They pulled the edge of the bookcase. Brass trumpets clamored to the granite floor in a cloud of dust. They were so deep beneath the surface that nobody would hear the noise. 

Ronald crept forward into the chamber lantern first, its stone corners hidden by shadow. The room was already dimly lit by an unusual red lantern. An angular silhouette sat at a desk before him. 

Kevin began chanting his plainsong.

“Quiet,” Ronald whispered.

“You know I sing when I’m nervous,” Kevin replied.

“You sing when you’re nervous, sing when you’re relaxed, sing during quietude, sing during loudness. Prithee, silence.” He wondered how a person performing Gregorian chants, which were practically hummed in monotonous flat tones, could sing off-key. The sound of flatulence was preferable.

Raising his lantern, Ronald shuddered. The light shone on a robed man who sat hunched so low he looked headless. “Pardon me for disturbing you, my brother,” said Ronald. He held his breath, turning his head to see Kevin shrug and mouth the words “where is the wine?”

He tapped the man’s shoulder, bones beneath threadbare robes. The tang of rot lingered, like a rat left in its trap so long it was no more than a matted husk. The hairs on Ronald’s arms stood on end. He took a shallow breath. “Are you well?”

The body shifted forward like collapsing scaffolding, sending the stagnant air swirling in crimson-tinted particles. The body exhaled, “Oooaauuugh.”

Ronald gasped, turned, yanking Kevin from the room by his gray hood and shoving the bookshelf door closed, more musical instruments clattering to the floor. 

Kevin panted as they reached the ground level. “Gads,” he said, tugging on Ronald’s sleeve. “Ronald. We forgot to ask him if he knew where the wine was.”