"I came here mainly for two things." Brother Raymond pinched his nose, trying to block out the ever-present stench in the air, but it was simply too strong to ignore.
The heavy smell of alcohol, the sour bitterness of plants, and the smoky odor of burning oil and paper all mingled together, making him feel as if he'd been steeped in some wicked medicinal liquor until he was thoroughly pickled.
It was hard to imagine how a normal person could keep this up for two days—and, so far, showed no sign of stopping.
As he spoke, the culprit who had taken the patrol on a tour of most of the Monastery last night was still hard at work, filtering pale green liquid steeped with swollen tree bark into another container.
"First, I hope you understand that last night's events had some unpleasant consequences. Under normal circumstances, an abbot wouldn't go several days in a row without appearing at morning prayers.
"Nor should he creep through the corridors in the dead of night, smashing the newly repaired door bolt. I have to admit, that technique was... astonishing. The precision, the force—I can't imagine how you managed it.
"But more than that, I'd like to know what personal grudge you have against those bookshelves that made you resort to 'that method.'"
Although he'd had the misfortune of witnessing it once in Dunling, seeing the marks left by that power up close was another matter entirely. The broken wood had given him a new understanding of the word smooth. There wasn't a splinter or a sign of force anywhere. Touching that impossibly perfect surface sent a shiver down his spine.
If some unwelcome intruder had happened to be there, the scene would probably have been terrifying.
"I'm very sorry. I'll explain later. It's