The Key

44

The Citadel hummed with noise and echoed with urgent voices in the aftermath of the quake. Most of the monks had been asleep when the tremors hit, shaking them out of their beds and into the corridors where they had ridden the worst of it out. Athanasius was one of them and he had spent much of his time since reassuring other monks that what they had experienced had been a tremor and not another bomb. The lingering smell of smoke from the garden had not helped his cause.

Some of the power had stayed on at least, so there had been enough working lights to quickly assess how much damage had been done. The answer was surprisingly little. It was as if the explosion ten days earlier had already pruned away the weaker parts of the mountain and the earthquake had merely shaken what was left to test how strong it was. A few rockfalls had been discovered here and there, and the library was being checked again to make sure no books had been damaged, but other than that the Citadel seemed sound and was getting back to normal. The rock piles were already being cleared away and many of the monks were returning to the dorms and chapels to continue sleeping or praying.

Athanasius was heading to his cell when he encountered Brother Axel coming down the tunnel towards him, fizzing like a lit fuse. ‘This is your fault,’ he said, pointing a finger at him. ‘First the garden and now this. None of it would have happened if the Sancti were still here and the Sacrament safe.’

Athanasius checked behind him to make sure the tunnel was empty then lowered his voice so it would not carry. ‘This is superstitious talk and does you no credit as a leader of men. You of all people should be instilling calm at a time like this, not fear. We need order, not chaos.’

‘We had order. For thousands of years we had it. And now it is gone in the space of a few weeks.’

‘Order will return,’ Athanasius said. ‘Order is returning.’

‘Indeed. You fancy that everyone sees things your way, but I think you are in for a surprise. In times of uncertainty people cling to tradition. And that is what I aim to offer. The elections will soon reveal which way opinion lies.’

Athanasius was about to respond when a sound made them both stop.

It was the Angelus bell echoing up from the tribute cave in the depths of the mountain.

Someone was outside, summoning the Ascension platform so they could be admitted.