Hoofdstuk 32: 32

The steak still hissed softly on the hot lava stone, as if reluctant to part from the glow of the grill. On the heavy wooden table sat two plates, each with a cut of tender meat, bacon-wrapped green beans, Mediterranean vegetables, and the house salad of arugula and a fine dressing. Golden rosemary potatoes, crisp on the outside and soft within, steamed in a bowl between them.

At Rosmarin’o, the steakhouse by the Rostock harbor, the atmosphere was subdued. Most of the guests sat outside on the terrace, enjoying sunshine and the view of the water. Inside it was quieter: warm wood, heavy tables, dim light, and from outside only the muffled horn of a freighter carried through the open windows. A salty breeze drifted in, mingled with the distant cries of gulls.

“My God, this is delicious,” Konrad Vohwinkel murmured through a mouthful, his steak knife gliding almost tenderly through the butter-soft cut, as if to thank it for yielding so willingly.

Father Adrian’s round face was flushed with pleasure. With his gold-rimmed glasses and an olive-green sweater, he looked more like a retired professor of literature than a theologian. He smiled, dabbed his lips with a napkin, and nodded with satisfaction.

“Yes, indeed. As if the Lord Himself had cooked for us.”

Konrad grinned. In the priest’s company, everything felt a little lighter.

“What was it you said just now?”

“I said, Konrad, it has been nearly ten years since Leni left you. She is long remarried, and still you shuffle from one foot to the other. This Marit is a fine woman, about your age.”

Konrad smirked. “And you would know all about that, wouldn’t you?” His tone carried the hint of a jab at Adrian’s vow of celibacy.

Adrian snorted. “I may not have a wife, but I do have eyes in my head.”

Konrad chuckled. “Speaking of eyes, you know I wanted you to take a look at something…”

Adrian pushed his plate aside, folding his hands. “Yes, yes, I knew this was about more than good food. Otherwise I wouldn’t have brought the gloves.”

From his bag he drew out two neatly folded pairs of white cotton gloves and set them on the table. “Here. A pair for you.”

Konrad raised an eyebrow, smirking as he took them. “I brought my bank card. We don’t need to polish silver.”

A mischievous gleam lit Adrian’s eyes. “On the phone you said you had found something I had to see. I do not leave the house without gloves if relics are involved.”

Konrad set his knife and fork aside, wiped his hands on the napkin, and reached into his own bag. His face grew serious. “Yes. I found something you must see.”

He drew out a small black book, wrapped carefully in protective foil, and held it with both hands so Adrian could read the first line on the cover. The script was Latin, delicate and almost understated:

Ordo Silentii. Initium in tenebris, finis in carne. Solum Deus loquitur.

The color drained instantly from Adrian’s face. “Order of Silence. The beginning lies in darkness, the end in flesh. Only God speaks.”

His knife and fork clattered onto the plate, loud enough that a few guests turned their heads.

“Where did you get this?” Adrian whispered.

“That,” Konrad said, dodging the question, “would be too much truth all at once.”

“You have no idea what you’re holding in your hands.” Adrian’s voice was low and steady. “That is a copy of the so-called Codex Silentii. The Code of Silence. No one was ever allowed to speak of what he saw or experienced. Everything had to be entrusted to one of these books. There are said to have been only a handful in existence. All of them begin with the same words in Latin, written in golden ink, some even with real gold leaf. I once saw a transcript of one in the Vatican Library.”

He fixed his gaze on Konrad, as if testing whether the man understood the weight of what he held. “It said: Et mors cessabit. Et ego ero initium. ‘And death shall cease. And I shall be the beginning.’”

Konrad nodded slowly. “It says that here too. Right at the front.”

Adrian’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You see? It is a key text. But inside… the books differ. They are not prayer books. They are records. Protocols. Plans. Drawings. Of the experiments.”

“What experiments?” Konrad asked quietly.

Adrian glanced around the room. He drew the small black volume partway from its protective wrap with a practiced hand. “Be careful. Please. If this is genuine, museums and collectors will pay dearly. For historians, this is the Holy Grail. Or rather, the unholy one.”

Together they opened it. The scent of old leather, dust, and something bitter drifted up, like the preserved ghost of decay.

Between yellowed pages appeared tables, symbols, alchemical formulas. Then the crude drawing of a human skull. Beside it, sketches of how the crown of the head was opened. On another page, a face with eyes wide and staring, the mouth frozen in a silent scream.

Konrad caught his breath. “He was still alive.”

“Yes.” Adrian’s tone was grave. “It was never about healing. They wanted to capture the moment between life and death. To trap the self.”

More pages showed geometric patterns, Latin phrases: Translatio animae — translation of the soul. Vita ficta — a fabricated life. Corpus novum — a new body.

“Yes. But this was never a real order,” Adrian said softly. “The so-called Ordo Pacis Benedicti, as it appears in some documents, was a façade. A mask. The Monasterium Pax Viventium, the Monastery of Living Peace, founded around 1231, was never a place of faith. Rumor has it the Catholic Church knew nothing of it, nor did the city council or the bishops. Some say they turned a blind eye, of course in exchange for gold, influence, promises of power.”

“Of course.” Konrad took a sip of his lemonade. “And the monks?”

“They were clueless. They really were just pious men, the youngest sons of farmers or craftsmen. Their parents believed it bought them a place in heaven.”

“So they say,” Konrad interjected.

“Exactly.” Adrian took a long drink of his cola. “So they say. In truth, the parents simply didn’t know what to do with their youngest children. The eldest inherited the farm, the middle ones often left home or had to work the fields. And the youngest? They were sent to the monasteries.”

Konrad opened his mouth to respond.

“It’s true,” Adrian cut him off. “Anyway, the real core of the order consisted mainly of visitors: alchemists, physicians, scholars, even wealthy merchants who bought their way in to conduct experiments. They worked on the dead. On animals. Most of all, on the dying.”

Konrad swallowed hard. “They wanted immortality.”

“Exactly.”

“To me, it sounds like sadism.”

“Fanatics, sadists, and men who believed they could outwit creation. They were everything, Konrad, but they were not faithful.” Adrian saw the disbelief in Konrad’s eyes as he stared at the book. “This isn’t folklore. It’s history. Dark history.”

Adrian closed the book as one might close the lid of a coffin and made the sign of the cross. “They say only three copies still exist. Perhaps it’s nothing more than rumor. One supposedly in the Vatican, one in a private collection in South America, another buried in a bunker beneath the U.S. East Coast. That can’t be true, of course, this copy here proves as much. So who really knows who owns these volumes today, or how many survive? No one.”

He fixed Konrad with a somber look. “This is not a relic. It is an invitation. Or a warning. Keep it close. Don’t let it out of your sight.”

Konrad nodded. “You have my word.”

“And now,” Adrian said, allowing the tension to ease with a faint smile, “we need an espresso. A double.”

“I’ll take a Calvados.”

They both laughed quietly, each of them aware that something had shifted between them.

Outside, the sea glittered. Gulls wheeled in the distance.

Adrian studied him again. “There’s more. You said you had something else to tell me.”

“Yes.” Konrad leaned forward and spoke of Sina, her language, her memories, the symbol etched into her skin.

Adrian listened without interrupting, then settled back against the cushioned bench. “I always thought those were legends. But if what you’re saying is true… then maybe no one ever stopped. Maybe the work never ended.”

Before they could go on, Konrad’s phone buzzed violently across the table. He snatched it up. “Sven? … What? … Since when?” His face hardened. “Sina is gone.”

Adrian froze.

Konrad was already on his feet, pulling on his jacket. “Marit says she woke groggy, disoriented. They searched. Police and the coast guard are involved. Nothing.”

“Go. I’ll cover the bill,” Adrian said firmly. “Now.”

Konrad hesitated only long enough to grab the bag with the book. “Next time, it’s on me.”

Adrian watched him leave.

Beyond the glass, the sea lay calm and glimmering. A polished lie.