Together, they went back into the church. For Kre, it was strange doing so knowing that what he was seeing was all fake. As they entered the back room, where he and Kitalia had rested for a bit, he noted that it must have been a preparation room for services. It was interesting to note how it looked once upon a time, and it was now clear what the piles of rubble had once been.
What was once… or rather, was now… a pile of unrecognizable pale brown pulp that his bag had been set against was revealed to have once been a beautiful wooden cabinet that took up most of the back wall. A stone table along one wall held all manner of gilded, leather-bound books and loose papers. Kre couldn’t tell what was written on any of them, as they didn’t seem legible at all, more like scrawls and swirls as if someone illiterate had pretended to write down things they heard aloud. On the walls were colorful oil paintings, but like the books, they were merely unintelligible shadows of what they must have once been.
In Kre’s time, the paintings and books were likely fully decomposed, with only the barest traces of the bindings or frames left to indicate what they once were.
The priest cleared his throat with some great volume that indicated he was not to be kept waiting any longer. Kre turned from his casual observations and looked to the spot on the floor that the priest indicated with his hand.
“Remove that stone there,” the older man stated, “and remove the box you find within.”
Kre did so, his fingers numb with worry that he was doing something completely wrong and that there would be serious ramifications down the road for his act. The stone seemed perfectly form-fitted to the other stone floor tiles, so he wasn’t sure exactly how to remove it. His hand touched the short sword at his belt, and he heard an audible sigh, almost pained.
“Just push on the long end of the tile, just there,” the man said, indicating with his toe.
With the question hanging on his tongue of why the priest couldn’t do this himself, Kre nonetheless complied, pressing hard with his thumb.
Nothing happened.
It was exactly as Kre would have expected. Pushing down on stone only served to bruise his thumb.
“Hrm,” the priest muttered, “perhaps time has rendered that particular tile stuck.”
“Are you sure it’s even the right tile?” Kre asked, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice.
The priest pursed his lips for a moment, as if seriously considering what Kre was saying. “I’m fairly certain that’s the right one.” He examined the rest of the floor around the tile and shrugged. “That’s the one. Pretty sure.”
Kre sighed and pushed on the edge of the stone with his knuckle instead. After a few seconds, he felt it give just slightly and watched the other end of the stone raise up just a bit. He used his other hand to push down on the raised end and began to see-saw the stone, trying to work it looser. After about a minute, he finally managed to get the end of the stone up high enough to work his fingers underneath and pry the stone fully up.
“See,” the priest said with a smile, “I told you that was the right one.”