“No doubt at all.”
“Doesn’t it worry you? Aren’t you afraid of what’s coming?”
Quinn was more afraid of what might not be coming, money and a job. But all he said was, “I try not to worry about it.”
“You must worry, Mr. Quinn.”
“Very well, Sister, I will begin now.”
“You’re joking again, aren’t you? You’re a very peculiar young man.” She looked down at her gray robe and at her bare feet, wide and flat and calloused. “I suppose I must seem peculiar to you, too. Be that as it may. I would rather seem peculiar in this world than in the next.” She added, “Amen,” as if to close the subject.
From the outside the storage room appeared to be a small replica of the other building. But inside, it was divided into compartments, each of them padlocked. One of the compartments had a small window and was furnished with a narrow iron cot with a thin gray mattress and a couple of blankets partially eaten by moths. Quinn felt the mattress with both hands. It was soft but without resilience.
“Hair,” Sister Blessing said. “The Brothers’ hair. It was an experiment on the part of Sister Glory of the Ascension, she’s very thrifty. Unfortunately, it attracts fleas. Are you susceptible to fleas?”
“I’m susceptible to a lot of things, fleas are probably included.”
“Then I’ll have Brother Light of the Infinite dose the mattress with sheep dip. First, you’d better test your susceptibility, though.”
“How do I do that?”
“Sit down and stay still for a few minutes.”
Quinn sat down on the cot and waited.
“Are you being bitten?” Sister Blessing said, after a time.
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, do you feel anything?”
“Not even a vibration.”
“Perhaps we won’t bother with the sheep dip, then. You might not like the smell, and poor Brother Light of the Infinite has enough to do.”
“As a matter of curiosity,” Quinn said, “how many people live here at the Tower?”
“Twenty-seven, right now. At one time there were nearly eighty, but some have strayed, some have died, some have lost faith. Now and then a new convert comes to us, perhaps just casually appears on the doorstep as you did... Has it occurred to you that the Lord might have guided your footsteps here?”
“No.”
“Think about it.”
“I don’t have to. I know how I got here. This man, Newhouser, picked me up in Reno, said he was going to San Felice. That’s what I understood anyway, but it turned out he meant —oh well, it doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me,” Sister Blessing said.
“How?”
“It’s a very odd thing that you should turn out to have a detective’s license. I can’t believe it’s a coincidence. I have a feeling in my bones that it was the will of Lord.”
“Your vibrations must be improving, Sister.”
“Yes, I think so,” she said earnestly. “I think they are.”
“Now if you don’t mind telling me what my being a detective has to do with—”
“I haven’t time right now. I must go and inform the Master that you’re here. He doesn’t like surprises, especially at mealtimes. He has a weak stomach.”
“Let me go with you,” Quinn said, getting up from the cot.
“Oh no, I couldn’t. Strangers aren’t allowed in the Tower.”
“Well, would any of the Brothers and Sisters object if I wandered around a little?”
“Some will, some won’t. Although all of us here are dedicated to a common cause, we have as many personality differences as you find in other places.”
“In brief, I’m to stay here. Is that it?”
“You look tired, a little rest will do you good.” Sister Blessing went out and closed the door firmly behind her.
Quinn lay down on the cot, rubbing his chin. He needed a shave, a shower, a drink. Or a drink, a shower, a shave. He dozed off trying to make up his mind about the exact order and dreamed he was back in his hotel room in Reno. He’d won ten thousand dollars and he didn’t notice until he spread it out on the bed to count that the bills were all fives and all bore a picture of Sister Blessing instead of Lincoln.
It was still daylight when he awoke, sweating and confused. It took him a minute to remember where he was, the little room looked like a prison.
Someone pounded on the door and Quinn sat up. “Who is it?”
“Brother Light of the Infinite. I’ve come about the mattress.”
“Mattress?”
The door opened and Brother Light of the Infinite entered the room, carrying a gallon tin can. He was a big man with a face crisscrossed with lines like an old paper bag. His robe was dirty and smelled, not unpleasantly, of livestock.
Quinn said, “This is very kind of you, Brother.”
“Ain’t kindness. Orders. Me with a hundred things to do and that woman can think of a hundred more. Go fix the mattress, she says. Can’t let the stranger get all bit up, says she, so here I am wasting my time on fleas. You all bit up?”
“I don’t think so.”
Brother Light put the can of sheep dip on the floor. “Take off your shirt and look at your belly. They like bellies, the skin’s softer, easier to get their teeth into.”
“While I’m undressing, is there any chance of a shower around here?”
“There’s water in the washroom, can’t call it a shower exactly... Why, you ain’t even bit. Must have a hide like an elephant. No use wasting this stuff on you.” He picked the can up again and started toward the door.
“Wait a minute,” Quinn said. “Where’s the washroom?”
“Off to the left a piece.”
“I don’t suppose you have a razor?”
Brother Light fingered his shaved scalp which bore numerous nicks and scratches like Brother Tongue’s. “We got razors, you think I was born this way? Only today’s not shaving day.”
“It is for me.”
“You take it up with Brother of the Steady Heart, he’s the barber. Don’t come bothering me, with all the things I got to do, cows to be milked, goats to be watered, chickens to be fed.”
“Sorry to have put you to any trouble.”
As he left, Brother Light banged the can of sheep dip against the door frame to indicate his low opinion of apologies.
Quinn, too, went outside, carrying his shirt and tie. He guessed, from the position of the sun, that it was between six and seven o’clock and that he’d slept for a couple of hours.
From the chimney of the communal dining room smoke billowed and the smell of it mingled with the smell of meat cooking and pine needles. The air was crisp and cool. It seemed to Quinn very healthful air and he wondered whether it had cured the rich old lady who’d built the Tower or whether she had died here, a step closer to heaven. As for the Tower itself, he still hadn’t seen it and the only indication he’d had that it actually existed had been the gong sounding the termination of prayers. He would have liked to wander around the place and find the Tower for himself but Brother Light’s attitude made him doubt the wisdom of this. The others might be even less friendly.
In the washroom he pumped water into a pail by hand. It was cold and murky, and the gray gritty bar of homemade soap resisted Quinn’s attempt to work up a lather. He looked around for a razor. Even if he had found one it wouldn’t have done much good, since the washroom contained no mirror. Perhaps the sect had a religious taboo against mirrors. That would account for the necessity of having Brother of the Steady Heart act as barber.
While he was washing and dressing, he considered Sister Blessing’s remarks about the Lord guiding his footsteps to the Tower. She’s got bats in the belfry, he thought. Which is fine with me unless one of them flies out and bites me.