The Nosferatu Scroll

52

Angela couldn’t help it. She squealed in fright and stepped backwards, away from the horrendous apparition that had just appeared. But in seconds she’d recovered her composure. She was no stranger to old bones, and ancient corpses interested, rather than frightened, her. It was just the shock, and the unexpected appearance of the old body.

Marco had jumped back with a yell of fear, lashing out with his torch at the dangling corpse.

For a few seconds, neither of them moved, the beams of their torches shining across the open space towards the trapdoor, and illuminating the grisly body that had partially fallen through it.

‘I didn’t expect that,’ Marco said, brushing dust from his clothes.

‘Nor did I.’

Angela moved forward and shone her torch upwards. The skeleton – or what she could see of it – appeared to be largely articulated, skin and desiccated muscle still clinging to the bones. It looked old.

‘There’s a story,’ Marco said, ‘that the mad doctor from the lunatic asylum didn’t jump from the tower, but was actually walled up here. Could that be him?’

Angela shook her head. ‘I don’t think so, because that was a hundred years later. The Latin text referred to a “guardian” for the source document. I think this body was placed up here to act as a kind of warning to anyone who wanted to get into the space above us. I think this is what Carmelita meant.’

‘You mean this corpse was once a member of her group?’

‘Not necessarily. From what I’ve read, finding a dead body on this island wouldn’t be difficult. I think they just dug one up and positioned the corpse above the trapdoor before they closed it.’

It took a moment for the implication to hit them both.

‘A plague victim?’ Marco asked, his voice hushed as realization dawned.

‘It’s possible,’ Angela said. ‘We both know this island is covered in plague pits. But that doesn’t mean that the corpse is still infectious. I’m not a doctor. I don’t know how long the bacteria can survive once the host is dead.’

‘But it could still be carrying the disease?’

Angela shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Maybe. But these days there are treatments available for the plague,’ she added reassuringly.

She was silent for a moment before she voiced the logical conclusion. ‘If I’m right – and the corpse was positioned there as a form of protection for the source document – my guess is that the people responsible probably thought the body was infected. That’s why Carmelita referred to a “guardian”.’

‘So you think the document might be up there?’ Marco asked, pointing upwards.

‘That would seem likely, and I really hope so.’

‘Well, we’ll soon find out. Or you will, to be exact.’

There was an old broom, almost all the bristles long vanished, standing in one corner of the space. Marco picked it up, placed the head under the skull of the corpse and pushed upwards. The skeleton vanished from sight, the dangling arm disappearing as quickly as it had materialized.

Angela shone her torch through the trapdoor. In the void above her, it was surprisingly light, the daylight spearing in through gaps between the tiles, and she could clearly see the pointed shape of the top of the tower.

She turned to Marco. ‘If you want me to climb up there,’ she said, ‘you’re going to have to give me a hand.’

He nodded, put his torch down on the floor so that it illuminated that end of the platform, then walked across to Angela. Unceremoniously, he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her straight up through the open trapdoor.

Angela used her arms to lever herself completely through the opening, and shone the torch around her. The skeletonized remains of the body lay just a couple of feet away, but she ignored it completely. She wasn’t entirely sure what she was looking for but, if her deductions had been correct, the lost source document that Marco and his cronies were seeking had to be somewhere nearby.

The sides of the steeple sloped gently towards each other, to meet at a point perhaps twenty feet above her head: it was difficult to estimate the distance exactly. She doubted if the hiding place would be that inaccessible. It was more likely to be within reach of her at that moment, somewhere on the floor or the walls nearby, simply because of the difficulty of getting to the top of the steeple. Even manoeuvring a ladder into the void would have been a virtual impossibility, and the sloping walls were unclimbable.

If the document – this scroll or codex or whatever it was – had survived, and was still hidden somewhere in the old bell tower, it had to be close by.

Angela moved the beam of the torch slowly around her in a complete circle. She was standing on what appeared to be a solid stone floor, pierced only by the open trapdoor. It seemed unlikely that there could be a cavity anywhere within it. She shifted her glance to the walls. Formed from solid timbers, with horizontal braces every few feet, they didn’t look too hopeful either. She ran the torchlight over the walls from floor level up to about eight feet, the maximum height that most men could reach, but saw nothing that looked like a box or other kind of container.

Then she stopped. Among the pinpricks of light filtering through the gaps between the tiles, she thought she’d spotted something else. A glint. Something shiny. Without altering her position, she moved the torch back in the opposite direction, the beam of light illuminating the opposite wall. As it passed over one of the vertical timbers, she spotted something reflective.

She strode over to the upright, her sense of excitement mounting. The glint she’d seen was slightly to the right of the old timber, on one of the horizontal braces about five feet off the ground. The odd thing was that there seemed to be nothing on the wood that could have reflected the torchlight. Then she saw a long split that ran along the length of the brace. She bent slightly forward to peer into the crack, and discovered that the object that had attracted her attention was actually inside the timber. That really didn’t make sense.

Angela looked at the top of the brace, and noticed two deep cuts running across it. Immediately she saw those, she guessed the reason for the wide longitudinal crack: over the years, the wood must have dried out and warped slightly. Somebody had fashioned a kind of box out of the timber, cutting off the top section and cutting out a hollow underneath it.

She took hold of the top of the brace and lifted the wood, which came away quite easily. Lying in a shallow depression underneath was something metallic. It was that which had reflected the torchlight, the metal glinting in the darkness.

Angela reached up and lifted it down. It was a metal cylinder about ten inches long and three inches in diameter, one end sealed by a cap. Originally it had been painted dark brown, presumably to match the colour of the wood, but much of the paint had flaked off.

The cylinder was too small to contain a codex or a book, but it was easily big enough for a scroll or a rolled length of parchment.

‘What is it?’ Marco asked. He had levered himself up so that his head and shoulders were inside the void, and he was watching her closely.

‘A steel cylinder,’ Angela replied. ‘Do you want me to open it?’

‘No. Give it to me.’

She walked across the floor to the trapdoor and looked down at Marco. He’d dropped back to the floor below, his hand raised up ready to receive the object. Angela passed him the metal cylinder and then lowered herself back down through the trapdoor. By the time she’d dropped the last couple of feet, Marco had already twisted off the steel cap and was examining a length of parchment, a cruel smile on his face.

‘Is that it?’

Marco nodded. ‘Yes. We’ll need your translation skills again,’ he added as he carefully rolled up the parchment and replaced it in the cylinder. ‘Get back down the stairs. You’ve just bought yourself another few hours.’