the *Luciferrous Accursedro Blasphurnaca,*” she said. “It was written in 1366 by the Demonicus Triumvirate de’Gotha, dictated to them by Lucifer Himself, and it contains every spell imaginable for those who wish to do His bidding. It is perhaps the most dangerous book in the world. And the most powerful. The abbey librarians couldn’t bear the thought of burning any book, not even this one, but they wanted to prevent people from reading it, so they kept it in this room.” “And you think you can exploit the power contained in that book? Tell me, what experience do you have with the dark arts?” “I’m a bit of a dabbler. But I know masters of the craft who will pay a pretty penny for it, which will allow me to live in luxury for the rest of my life. And why should any book sit here in the darkness, decaying and forgotten? Books are meant to be read.” “Some books are meant to be dreaded.” “I shall not debate the point. Move aside, Lady Eldelaide.” “I’m afraid not. That book is too dangerous to be unleashed upon the world.” “This is your final warning. Step aside. I shall not hesitate to shoot if I must!” I stood my ground. She raised the revolver. Two swift footsteps echoed on the stairs, and a moment later an empty cardboard box flew through the air, striking the faux nun in the face. The gun went off, the bullet striking the spine of Ovid’s *Ars Amatoria* on a nearby table, drilling a hole through the middle of the priceless text. (if: $takeGuns is 1)[[[use guns<-continue]]] (else:)[[[no guns<-continue]]]

Before the faux nun could shoot again, Gremmings fired his Webley, striking her in the abdomen. (It is a common misperception -- among those whose only knowledge of gunfights comes from penny dreadfuls and the melodramas upon the stage -- that one should aim for a shoulder or leg, shooting to wound but not kill. But those who choose this approach in real life usually miss these small targets and rarely survive long enough to fire a second shot. Mercy under such circumstances is a luxury one cannot afford if one wishes to survive.) The faux nun sank to the floor, her right hand clasped to her stomach, blood seeping through her fingers as her other hand clung obstinately to the evil black book. After a few moments she took her hand away from the wound and ran a finger over the embossed pentagram on the book’s cover, tracing the design in blood, and spoke through clenched teeth, her voice a mixture of pain and hate. “I call upon the Sisters of Satan to arise once more! Come forth and punish those who would thwart the will of your Master. Summon the power of the Dark One and unleash it upon these interlopers and drag them down to the bowels of hell!” The air shimmered and breezes hot and cold swirled through the room and the specters of the seven nuns materialized once more (Sister Trebella was notably absent), only now they were not part of the past but the present, for I could still see the empty box and the faux nun and our three glowstone lanterns, the beams merging with the fluttering flames from the five black candles at the points of the pentagram, which pulsated with sickly rose-colored light. The candle flames flared bright, leapt from the wicks and darted into the air like arrowheads, and the fire demon materialized once more, looming over Gremmings and myself. (if: $takeCross is 1)[[[use cross]]] (else:)[[[op 30<-continue]]]

If only we had brought our firearms! Gremmings and I charged toward the faux nun but we could not close the distance in time. She fired rapidly, striking my beloved assistant in the forehead before other bullets found my breast and stomach and pelvis. The faux nun cackled in triumph and trotted past us, followed by a foul wind reeking with the stench of evil, which would soon be unleashed upon an unsuspecting world.

Thank God I had taken the abbess’s cross from her bedroom! I produced it now, raising it above my head. “In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost, I bless this room and all within it, and that which is unworthy of blessing shall hold no sway here, but shall be as shadows, dispelled by the divine light of Almighty God.” Blades of gemlight sprang forth and sliced up the fire demon, and the faux nun collapsed under a deluge of molten ectoplasm and the *Luciferrous Accursedro Blasphurnaca* burst into brilliant flames of purest white. “Dammit, not again!” Sister Lattie shrieked, as she and her sinful companions winked out one by one like snuffed candles. As the fire spread across the floor, Gremmings and I retreated from the secret room and made our way out of the abbey. We climbed into the pony cart and rolled away, looking back over our shoulders at the ancient structure as flames thrust up from the roof toward the darkening sky.

As the demon’s searing spirit surged inside my body I felt my life force, my will, my very soul consumed and I collapsed to the floor, twitching convulsively as the faux nun cackled in triumph and trotted past us, followed by Sister Lattie and her sinful companions, trailed by a foul wind reeking with the stench of evil, which would soon be unleashed upon an unsuspecting world.

We left the nuns’ quarters and returned to the entrance hall, then crossed over to the right wing and entered the kitchen. A cast-iron stove squatted on one side of the room, a big black kettle sitting on top of it, the dried dregs of ancient stew still lying at the bottom, a solid brown mass in which mold flourished. A few broken plates littered the floor. A bent spoon lay in one corner. Two doors led out of the kitchen. [[op 22 larder - poison<-first door]] [[op23 to scriptorium<-second door]]

We walked to the far end of the scriptorium and entered the library, passing row upon row of empty bookshelves until we arrived at the back of the room. A flakey fresco dominated the wall, a copy of a work by Melozzo da Forli painted for Pope Sixtus IV, depicting an imaginary room behind the Latin Library in the Vatican. Bordering the picture were little squares about an inch wide, carved with images of animals – armadillo, camel, Siamese cat, dachshund, donkey, goat, goldfish, lion, monkey, parrot, rattlesnake, robin and zebra. I took the note from my bag, unfolded it and read the riddle once more. *Start with a wine thou doth not drink, then poke an eye that doth not blink. Find the one that cannot pass through, then give a quick look to another clue. Find the one that goeth with hood, then baby’s toy shall scare thee good. Then up thou goest, eyes open wide, to find the book nun dares to hide.* After pondering for a few moments, I thought I had the answer. It was quite simple, actually. What kind of wine do you not drink? W-h-i-n-e. And what animal whines? I pressed the carving of the dachshund. It sank a half-inch into the wall and I heard a metallic *click.* What kind of eye doesn’t blink? The eye of a needle. And what’s too big to pass through the eye of a needle? Any nun would know the answer to that one. A camel. What’s another word for a quick look? A peek. Spell it with an ‘a’ and you get ‘peak.’ And what animal is associated with peaks? A Billy goat. Goes with hood? Robin. Baby’s toy? Rattle. And so I pressed camel, goat, robin and rattlesnake. Clunk. Creak. A section of blank wall on the right side of the library swung aside, exposing a doorway. We ran toward it and Gremmings shone his light inside, revealing a winding flight of narrow stone steps leading up. And that explained the last line of the riddle -- when your eyes are open wide, they stare, and here were stairs. Mystery solved! Sister Tamala clasped her hands in delight. “Oh, bless you Lady Eldelaide! You’ve done it!” I smiled. “Glad to be of service.” “Would you two be so kind as to go fetch the empty boxes from the pony cart?” I turned to Gremmings. “Kindly fetch the boxes.” “Wouldn’t it be faster,” Sister Tamala said, “if you went with him, Lady Eldelaide, and brought back as many boxes as possible on the first trip?” “Are you in a hurry, sister?” “Naturally I’m anxious to get the books back to Burrafirth Abbey as soon as possible.” “Then why don’t you come with us and we can all carry boxes?” “Oh, but I can barely contain my eagerness to set foot in the secret room and behold the glorious treasures that have lain forgotten in darkness for so long! I simply must take a look, right now!” “I’m of a similar mind. Why don’t the three of us indulge our curiosity and then we can all go out together and fetch the boxes? The books have been here for over two centuries; a few minutes’ delay in moving them will make no difference.” Sister Tamala glowered at me, took a deep breath, mastered her anger, forced a smile. “As you wish.” She led the way up the winding stairs, her light probing the darkness like the headlamp of a locomotive rushing through a tunnel, and we emerged in a round and windowless room about fifty feet in diameter with a low, curved ceiling and six tables covered with piles of old books. The air was still and stale, yet I sensed a strong draft, warm and foul smelling, like breeze off an open sewer -- but it was composed of energy, not air, a wave of negative astral vibrations. And then the light of our lamps faded out, replaced by five candle flames surrounded by dark shadows. The nearest tables had been shoved aside to clear a space, and a pentagram about six feet in diameter had been drawn in white chalk on the floorboards. Eight nuns knelt in a circle around the pentagram, their hands joined. One of the women, with a wolfish face and willowy figure, held a big black book in her lap. She began to speak. “I have gathered you together, the most sinful sisters in our Order, to aide me in my quest to end the tyranny of Abbess Somberta and Sister Corgi and all who would enslave us, forcing us to subsist on meager rations and working our fingers to the bone and spanking us like little children when we transgress their endless rules. I have found a higher Master, a better way. And this is the key.” She held up the book. “*Luciferrous Accursedro Blasphurnaca,* dictated to Lucifer’s most devout disciples by the Master Himself. I shall now read from the book and learn its secrets and unleash its power. And all of you shall share in that power, for you have paid the Master’s price. You have committed the Seven Deadly Sins!” (if: $mopCloset is 1)[[[op 25 mop<-continue]]] (else:)[[[op 26 no mop <-Continue]]]