The Key

77

Gabriel followed the glow of the oil lamp as it bobbed ahead of him in the darkness. It slid along the tunnels, picking out dark doors and wires that snaked along the walls like veins. Every ten paces or so a light fitting jutted out, but none were lit. He wondered if this was down to the recent earthquake or just to save energy. It was a thought that strangely unsettled him. For so long he had demonized the Citadel and all who dwelt within it that to find himself suddenly inside and struck by these trivial details seemed surreal. He reminded himself he was in the enemy camp and that he was here for a reason. Reaching into his pocket, he felt the reassuring weight of the gun, and kept his eyes on the light ten or so paces in front of him and his mind on his mission.

Sometimes the curve of the tunnel made the light vanish from sight for a second or two and he had to feel his way quickly along the rough walls to catch up. Other times it dropped to the left or rose to the right as Athanasius descended or climbed stairways to other levels. Gabriel tried to keep track of where he was, but it was impossible. He hoped his guide was taking him on this circuitous route to avoid the more populated areas of the mountain rather than to confuse him in a prelude to an ambush.

After ten minutes of walking, ducking beneath low lights and squeezing through tunnels so narrow only one man could pass at a time, they stepped through a grand doorway into a vista that took Gabriel’s breath away. The cave was so vast he felt dizzy from the sudden space. Huge stalactites hung down from the distant ceiling and a massive window was cut high in the far wall. He could see the partial moon through it, reminding him of the ticking clock as it cast its silver glow through the antique glass, creating watery patterns on the stone floor below. They must have walked right through the centre of the mountain and arrived on the other side.

‘This way,’ Athanasius whispered, ‘the ossuary lies beneath the cathedral cave.’

Gabriel followed him, past the looming shape of the Tau rising up from the altar to the far wall where a needling formation of stalagmites formed a natural screen hiding a small door studded with metal bolts. Athanasius twisted a key in the lock, the noise echoing in the huge space like the bolt-action on a rifle. Gabriel looked behind to check they were still alone before following Athanasius through the door.

They were at the head of a stone ramp descending into darkness. It smelled of death. Athanasius locked the door and headed down, the musty hint of decay growing stronger with each step. At the bottom of the ramp another door barred their way and the smell of dry, mouldering rot billowed out at them as it opened.

‘The ossuary,’ Athanasius said, stepping inside and holding up the oil lamp to cast its light into the chamber beyond.

There were rows of long niches cut into both walls, three-high, stretching away into the darkness in either direction, making the narrow chamber resemble a carriage on a sleeper train, but those who slept here would never wake. In each niche Gabriel could see bones sticking out of rotting cassocks that covered what was left of the bodies of the formerly great. In one of the recesses in front of him a skull had rolled clear of the cowl and stared sightlessly at them. Below it the letter X was carved into the rock.

Gabriel stepped forward. The location of the Starmap had been marked with an X on Oscar’s map, but it seemed odd that he would hide it right opposite the door.

In the light of the lamp Gabriel could see something else carved next to it, partly obscured by the same gossamer layer of cobweb that covered most of the walls and openings. He wiped it away with his thumb and received a shock when he saw what it revealed: L I V.

He stared at the carvings for a moment, baffled by the presence of Liv’s name in this secret crypt. Then he realized his error. Every niche had a symbol carved beneath it. The one above was XLIII, and to his left the sequence continued with XLII, XLI, and XL. They were Roman numerals. XLIV was simply the number 44.

He took Oscar’s map from his pocket, remembering what was marked next to the crossed bones: XIV, the number 14.

‘This way,’ he said, heading left.

He hurried the length of the dank tunnel, counting down the numbers as he went, the flame of Athanasius’s oil lamp casting a long, restless shadow before him. The lower the numbers got, the rougher the walls of the tunnel became. When they dropped below the thirties, the tunnel changed again. The cobwebs that had laced the walls were now gone, cleared away so that each opening yawned clean and dark. The bodies inside had also been tidied up, and the loose piles of dusty bones were now wrapped neatly in canvas bundles that had been placed in the centre of each recess with the skull resting on top.

‘Here,’ Gabriel said, drawing level with number 14. He produced a compact torch from his pocket and twisted it on so the white light of the tiny bulb flooded the darkness.

‘What is it we are looking for?’ Athanasius asked, holding up the oil lamp to add more light.

‘Something like a piece of rock, or a section of a stone tablet with symbols etched on it; too heavy for someone to swim with, but small enough that they could smuggle it in here to hide.’

He swept the torch beam across the recess and felt his galloping hope trip inside him. Apart from the neat parcel of human remains in the centre, the niche was completely empty. He checked the neighbouring recesses: all empty save for the same neat parcels and grinning skulls that mocked him with their smiles. He examined the walls, the floor, the ceiling. All spotless and cut from solid rock, so there was no chance Oscar might have buried it.

He turned his attention back to the only thing remaining in recess XIV — the wrapped package of bones beneath the skull. He had initially ignored it because it looked too small, but having eliminated all other possibilities, it was the only place the Starmap could now be. He reached in and picked it up.

‘Please,’ Athanasius said, ‘do not disturb the relics.’

Gabriel would happily have ignored him, but the moment he lifted the loose parcel he could tell it was far too light to contain what he was looking for. Whatever Oscar had hidden here, over ninety years earlier, was gone: someone else must have found it. He placed the bundle carefully back down on the shelf, and ran his hand over the cold, clean stone.

‘Why is it so tidy here?’

‘These are the oldest remains in the ossuary — the first prelates of the mountain. Their great age has caused them to crumble almost to dust, which can drift away on the slightest breath. It was decided by an order of council that their remains should be protected.’

‘When was this?’

‘Around ten years ago.’

Gabriel nodded. Ten years too late. ‘Is there anyone else who comes down here?’

‘Only the Sanctus novitiate. As part of their preparation for office, each apprentice spends time here, contemplating their position as the latest link in an unbroken line stretching back to the very beginning. These catacombs are effectively a giant reliquary and the bones of the prelates are relics themselves, sanctified by long proximity to the ultimate relic of all — the Sacrament. As these are the remains of the very first prelates, the founding fathers of the Citadel, they are the most sacred of all. That is why the novices come here to pray.’

This explained how Oscar had managed to smuggle the Starmap here in the first place. He had been apprenticed to the order of the Sancti before he had escaped. He could have brought it here and hidden it during his silent devotions, safe in the knowledge that few others ever ventured here. Until they decided to tidy the place up.

‘Would there be any record of these renovations?’

‘All works are catalogued and kept in the archives of the great library. But the library is still closed. I could probably gain access, but not until after Matins at the earliest, and it won’t be straightforward. The archives are huge.’

Gabriel let out a frustrated sigh, remembering the sliver of moon he had seen through the huge cave window, getting imperceptibly smaller with each passing hour. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his iPhone. ‘Time is the one thing we don’t have,’ he said, tapping it and handing it over to Athanasius. The screensaver was a photograph of the page in Oscar’s diary containing the Mirror Prophecy. Athanasius took it and started to read.

The air in the cathedral cave tasted sweet after the decay of the crypt.

‘We’d better hurry,’ Athanasius said, moving towards the main door, ‘the devotional rota will be changing soon and the corridors will not be so empty. I’ll take you back a quicker way.’

They retraced their steps through the winding maze of the mountain, cutting corners here and there, taking them past dormitories of snoring monks and private chapels where others prayed. Gabriel hung back as before, his head bowed low, his cowl covering his face, distancing himself from Athanasius in case they were stopped. They had almost made it back to the tribute cave when they both heard it — a low moan, rolling through the darkness like the tortured cries of a trapped animal. They stopped and listened to it rising in intensity before quickly ebbing away. Then they heard footsteps. In the echoing confines of the tunnel it was impossible to tell which direction they were coming from. Gabriel sank into the shadows of a doorway and felt for his gun as a figure in a red robe appeared behind him and swept past towards Athanasius.

‘You must come with me,’ the monk said.

‘Come where?’

‘The infirmary. Brother Simenon ordered me to find you. He says it’s urgent.’

Another chilling moan rose up from somewhere deep in the mountain. ‘Very well,’ Athanasius replied. ‘I was just on my way up these stairs to drop the new rota off at the tribute cave, but I suppose that can wait.’

Gabriel pressed himself against the upright of the door and watched the red-cloaked monk escort Athanasius away down the passage, taking the meagre light of his oil lamp with them. In the utter blackness he listened to their fading footsteps until they had melted into silence then stepped back into the corridor and carried on the way they had been heading. He palmed the torch from his pocket and twisted it on, smothering most of the light with his hand. Up ahead he could see a stone staircase branching off from the main tunnel, hopefully the ones Athanasius’s cryptic instruction had alluded to.

After a few minutes of climbing he felt cold night air flowing from his left and followed it all the way to the tribute cave. He stripped out of the monk’s cassock, left it folded on a low shelf and headed to the edge of the hatch. He hooked the bell rope with a length of construction timber stacked in one of the storage bays. His arms were still heavy and weak, but at least gravity would be on his side this time. He slipped the gloves back on and hauled on the rope to take the tension.

He had climbed up here hoping to find a map that would lead them to a sacred and ancient ending. He was leaving with nothing more than the slimmest of hopes that Athanasius might pick up the cold trail, somewhere in the archives. Gabriel looked out into the moonlit night, knowing that Liv was out there somewhere. He had promised he would not let her down, yet he had consistently failed. He had not been able to protect her, and he had not managed to find the one thing that might ensure her deliverance from the prophetic sequence she was locked in. With this thought weighing him down he wrapped the rope round his leg and stepped off the platform, slipping into the night like a man slowly being hanged.