“The camera,” said Chris.
“Is this really the time?” said Luke, winding the bandage slowly back down her leg.
“The book,” Chris urged. “Photograph the book.”
The lamplight flickered as the flame hovered at the bottom of the oil well.
“Tell me what it says,” said Chris, eyes closed. “Please.”
Luke wiped the sweat from his neck and pulled the lamp closer to the open manuscript. He tapped on his pocket translator, his gaze darting back and forth, index finger jumping across the pages.
“She’s introduced as a prophet…Yuin of Havilah, descended from Isaac…” Luke leafed further. “She talks about returning to Eden, the three trials…”
“The riddles,” murmured Chris. “What are the riddles…?”
Luke’s fingers danced across the translator keys, words flashing across the tiny display. The low-light resolution on the device was much weaker than advertised.
“To find Eden, Man must…know the Lord, in head, heart and spirit. Unto him shall a sign be given to light the way,” said Luke.
“The first trial shall be to pass the Cherubim, set to guard against the foolish and weak of spirit. Man must show that he has obtained not only the stolen knowledge of Good and Evil, but the courage to wield it wisely.
“The second trial shall be to pass the flaming sword, which guards against the vain and mighty. Man must show humility before the Lord, to accept his own weakness, and accept the teachings of the Lord.”
Luke threw another worried glance at Chris.
“The last…” Chris’s breath caught in her throat.
“The last gate…” Luke swallowed. “To pass through the final gate into Eden, Man must have the key. The key is—”
Luke turned the page and was silent, his eyes staring down.
“Drumroll,” mouthed Chris, her head drooping.
Luke stared at the jagged edge of parchment.
Whoever had torn out the page had been in a hurry.
* * *
Dark figures darted through the castle corridors, seeming to skitter along the banisters, casting looming shadows across the ceilings.
Emir leapt lightly down the stairs and into the banquet hall, staying close to the walls. He adjusted his night-vision goggles and saw Docker standing perfectly still, facing the fireplace.
“Find anything?” asked Docker.
“Clear,” said Emir. “There’s nothing here.”
Three more shadows slipped into the room, standing at attention before Docker.
“Clear,” said Roman.
“Clear,” said Bale.
“Clear,” said Stace.
“Move out,” said Docker.
Roman, Bale and Stace moved silently from the room.
“I thought I heard something,” said Emir. “Like a thud.”
“There’s nothing here,” said Docker, walking over the bearskin rug as he left the room.
With a wary glance around the room, Emir reluctantly followed.
* * *
Chris’s eyes were closed, her breathing laboured. Her bones ached unbearably, and she felt as though her leg were being char-grilled.
“Chris,” Luke shook her gently.
“Ng ’kay,” Chris croaked weakly.
She whimpered faintly.
Luke got to his feet, his mind racing.
Secret passageways
, he thought as he rummaged along the shelves.
Hidden rooms and trapdoors
.
Luke shoved the chests and boxes across the floor, scattering papers and banging on the walls. Desperately, he felt around the alcoves, pushing on the walls behind the coffins, heaving on the gargoyles perched beside the ladder. Pulling his fingers through his damp hair, Luke spun around the room, the walls darkening steadily.
Escape
, thought Luke.
How morbidly symbolic.
He moved to the coffin marked “Goric Almovar.”
“I hope he wasn’t named for his grandfather,” muttered Luke, grabbing hold of the stone lid and heaving.
He fell backwards as the lid slid easily from the stone coffin, slotting out to one side like a pencil box. In the empty coffin, a metal ladder stretched down a stone chute, and a cool breeze wafted up from uncertain depths. Luke rushed back to Chris, now slumped on the floor, her clothes soaked in sweat. He scooped her into his arms and carried her to the open coffin.
“Not dead yet…” murmured Chris groggily.
Luke slung Chris over his shoulder and climbed down into the darkness.
* * *
At the edge of the woods on the mountain peak, the SinaCorp team hooked their abseil anchors to the top of the cliff, checking clips and harnesses. Docker paused.
“I left something behind,” he said mildly. “Continue to the rendezvous.”
“I’ll come with you,” said Emir, starting to follow Docker.
“Continue to the rendezvous,” said Docker sharply.
Emir and Docker locked gazes for a moment.
“Sir,” said Emir, stepping back.
Docker watched as Stace, Bale, Roman and Emir slid down their harness ropes, swinging quickly along the cliff face to the Jeep below. Docker waited until the ropes loosed from their anchors before he turned back towards Almovar Castle. As he approached the doors, he slid his gun from its holster, racking the slide with a snap.
* * *
Luke staggered through the tunnel with Chris draped in his arms, his flashlight wedged between his chin and his shoulder. The secret passageway was only about five feet high and four feet wide, and he was doing his best not to knock Chris’s head against the walls. Really.
The passageway ended in another metal ladder, rising into a narrow brick shaft. He clambered up the corroded rungs, his shoulders burning as he struggled to keep Chris balanced. He was fairly certain this wasn’t correct first-aid procedure, but scenarios involving snake bites and madmen in castles rarely came up in the manuals.
He ran out of handholds inside a narrow metal compartment shaped like a wardrobe. Shoving open the steel door, Luke climbed out of what appeared from the outside to be an industrial refrigerator.
The crypt leads to the kitchen
, thought Luke.
That’s just unhygienic
.
He carried Chris to the archway of the deserted medieval kitchen, peering into the unlit banquet hall. He noted with disquiet that the bearskin rug had been pulled back over the trapdoor.
Luke switched off his flashlight and crept into the banquet hall, trying not to shiver as he padded softly through the blacked-out castle. The only sounds were Chris’s shallow breathing and the thundering beat of his own heart.
Halfway across the room, Luke heard the front door open—very quietly. Footsteps approached, heading purposefully for the banquet hall.
Luke’s gaze shot frantically around the long hall, his feet glued to the floor in blank panic.
Fireplace
.
The voice was so soft he couldn’t be sure if he had imagined it.
“Always…secret…fireplace…” Chris’s mouth moved, her eyes still closed.
Luke ran into the recessed hearth and crouched against the sooty wall, pushing madly at the stones and logs. His hand yanked on a poker, and the back of the fireplace revolved suddenly, swinging him and Chris into a small stone room.
Luke’s vision was speckled by the sudden light, and it took a few blinking moments before he realised there was a sword pressed to his throat.
The hidden room was modestly furnished, and currently occupied by a slightly crazed-looking Almovar wielding a blunt, rusty sword. Although Luke doubted the weapon could actually decapitate him, it might give him tetanus. Almovar’s small brown owl was sitting dangerously lopsided on the old man’s shoulder, looking permanently infuriated.
Almovar rapidly took in Chris’s bandaged leg, her missing shoe, and Luke’s probably equally crazed expression. Lowering his sword, Almovar held a finger to his lips and gestured towards several Soumak cushions at the back of the room.
“What’s going on?” whispered Luke, laying Chris gently on the cushions.
“They’re here for the book,” said Almovar.
“Who are ‘they?’” asked Luke.
“Some big corporation. They phoned a few days ago, wanting one of my rare manuscripts in exchange for…well, let’s say enough money to fix the plumbing. I said no. They came by yesterday in person, and I said no. I guess this is how they ask a third time.”
“Must be some manuscript,” said Luke.
Almovar looked grim.
“I love books. But I also recognise when they’re dangerous. And things which make otherwise ordinary people perform unconscionable deeds are dangerous.”
Almovar looked down at Chris, her breath rasping through her swollen throat.
“The last time I let someone see that book was over ten years ago,” said Almovar. “For some reason, your friend reminds me very much of her.”
Almovar was a recluse not because he disliked company, but because good company seemed to be harder to find than Byzantine diptychs of pterodactyls. He saw castles and dragons where others saw high-density apartments and shih tzus. He dreamed of biplanes and deserts and endless oceans under blazing constellations, while others talked of debentures and career progression.
She had been different.
She had appeared one day with a small carpetbag suitcase, claiming to be a history student writing her doctorate. She had been bright and witty and brilliant company during the few days she’d spent at the castle. It had felt so good to laugh again.
“I let her study the book,” said Almovar, a shadow falling across his face.
She had studied the book with such ferocity, poring over the pages like a woman possessed.
“And one day,” said Almovar. “I returned to find her gone, and a page ripped from the text.”
He took a shaky breath, still stirred by the memory.
“I decided then that I was no longer a public library, and that some books are best kept away from people,” said Almovar.
“I’m sorry,” said Luke.
People always have a habit of disappointing you
, thought Luke. It was human nature to be cruel, to be weak, to lash out at the undeserving, and to abandon promises they never meant to keep.
Luke mopped at Chris’s face with his sleeve.
Almovar shook his head sadly, still lost in thought.
“I still wonder about her, sometimes,” said Almovar. “There was always something odd about the incident. The strange thing was—”
Bang
.
Bang
.
Bang
.
Luke and Almovar froze as gunshots rang through the castle.
* * *
Docker stared steadily down the barrel of the gun, faint wisps of smoke trailing into the air.
He crouched carefully on the limestone and nosed aside several fallen books with his gun. Spattered pieces of red and black flesh were pasted to the floor of the crypt, although with a little imagination you could reconstruct a thin snake. Docker noted this as he stood up. This was what happened when you didn’t pick up after yourself. He glanced around at the mess of papers and splayed manuscripts, and his gaze stopped on a heavy calfskin book lying open on the desk.
Docker swivelled around, gun raised as a figure dropped through the trapdoor and landed lightly in a crouch. Emir rose to his feet, quickly taking in the rifled crypt.
“I heard gunshots,” said Emir.
“All the way from the Jeep?” said Docker, lowering his gun.
“I thought you said there was nothing here.”
No bodies at least
, thought Emir.
Docker swept up the calfskin book, sliding it into his bag as he headed towards the ladder.
“There isn’t now.”
* * *
Chris had started to convulse, her lips turning a shade of blue usually reserved for Japanese horror movies.
“What kind of snake was it?” said Almovar, holding down Chris’s shoulders as Luke cradled her head in his hands.
“I don’t know. I didn’t see—”
“I’ve never had snakes in here,” said Almovar. “Lots of millipedes, and sometimes rats. But don’t mention that to the wedding registry.”
Luke lifted Chris into his arms.
“We have to get to a hospital,” said Luke, heading for the fireplace. “I’ll take my chances.”
There was a sudden, muffled rattling, like a loop of chain unrolling very fast, followed by a heavy clang. Almovar stepped nervously beside Luke, and they both braced as Luke pulled on the brass poker.
The hall was dark and silent, the trapdoor flung open beside the overturned rug. Luke rushed to the front door and found the portcullis lowered, the chain broken.
He laid Chris gently on the ground and grabbed the twisted length of chain, straining to pull up the gate.
“Give me a hand,” said Luke.
“I have a back door, you know,” said Almovar.
This was just as well, since Luke’s next plan of action would have involved hurling an antique chair through one of the stained glass windows.
Luke followed Almovar through the turning corridors and crooked passageways, finally emerging from the stifling darkness into the fresh night air. Everything smelled of rain and thunder, and a strong breeze sliced across the mountain top.
“Take my car,” said Almovar, sliding open a barn door to reveal a sleek, antique car. Black, of course.
“Is that a hearse or a wedding car?” asked Luke.
“It’s called horizontal diversification. Or would that be vertical…?”
Almovar passed Luke the keys and pointed to a rough dirt road winding through the woods.
“That goes down the other side of the mountain, and rejoins the road about two miles down.”
Luke stared at the road for a moment.
“You have a private road that goes all the way to the castle?”
“I’m almost seventy!” said Almovar. “I’m not going to run up and down the walking track just to get to the car park.”
Luke glanced around at the thick forest, the wind whipping through the trees.
“Shouldn’t you come with us?”
“They got what they wanted,” said Almovar. “And I can’t. It would look…”
Almovar looked away. Townsfolk were townsfolk, whether they were wielding pitchforks or broadband.
“Thank you,” said Luke.
He looked into Almovar’s pale, pinched face.
“They…say things,” said Luke. “But they think you do nice weddings.”
Luke suddenly remembered why he had been gently relieved of parish counselling duties.