I realized that the primary potential for fire and cataclysm might not be the propane tank and the boilers that heated our buildings. Brother John, at work in his subterranean retreat, exploring the very structure of reality, required serious consideration.
I hurried to the abbey, past the quarters of the novitiates, and south past the abbot's office. Abbot Bernard's personal quarters were above the office, on the second floor.
On the third floor, his small chapel provided him with a place for private prayer. Faint lambent light shivered along the beveled edges of those cold windows.
At 12:35 in the morning, the abbot was more likely to be snoring than praying. The trembling paleness that traced the cut lines in the glass must have issued from a devotional lamp, a single flickering candle.
I rounded the southeast corner of the abbey and headed west, past the last rooms of the novitiate, past the chapter room and the kitchen. Before the refectory, I came to a set of stone stairs.
At the bottom of the stairs, a single bulb revealed a bronze door. A cast bronze panel above this entrance bore the Latin Words LIBERA NOS A MALO.
Deliver us from evil.
My universal key unlocked the heavy bolt. Pivoting silently on ball-bearing hinges, the door swung inward, a half-ton weight so perfectly balanced that I could move it with one finger.
Beyond lay a stone corridor bathed in blue light.
The slab of bronze swung shut and locked behind me as I walked to a second door of brushed stainless steel. In this grained surface were embedded polished letters that spelled three Latin words: LUMIN DE LUMINE.
Light from light.
A wide steel architrave surrounded this formidable barrier. Inlaid in the architrave was a twelve-inch plasma screen.
Upon being touched, the screen brightened. I pressed my hand flat against it.
I could not see or feel the scanner reading my fingerprints, but I was nonetheless identified and approved. With a pneumatic hiss, the door slid open.
Brother John says the hiss is not an inevitable consequence of the operation of the door. It could have been made to open silently.
He incorporated the hiss to remind himself that in every human enterprise, no matter with what virtuous intentions it is undertaken, a serpent lurks.
Beyond the steel door waited an eight-foot-square chamber that appeared to be a seamless, wax-yellow, porcelain vessel. I entered and stood there like a lone seed inside a hollow, polished gourd.
When a second heedful hiss caused me to turn and look back, no trace of the door could be seen.
The buttery light radiated from the walls, and as on previous visits to this realm, I felt as though I had stepped into a dream. Simultaneously, I experienced a detachment from the world and a heightened reality.
The light in the walls faded. Darkness closed upon me.
Although the chamber was surely an elevator that carried me down a floor or two, I detected no movement. The machinery made no sound.
In the darkness, a rectangle of red light appeared as another portal hissed open in front of me.
A vestibule offered three brushed-steel doors. The one to my right and the one to my left were plain. Neither door had a visible lock; and I had never been invited through them.
On the third, directly before me, were embedded more polished letters: PER OMNIA SAECULA SAECULORUM.
For ever and ever.
In the red light, the brushed steel glowed softly, like embers. The polished letters blazed.
Without a hiss, For ever and ever slid aside, as though inviting me to eternity.
I stepped into a round chamber thirty feet in diameter, barren but for a cozy arrangement of four wingback chairs at the center.
A floor lamp served each chair, though currently only two shed light.
Here sat Brother