CDF

[Keeper]

Town of Valdeganga, Spain. 1868

The carriage rocked violently as it left the rutted but dusty road up onto the solid flagstones of a bridge that spanned the slow green waters of the Rio Jucar.
The river was flanked on both banks by gnarled, spindly trees with vibrant green leaves interspersed with darker greens and blues.
From the bridge the passengers onboard the carriage could see the houses of Valdeganga atop the hill, perched right up to the cliff edge to the town's north.
The road had wound its way through the rugged hills, west from Valencia some ninety miles east. It approached the town from the north, crossed the river heading east then turned south, arcing around to the west again as it climbed the town's eastern slope.
The houses and buildings were of a sandy coloured stone, square and closely packed together, capped with red terracotta tiles.
Some of the buildings had been painted white, but most of them remained the sandy coloured stone. The whole town was surrounded by a new sandstone wall, topped with white-painted capstones.

The carriage eventually came to a halt outside El Hotel de Valdeganga, an unassuming three storey building, the first floor sporting narrow balconies with enough space to stand in, but little room for much else. The Ground and upper floors had perfect square windows, the lower set differing only by the iron bars that prevented access, or escape through those openings.

“Senoras y senores, el hotel,” a grizzled but friendly old voice called out from atop the carriage as the drive clambered down to pull open the door. As multiple times before on this journey, it took the old man several good hard yanks to pull it free of the frame.

Inside we a young Spanish couple with with a toddler and a older Caucasian man with white hair and a short trimmed white beard.
The dad alighted first, helping his wife down then turning to lift his daughter out who was standing in the elevated doorway arms obligingly skyward. As usual the dad pretended to throw her across the street, eliciting high pitched giggles from the little girl.
Finally the husband put the girl down and turned back to the carriage for a second time. He stopped short as he went to reach inside, the white haired man already passing their luggage out.
“Ah, gracias, señor,” the dad said.
“Gracias!” the little girl mimicked behind him making even the solemn looking white haired man smile.
The younger man took the bags and ushered his family towards the hotel lobby.
The older man climbed out afterwards, his own bags in hand, one a paisley pattern carpet bag, the other smaller, in stiff black leather with a top flap secured by a buckle.
He wore a brown worsted wool suit without a tie and a black long coat, despite the now uncomfortable heat.
Standing at just over six feet tall, the older man dwarfed the grizzled driver standing next to him. He held out his hand to the driver and slipped a few Pesetas into his palm.
The driver grinned, nodding and thanked the man graciously.

Stepping over the threshold the heat of the midday sun was instantly quelled and the white haired man breathed a sigh of relief.
He waited patiently for the young woman behind the counter to sort out the young family ahead of him and show them to their room.
“Sorry, senor, hola! How may I help you?” the young Spanish woman said as she returned.
“You speak English?” the man asked, his voice deep.
“Si!” she replied and laughed at her own mistake. “Yes.” But she waved her and in front of her indicating the yes meant so-so!
He nodded. “Hola, señorita, Soy el Doctor Chase, tengo una habitacion reservada.”
She looked down at the pages of an open book.
“Ah, si senor, Hemo reservado para uno semana?”
“A week, yes.”
“Your Spanish is good,” she commented.
“Thank you, as is your English. Where did you learn?”
“The padre, He teaches English in Sunday School, and on Tuesday evenings.”
She grabbed a key and led Chase through cool terracotta coloured corridors and up stairs to his room.
“If you need anything, I will be her all day,” she told him, but Chase noticed a tinge of annoyance in her voice.
“Are you here alone?”
“Si, Senor. My father is unwell, and my mama is no longer with us.” She crossed herself and kissed the crucifix hanging about her neck.
“Oh, I am sorry for your loss,” Chase said eliciting a smile from her. “Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked. “Any chores you need two pairs of hands for?”
“You are too kind, Senor. I cannot ask that of a guest.”
“Nonsense. I have to go and see your padre, as it happens, but when I get back I would be more than happy to help.
Again the young woman smiled, a genuine smile of relief that reached her eyes and brightened her face.”Do you cook?” she tentatively asked.
“I do. The result of many years travelling and living alone,” he replied.
“Bueno! You can help this evening?”
“I can.”
She left him to settle in.
His room was simple and roomy and the furniture a very good quality for a small town hotel. He had stayed in much worse, he reflected.
A double bed occupied on wall, with a writing bureau in the corner next to the tall doors that opened inward to allow access to one of the narrow balconies at the front of the hotel. There was a comfy chair with a small round table and a wardrobe with drawers built in.
Chase put his bags to one side and sat on the bed with a sigh.

[Keeper]

Having unpacked, an act that did not take long, Chase ventured out onto the afternoon sun.
He had hung up his coat and jacket, deciding that his waistcoat and rolled up shirtsleeves was plenty enough to be wearing in this blistering heat.
From the hotel he turned right and walked through narrow streets coming shortly to Plaza Mayor, the town square before the white painted town hall. The plaza was lined with trees with gnarled rough bark and twisting spindly branches.
Chase took advantage of their shade as he walked, trying to ignore the looks he was getting from the locals gathered in the square for their daily get-together.
Chase's tall frame was imposing. He ate healthily and exercised regularly and came from a family with a reputation for being robust. His arms were thick and muscled, his shoulders broad and waist narrow. Those features combined with his stark white hair made him stand out in a town where most people were under six feet tall, with raven hair and tanned skin.
He continued south through the dusty street, a tall clock tower in the distance marking his destination.
He arrived at the main door to Iglesia de la Purisima Concepcion and was surprised to find it locked.
After banging on the door several times and getting no reply, Chase made his way around the side. There was a smaller door to the priest's quarters in the east wall, just beyond the clock tower. Again it was locked.
He knocked several more times and once more got no reply.
Frustrated he cast a withering glance at the silent, stationary door then jumped with fright when he turned and came face to face, in a manner of speaking, with a hunched old woman in a black shawl and headscarf.
She scrutinised his face for a moment, hers full of suspicion and mistrust, then she seemed to make her mind up about something that surprised her, she smiled politely, and continued shuffling down the street.
A cold shiver ran down Chase's spine as he watched the old woman walk away.
He frowned. That was something, or rather somebody he was going to have to ask about later.
Deciding to return to the hotel he got no more than a few paces when he saw the black robed priest hurrying down the street towards the church.
The priest stopped short when he finally noticed the tall, broad, white-haired man.
“Hola,” the priest said cautiously. “Me estas esperando?” [Are you waiting for me?]
“Si, padre,” Chase replied in his deep voice.
“Como puedo ayndarte?” [How may I help you?]
“My name is Doctor Nathaniel Chase,” Chase said in English.
“Ah, Doctor! With the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, the CDF, yes?”
Chase nodded.
“I am Father Pedro Ramirez, please come inside.”
He unlocked the side door and led Chase out of the heat.