She gestured for us to sit at the back of the room, at a remove from the council members. Deeply curious about the subject of such an extraordinary meeting, I found that it took all my efforts to keep from staring impolitely, and so I focused my attention upon a series of large maps of Europe that had been posted upon the wall. Red dots marked cities of interest—Paris, London, Berlin, Rome. But what truly piqued my interest was that a number of obscure cities had been singled out: There were marks upon cities along the border of Greece and Bulgaria, creating a line of red between Sofia and Athens. The area held particular interest to me, as it was in that obscure location at the farthest reaches of Europe where my father was born.
Dr. Raphael stood by the maps waiting to speak. He was a serious man, one of the few completely secular members to rise to the level of council chair while retaining a teaching post at the academy. Dr. Seraphina had once mentioned that Dr. Raphael held the same dual position of administrator and scholar as Roger Bacon, the English angelologist of the thirteenth century who had taught Aristotle at Oxford and Franciscan theology in Paris. Bacon’s balance of intellectual rigor and spiritual humility was an accomplishment regarded with great respect throughout the society, and I could not help but see Dr. Raphael as his successor. As Dr. Seraphina took her place at the table, Dr. Raphael began to speak, resuming where he had left off.
“As I was saying,” Dr. Raphael said, gesturing to the half-empty shelves and the assistants wrapping and packing the books into boxes scattered throughout the Athenaeum, “our time has grown short. Soon all of our resources will be packed up and stored in secure locations throughout the countryside. Of course it is the only way—we are protecting ourselves from the contingencies of the future. But the move comes at the worst possible time. Our work cannot be postponed during the war. There is no question that we have to make a decision now.”
His voice was grave as he continued.
“I don’t believe our defenses will fail—there is every indication that we are ready for whatever battles lie ahead—but we must prepare for the worst. If we wait any longer, we face being surrounded.”
“Look at the map, Professor,” said a council member named Vladimir, a young scholar sent to Paris from the underground Angelological Academy in Leningrad, of whom I knew only by reputation. Boyish and handsome, he had pale blue eyes and a lithe build. The quiet, certain manner with which he conducted himself gave him the presence of an older man, although he could not have been more than nineteen years old. “It seems we are surrounded already,” he said.
“There is a marked difference between the machinations of the Axis powers and our enemies,” Dr. Lévi-Franche said. “Earthly danger is nothing in comparison to that of our spiritual enemies.”
“We must be ready to defy both,” said Vladimir.
“Exactly,” Dr. Seraphina said. “And to do this we must increase our efforts to find and destroy the lyre.”
Dr. Seraphina’s assertion was met with silence. The council members were not quite certain how to react to such a bold statement.
“You know my feelings about this,” Dr. Raphael said. “Sending a team to the mountains is our best hope.”
The nun’s veil cast a shadow over her features as she looked about the table at the council. “The area Dr. Raphael proposes is far too large for anyone—including our teams—to cover without exact coordinates. The precise location of the gorge must be mapped before such an expedition takes place.”
“With the right resources,” Dr. Seraphina said, “nothing is impossible. We have been given generous assistance from our American benefactress.”
“And the equipment supplied by the Curie family estate will be more than adequate,” Dr. Raphael added.
“Let’s look at the realities at hand, shall we?” said Dr. Lévi-Franche, clearly skeptical of the project. “How large is the area we are discussing?”
“Thrace was part of the eastern Roman Empire, later to be called Byzantium, whose territory consisted of land from present-day Turkey, Greece, and Bulgaria,” Dr. Raphael said. “The tenth century was a time of great territorial changes for the Thracians, but from the Venerable Clematis’s account of his expedition we can narrow our search somewhat. We know Clematis was born in the city of Smolyan at the heart of the Rhodope mountain chain of Bulgaria. Clematis wrote that he had traveled to the land of his birth during his expedition. Thus, we can narrow the area to northern Thrace.”
“This, as my colleague so correctly pointed out, is an immense area,” Dr. Lévi-Franche said. “Do you suppose that we can explore a fraction of this terrain without being detected? Even with vast resources and a thousand agents, it would take years, perhaps decades, to scratch the surface, let alone go underground. We do not have the funding or the manpower for such an endeavor.”
“There will be no shortage of volunteers for the mission,” Vladimir said.
“It is important to remember,” Dr. Seraphina said, “that the danger the war poses is not merely the destruction of our texts and the physical structures of our school. We stand to lose much more if the details of the cavern, and the treasure hidden there, are made public.”
“Perhaps,” the nun said. “But our enemies are watching the mountains at every moment.”
“It is true,” said Vladimir, whose field of study was ethereal musicology. “And that is precisely why we must go after it now.”
“Why now?” Dr. Lévi-Franche countered, lowering his voice. “We have hunted down and protected lesser celestial instruments while leaving the most dangerous one at large. Why not wait until the threat of war has passed?”
Dr. Seraphina said, “The Nazis have positioned teams throughout the area. They adore antiquities—especially those of mythological significance to their regime—and the Nephilim will use this opportunity to gain a powerful tool.”
“The lyre’s powers are notorious,” Vladimir said. “Of all the celestial instruments, it is the one that might be used to disastrous ends. It may be that its destructive force is more insidious than anything the Nazis might do. But then again, the instrument is too precious to leave. You know as well as I that the Nephilim have always coveted the lyre.”
“But it is obvious,” Dr. Lévi-Franche said, growing perturbed, “that the Nephilim will follow our party on whatever recovery effort we make. If we have the miraculous luck of finding the lyre, we have no idea what happens to those who possess it. It may not be safe. And even worse, it could be taken from us. Any effort we make may simply assist our enemies. We would then be responsible for the horrors that the lyre’s music could bring.”
“Perhaps,” the nun said, stiffening in her chair, “it is not as powerful as you believe. No one has ever seen the instrument. Much of the terror it has caused arises from pagan legends. There is every possibility that the evil the lyre can inflict is merely the stuff of legend.”
As the angelologists considered this, Dr. Raphael said, “And so we are faced with the choice to act or to do nothing.”
“Reckless action is worse than wise restraint,” Dr. Lévi-Franche said, and I could not help but dislike the smugness of his response, so much in contrast to my professors’ earnest attempts at persuasion.
“In our case,” Dr. Raphael said, growing more and more agitated, “inaction is the more reckless course. Our passivity will have terrible consequences.”
“That is exactly why we must act now,” Vladimir said. “It is up to us to find and protect the lyre.”
“If I may interrupt,” Dr. Seraphina said gently. “I would like to make a proposal.” Walking to where Gabriella and I sat and drawing the attention of the council members upon us, Dr. Seraphina continued, “Many of you are acquainted with them already, but for those of you who are not, I would like to present two of our brightest young angelologists. Gabriella and Celestine have been working with me to put order to our holdings during the transition. They have been busy at work cataloging texts and transcribing notes. I have found their work to be ve
ry useful. In fact, it is the attention that they have brought to the minutiae of our collection and the information they have carefully extracted from our historical papers that has given Dr. Raphael and me an idea of how to proceed at this very important juncture.”
“As many of you are aware,” Dr. Raphael said, “in addition to our duties here at the academy, Dr. Seraphina and I have been working on a number of private projects, including trying to bring more precision to the location of the cavern. In the process we have accumulated a plethora of addenda and field notes previously overlooked.”
I glanced at Gabriella, hoping to find some sort of commiseration in our position, but she only turned away, supercilious as ever. Suddenly I wondered if she understood the details of what the council members were discussing. There was the chance that she had been given inside information while I had been excluded. Dr. Seraphina had never spoken to me of a lyre, nor the need to keep it from our enemies. That Gabriella had been taken into her confidence filled me with jealousy.
“When we understood that the impending war could disrupt our work,” Dr. Seraphina said, “we decided to make certain that our papers would be well preserved, whatever happens. With this in mind, we asked Gabriella and Celestine to assist us in sorting and filing research notes. They began some months ago. The labor of their efforts has been taxing, the menial work of collecting facts, but they have shown ingenuity and determination to complete the project before the move. We have been thrilled with their progress. Their youth affords them a certain patience with what might seem to most of us simple clerical work, but their diligence has yielded excellent results. The data have been incredibly useful, allowing us to review a massive amount of information that has been hidden for decades.”
Dr. Seraphina walked to the maps and, taking a pen from the pocket of her cardigan, drew a triangle over the Rhodope Mountains from Greece into Bulgaria.
“We know that the site we seek is located within these boundaries. We know that it has been explored previously and that there have been many scholarly attempts to describe the geology and landscape surrounding the gorge. Our scholars have been intellectually scrupulous in their work, but our organizational methods have been, perhaps, less than perfect. While we do not have the exact coordinates, I believe that if we comb all of the texts at our disposal—including accounts that have not been examined previously for this purpose—we will shed a new light upon the location.”
“And you believe,” the nun said, “that through this method you will discover the coordinates of the cave?”
“Our proposal is this,” Dr. Raphael said, taking over for his wife. “If we are able to narrow our search to a radius of one hundred kilometers, we want full approval for the Second Expedition.”
“If we fail to narrow the search,” Dr. Seraphina said, “we hide the information as best we can, go into exile as planned, and pray that our maps do not fall into the hands of our enemies.”
I was shocked to see how readily the council members approved the plan after so much heated debate had already taken place. Perhaps Dr. Seraphina knew that Gabriella’s advancement was a card she could play to win Dr. Lévi-Franche’s approval. Whatever her strategy, it had worked. Although I was confused about the nature of the treasure we sought, my ambition had been flattered. I was overjoyed. Gabriella and I had been placed at the very center of the Valkos’ search for the cave of the imprisoned angels.
The next morning I arrived at Dr. Seraphina’s office an hour earlier than our scheduled meeting time of nine o’clock. I had slept very badly the previous night, while in the next room Gabriella had moved about, opening her window, smoking cigarettes, playing her favorite recording of Debussy’s Douze Études as she paced from one end of her chamber to the next. I imagined that her secret relationship contributed to her sleeplessness, as it did mine, although in truth Gabriella’s feelings were a mystery to me. I knew her better than anyone else I knew in Paris, and yet I did not know her at all.
I was so unmoored by the events of that afternoon that I did not have a moment to consider the magnitude of the role the Valkos had assigned us in hunting for the cavern. That I could think of little other than Gabriella with her arms wrapped about a strange man only heightened my wariness toward my friend. As a result, I left my bed before the sun rose, collected my books, and set out to study through the early-morning hours in my corner of the Athenaeum.
Being alone among our texts gave me the opportunity to consider the council meeting of the previous day. It was difficult for me to believe that an expedition of such consequence could be conducted without knowing the exact location of the gorge. The map—the most essential component of any mission—was missing. Even a first-year student of average intelligence would know that an expedition could not be considered a success without complete cartographic evidence. Lacking the precise geographical location of the journey, future scholars had no way to replicate the mission. In short, absent a map there was no solid proof.
I would not have been sensitive to the relevance of a map if it were not for my years with the Valkos, whose examination of cartography and geological formations bordered upon the obsessive. Much as a scientist relies on replication to verify experiments, the Valkos’ work in antediluvian geology arose from their passion for precise, concrete reproduction of past expeditions. Their clinical discussions of mineral and rock formations, volcanic activity, the development of mantles, soil varieties, and karst topography left no room for doubt that they were scientific in their methods. There could be no mistake. If there had been a map to be found, Dr. Raphael would have seized upon it. He would have reconstructed the journey step-by-step, rock by rock.
After the sun rose, I knocked softly upon Dr. Seraphina’s door and, hearing her voice, pushed it open. To my surprise, Gabriella sat with our teacher on a settee upholstered in vermilion silk, a coffee service before them. I could see that they were deep in discussion. Gone was the anxious Gabriella of the night before. Instead I found Gabriella the aristocrat, perfumed and powdered and immaculately dressed, her hair combed glossy black. I had been defeated once again by Gabriella, and, unable to hide my consternation, I stood in the doorway as if confused about my place. “What are you doing, Celestine?” Dr. Seraphina said, a hint of irritation in her voice. “Come in and join us.”
I had visited Dr. Seraphina’s office many times in the past and knew it to be one of the finest rooms in the school. Located on the top floor of a Haussmann-style building, it commanded a grand view of the neighborhood—the square before the school, with its fountain and endlessly circling pigeons, dominating all else. The morning sun illuminated a wall of French windows, one of which was open to the crisp morning air, washing the room with the smell of earth and water, as if it had rained all night, leaving a dredge of silt behind. The room itself was large and elegant, with built-in bookshelves, fluted moldings, and a marble-topped escritoire. It was an office that one might expect to find on the Right Bank rather than its location on la rive gauche. Dr. Raphael’s office, a dusty, tobacco smoke—stained room stacked high with books, was more representative of our school. Dr. Raphael could often be found lounging in the sunny depths of his wife’s polished office, discussing the finer points of a lecture or—as Gabriella was doing that morning—drinking coffee from Dr. Seraphina’s Sèvres service.
That Gabriella had beaten me to Seraphina’s office upset me more than I revealed. I could not know her motives, but it appeared to me that she had arranged a private conference, excluding me to her advantage. At the very least, Gabriella had taken the opportunity to speak with Dr. Seraphina about the work we would be undertaking, perhaps requesting the choice tasks. I knew that the outcome of our efforts could change our individual standing in the school. If the Valkos were pleased with the results, there would be a place on the expedition team. Only one of us would attain this.
We had been assigned work suited to our scholarly strengths, which were as opposite as our appearances. Whereas I loved the techni
cal components of our coursework—the physiology of angelic bodies, the composition ratios of matter to spirit in created beings, and the mathematical perfection of early taxonomies—Gabriella was attracted to the more artistic elements of angelology. She liked to read the grand epic histories of battles between angelologists and the Nephilim; she could gaze at religious paintings and find symbolism that surely would have been lost upon me; she parsed ancient texts with such care that one believed that the meaning of a single word had the power to change the course of the future. She had faith in the progress of good, and over our first year of studies she made me believe that such progress was possible, too. Accordingly, Dr. Seraphina assigned Gabriella to work through the mythical texts, leaving me the more systematic task of sorting the empirical data of previous attempts to find the gorge, sifting geological information of various epochs, and collating outdated maps.
From the look of satisfaction upon Gabriella’s face, they must have been chatting for some time. A series of wooden crates sat at the center of the office, their rough-hewn edges pressing upon the red and gold Oriental carpet. Each crate had been stuffed with field notebooks and loose papers, as if they had been packed in haste.
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