Brother Odd

words.
        I opened the door and got out of the SUV, and the wind was so cold.

CHAPTER 36
        
        BAKED BY BITTER COLD, HALF THE FLUFF OF THE falling snow had been seared away. The flakes were almost grains now, and they stung my face as I waded through twenty inches of powder to meet Rodion Romanovich when he got out of his SUV. He had left the engine running and the lights on, as I had done.
        I raised my voice above the wind: "The brothers will need help with their gear. Let them know we're here. The back row of seats in my truck are folded down. I'll come in as soon as I've put them up."
        In the school garage, this son of an assassin had looked a bit theatrical in his bearskin hat and fur-trimmed leather coat, but in the storm he appeared imperial and in his element, as if he were the king of winter and could halt the falling snow with a gesture if he chose to do so.
        He did not hunch forward and tuck his head to escape the bite of the wind, but stood tall and straight, and strode into the guesthouse with all the swagger you would expect of a man who had once prepared people for death.
        The moment he had gone inside, I opened the driver's door of his SUV, killed the headlights, switched off the engine, and pocketed the keys.
        I hurried back to the second vehicle to shut off its lights and engine as well. I pocketed those keys, too, assuring that Romanovich could not drive either SUV back to the school.
        When I followed my favorite Hoosier into the guesthouse, I found sixteen brothers ready to rumble.
        Practicality had required them to trade their usual habits for storm suits. These were not, however, the flashy kind of storm suits you would see on the slopes of Aspen and Vail. They did not hug the contours of the body to enhance aerodynamics and aprčs-ski seduction, or feature vivid colors in bold designs.
        The habits and ceremonial garments worn by the monks were cut and sewn by four brothers who had learned tailoring. These four had also created the storm suits.
        Every suit was a dull blue-gray, without ornamentation. They were finely crafted, with foldaway hoods, ballistic-nylon scuff guards, and insulated snowcuffs with rubberized strippers: perfect gear for shoveling sidewalks and other foul-weather tasks.
        Upon Romanovich's arrival, the brothers had begun to put on Thermoloft-insulated vests over their storm suits. The vests had elasticized gussets and reinforced shoulders, and like the storm suits, they offered a number of zippered pockets.
        In this uniform, with their kind faces framed in snugly fitted hoods, they looked like sixteen spacemen who had just arrived from a planet so benign that its anthem must be "Teddy Bears on Parade."
        Brother Victor, the former marine, moved among his troops, making sure that all the needed tools had been brought to this staging area.
        Two steps inside the door, I spotted Brother Knuckles, and he nodded conspiratorially, and we rendezvoused immediately at the end of the reception lounge that was farthest from the marshaled forces of righteousness.
        As I handed him the keys to the SUV that Romanovich had driven, Knuckles said, "Fortify and defend against who, son? When you gotta go to the mattresses, it's kinda traditional to know who's the mugs you're at war with."
        "These are some epic bad mugs, sir. I don't have time to explain here. I'll lay it out when we get to the school. My biggest problem is how to explain it to the brothers, because it is mondo weird."
        "I'll vouch for you, kid. When Knuckles says a guy's word is gold, there ain't no doubters."
        "There's going to be some doubters this time."
        "Better not be." His block-and-slab features fell into a hard expression suitable for a stone-temple god who didn't lightly suffer disbelievers. "There better be no doubters of you. Besides, maybe they don't know God's got a hand on your head, but they like you and they got a hunch somethin's special about you."
        "And they're crazy about my pancakes."
        "That don't hurt."
        "I found Brother Timothy," I said.
        The stone face broke a little. "Found poor Tim just the way I said he'd be, didn't you?"
        "Not just the way, sir. But, yeah, he's with God now."
        Making the sign of the cross, he murmured a prayer for Brother Timothy, and then said, "We got proof now-Tim, he didn't