The Key

90

Athanasius got up from behind the workstation, stretched the kinks out of his back and made his way across the room to the small door leading to the washroom. Following their conversation with Malachi, he and Father Thomas had scoured the database for any other entries with ASV2 in the requisition line. They discovered Cardinal Secretary Clementi had submitted seven applications in the past three years — almost twice as many as in the whole of the preceding century — starting with the first item, which Athanasius was now convinced was the Starmap. It was the only one that remained unidentified. Of the other six, four were Mesopotamian maps and the remaining two were ancient accounts of travellers who claimed to have discovered the true location of Eden.

As a scholar, Athanasius had come across legends such as these; wild tales of trees that produced magical fruit and underground grottoes filled with vast hoards of gold. He had never seriously considered them to be anything other than allegorical or the fanciful imaginings of ancient storytellers. But, whatever his own thoughts, it was clear that the Cardinal Secretary of State in Rome believed them.

A light flickered on as he stepped into the washroom revealing a row of stone sinks facing a line of stalls. He stepped across to the furthest one and closed the door behind him.

The cubicle was little more than a square stall with a hole cut in the stone floor that led directly to the sewer. To one side was a bucket of water with a wooden cup floating in it that was used as a rudimentary flushing mechanism. There was no lock on the door, so Athanasius leaned against it and took the phone Gabriel had given him from his pocket. It lit up the dim cubicle the moment he touched the screen. He stared down at it, trying to remember the lesson he’d had on how to compose a message. He managed to call up a test message sent from Gabriel, hit the ‘Reply’ option then carefully transcribed a summary of everything he had discovered, working quickly, aware that the longer he was gone the more suspicion it would arouse, then he tapped the send button.

A small box opened up in the middle of the screen: ‘Cannot Send Mail.’

He tried again and got the same message.

Outside, the door opened and someone walked to the sink and started filling it. He slipped the phone in his pocket, mindful of the light it gave off, and poured a cup of water into the hole before opening the door.

Father Thomas was splashing water on to his face when he emerged. Athanasius seized the moment and thrust the phone at him. ‘It’s not working,’ he said, glancing nervously at the door.

Thomas took the phone and read the error message. ‘There’s no signal,’ he said. ‘We’re too deep in the mountain.’

Athanasius felt instantly deflated. He was trapped in quarantine, for the next few days at least, in a location he had specified, buried deep beneath solid rock. He needed to get out somehow, or the information he had found would be useless.

Thomas held out the phone and Athanasius reached out to take it from him when the door behind them flew open.

Axel stood in the doorway. For a moment he stood looking at them both, his eyes switching from one to the other, seemingly oblivious to the glowing device being passed between them.

Then they saw the fresh blood dripping from his nose, just as his face crumpled in anguish and he fell to his knees, his hands already clawing violently at the flesh beneath his red cassock.

‘Help me,’ he said, through ragged, mournful sobs. ‘Please, somebody, help me…’