by D B Nielsen
Gabriel took the stern of the gondola, looking like he’d done this a hundred times before, even in his tuxedo, while, mutinously, I crossed my arms over my chest and challenged, ‘I hope you don’t think this counts as a date, because I’m really not that impressed. This is hardly what I’d call romantic. It’s cold and dark down here and I’m freezing my arse off. The whole Phantom thing and mysterious vibe you throw out may do it for chorus girls, but not this girl. And do me a favour – don’t you dare sing.’
He began laughing at my immature tirade, the sound rich and vibrant.
‘What? No duets?’ he teased, taking up the oar and beginning to row.
I threw him a frosty look.
‘It’s a gondola ride, Saffron. It’s meant to be romantic, n’est-ce pas?’ he deliberately provoked, ‘Not even one song? Not even O Sole Mio?’
‘You dare, Gabriel,’ I threatened, ‘and you’ll be joining the Castrati!’
But Gabriel merely laughed harder in response.
‘It’s a pity you can’t drown a Nephilim!’ I muttered in exasperation, trying to tuck my overcoat around me so as to avoid getting too much dirt on it. ‘It would be way too easy!’
We drifted across the surface of the subterranean lake which looked very much like an enormous art deco train tunnel or Victorian sewer with its low, arched ceiling, stone foundations, and watery floor. The oar landed rhythmically with a splash each time Gabriel skimmed it across the surface of the water, breaking up small patches of ice where they had begun to form a thin crusty layer. Ghostly white ripples and prisms of rainbow-coloured reflections danced on the facing walls caused by the flickering flame of the lantern. Secretly, I had to admit that the atmosphere of mystery and danger created a degree of romance. But I would never have voiced this to Gabriel.
The underground system of the City of Lights consisted of a maze of sewers, catacombs, crypts, and tunnels. I wished I’d brought my camera with me to take photographs or, better still, video of all that I was experiencing, as I knew no one was going to believe my tale without proof – not that I was allowed to talk about anything remotely related to the Seed. I stifled a sigh, knowing that I could even have posted it on YouTube if it weren’t for the fact that I wasn’t supposed to be down here, and this experience “never happened”.
‘Now, ma mignonne,’ Gabriel’s voice turned sombre, ‘it is necessary for you to stay close behind me when we enter the tunnels. They are–’
‘Booby trapped?’ I supplied, my eyes lighting up with interest.
‘Oui, oui, oui. Ne t’en fais pas. Don’t get upset,’ he replied, pulling up alongside the dam wall where he tied the gondola to a rusty metal ring that was jutting out from the brickwork.
What appeared to be a disused stormwater drain covered by a cast iron circular grate, approximately the size of a man, was situated before us, just above the waterline. Gabriel gave a mighty tug and the grate gave way, its hinges squealing in protest, which echoed down the length of the hollow chamber. It fell back on its rusty hinges with a resounding clatter, splashing the side of the gondola so that it took on water.
I groaned in dismay. I was left half-squatting, half-standing in a pool of rank water.
Gross! My leather boots would never be the same again!
‘Tiens!’ Gabriel exclaimed in surprise, as he effortlessly vaulted into the manhole, ‘The waterline seems to have risen in the past century!’
‘R-e-a-l-l-y? You don’t say?’ I replied sarcastically, passing Gabriel the lantern before accepting his outstretched hand as the gondola rocked beneath me. Placing one foot on the edge of the opening of the manhole for balance, I managed to lever myself into the access chamber without falling into the water.
‘Stay close behind me, Saffron. And whatever you do, do not make any contact with the walls of the shaft,’ Gabriel reiterated forcefully and, picking up the lantern from the floor, he began to lead the way.
The stormwater drain twisted to the right and seemed to spiral outward on a slight incline like a Minoan labyrinth. For good measure, I placed one hand on the small of Gabriel’s back, feeling the warmth emanating from his exertions. While it was possible for me to almost stand upright in the tunnel, Gabriel had to hunch over. But he moved quickly, even when bent forward. He filled the void with his solid bulk so that I could not see past him to what lay beyond in the darkness.
I knew from seeing Andrew Lloyd Webber’s musical that beneath the Paris Opera House was a complex web of booby traps built into the space between the two dam walls, meant to deter trespassers. I hazarded a guess that it must have been constructed by the Nephilim, allowing them to move beneath the city of Paris freely without being followed. It was like some sort of escape route out of the city or, perhaps, it connected the various buildings and landmarks around Paris through its secret passageways.
By the eerie flickering light of the stinking sulphur lantern, a yellow glow emanated off the curved walls surrounding me. The luminescent golden flare brought the tunnel to life, so that I was able to see deeply cut symbols along the length of the shaft, but I was unable to examine them in detail and was wary not to touch them.
Water droplets dripped from the low stone ceiling dampening my uncovered head once again. I felt completely saturated and frozen. If it were possible, the temperature seemed to drop even further in the underground drain, though it did little to affect the Anakim ahead of me.
‘We are going to play a little game, you and I. Have you ever played hopscotch in the playground as a child?’ Gabriel asked, his voice reverberating in the closeted space, ‘Watch where I am stepping ahead and follow suit.’
I paid great attention to Gabriel’s footwork, watching as he lithely zigzagged across the floor of the shaft with all the grace of one of the ballet dancers I had just seen performing Coppélia. What I had not realised previously was that the tunnel had widened slightly to give way to a circular chamber where it was possible for even the Nephilim to stand upright and, on the floor of the chamber, were similar deeply etched markings.
The first few steps were simple. A hop to the left. Three steps forward. A skip to the right. The symbols, as far as I could make out, formed some sort of logical sequence, but I was careful to avoid looking too closely in case I fell into a trance like I did with the Round Zodiac at the Louvre. Instead, I continued to concentrate on Gabriel’s steps ahead of me.
But then Gabriel made a move that was simply inhuman. He leapt effortlessly across a wide traverse, expecting me to do the same.
I turned my horrified gaze upon him and said in a low voice, ‘I’m never going to make that!’
‘Pas de danger! You can! You give up too easily!’ Gabriel urged from across the wide divide which separated us, ‘T’inquiète, you will not fall, Saffron! I will catch you!’
‘Well, that’s reassuring,’ I grumbled belligerently, readying myself to jump. This was what I wanted, I reminded myself, mockingly. To be Dauntless. Divergent.
Contemplating the grid of symbols before me, I bit my lip in dread. Then I took a deep breath. And leapt.
I flew through the air, out into the chamber, out over the surface of the shaft, angling my jump way out to the right where Gabriel was waiting to catch me.
I was going to make it! I was flying!
And then I was falling.
I felt the ceiling of the shaft dropping away from me as I plummeted out of the air like a piece of statuary, landing precariously on the edge of the trigger stone which instantly gave way beneath my feet. The moment that my toe hit the ground, the trap mechanism sprang instantly to life, the stone crumbling under my boot.
But Gabriel’s reflexes were superhuman. His hand reached out, encircling my right wrist as I felt myself plunging into the vertical crater which opened up directly beneath me, legs frantically pumping the air as I struggled for a foothold. I had only moments to grasp both my impending doom and my salvation as I was yanked to safety above a deep pit rapidly filling with a gushing waterfall of stagna
nt water pumped from the underground system. Several other stones adjoining the trigger stone I had landed upon began to shift and topple like a row of dominos in quick succession, which would have made it impossible for an unprepared Nephilim to escape, let alone an ordinary human being. But my boots hit solid ground before the stones collapsed beneath me.
All this I observed as if from a great distance, in slow motion. It was as if time had slowed to a crawl. Maybe what I had just experienced was similar to what people experienced when they were dying, as I’d often heard that the dying relived their entire life before they drew their final breath.
But I wasn’t dead.
I reached out to Gabriel and held tight, my free arm looping around his neck as I looked back upon the gaping chasm I had just avoided plunging down into. Something dull glinted in the dark abyss as the water table levelled and, to my horror, I realised what a lucky escape I’d had. Rising from the floor of the well was a large pentagram of rusty metal stakes, their deadly, sharpened ends facing towards the ceiling.
‘Euf, perhaps it might have been better if I had carried you across,’ Gabriel stated deadpan as he looked down upon the devastation wrought behind me.
Seconds ticked by as I assimilated what he’d just said. Then, locking eyes with him, I felt my body tremble with shock and anger, which he no doubt interpreted as fear.
‘WHAT?’ I practically shouted at him, pushing myself away from his embrace. ‘Are you telling me that I went through all that for nothing? Why the hell didn’t you think of that sooner?’
Gabriel raised an eyebrow in response to the tone of my voice as he released me. ‘It did not occur to me.’
‘It didn’t occur to you?’ My voice went up another octave. I was murderous. ‘Do you have any idea what could have just happened? I could have been killed! That’s what might have just happened! And exactly what kind of sadist came up with this chamber of horrors anyway?’
He was about to shrug but then caught sight of my thunderous expression and instead awkwardly changed the gesture into an embrace, looping his arm around my shoulders.
‘That would be me. But do not be so melodramatic, ma mignonne. You were not in any real danger. I was here to catch you,’ Gabriel attempted to placate me, his voice reassuring but smug at the same time.
But I was not my sister. I resented the implication that I was a teenage drama queen, and I was not so easily appeased by claims that he was here to rescue me like some knight in shining armour; not even by such a handsome creature as Gabriel.
‘Christ! Are you for real? Who are you? Salazar Slytherin?’ Shrugging his arm from my shoulder, I demanded sarcastically, ‘How much further is it? And exactly how many booby traps are ahead – not including the basilisk, of course?’
Water dripped from the ceiling of the chamber onto Gabriel’s wheat coloured hair, turning it a darker blond so that he almost looked like a stranger to me, but he barely noticed it as he replied, finally recognising my anger, ‘Not too much farther. But there are two routes we can take, one shorter than the other.’
Looking up at Gabriel’s slightly guilty expression – which I might have found endearing under any other circumstance but not right now – my eyes narrowed as I hazarded a guess, ‘Don’t tell me – the shorter route is the more dangerous, right?’
‘En fait, it is more dangerous than the longer route, but there are fewer booby traps to tackle,’ Gabriel explained, allowing me to decide which route I’d prefer to follow.
‘Fine! Let’s just get this over with!’ I sighed heavily, pushing my damp hair out of my eyes so I could see clearly, my hand trembling from both the chill in the dank chamber and the first faint stirrings of shock. I was certain that it did not go unnoticed by the Nephilim standing before me, but still I declared stoutly, ‘Let’s go. I’m up for the challenge. We’ll take the shorter route. But next time you expect me to do something completely impossible, something superhuman, you’ll be carrying me. Got it?’
Gabriel took note of my warning and nodded solemnly, agreeing to my condition.
Retrieving the lantern from the floor where he’d placed it in order to save me from falling, Gabriel moved towards the far end of the chamber where there were two identical manholes burrowed into the wall. Both were gates to the passageways that lay beyond but we would only be taking one of them.
Choosing the path to the left, the tight cylindrical passage beyond was shrouded in darkness. Rising from the level of the chamber, but now at a steep angle, it seemed to bore into the very heart of the Île de la Cité where we were headed.
Gabriel held the lantern aloft, lighting the way ahead for my sake, exposing what seemed to be a disused slipway. The slipway was simply a long straight tunnel flanked by two flat stone tracks that abutted the walls on either side, with a row of stone steps that lay in between, allowing a person to slide containers filled with waste or construction materials up and down. Like the previous tunnel, the walls of the slipway were also covered with deeply grooved markings.
As we began to climb, I started to question the wisdom of my need to see the Seed. But it was too late now to turn back.
‘How is it that the second part of the map still exists? How do we even know it still exists?’ I questioned Gabriel as I huffed and puffed my way up the slope.
I seriously needed to get back into shape! Joining the kickboxing class at the gym was the first thing on my agenda when I got back to Kent.
‘It is believed to have been smuggled out of the Library of Alexandria before the Library was razed to the ground,’ Gabriel replied, continuing to climb the steep slope like a mountain goat. ‘Sources claim that it was hidden amongst a large portion of scrolls that were spirited away from the Library before the Romans invaded, and taken to a secret location.’
‘Whereabouts?’
‘Reputedly, the Atlas Mountains,’ he answered, ‘but, to date, they have never been found. Officially, that is.’
I stumbled between steps as Gabriel made this last statement, righting myself at the last moment before I fell to my knees.
‘What does that mean?’ I asked in surprise, resuming my stride. ‘The Scroll’s been unofficially found?’
Ahead of me, Gabriel nodded, not bothering to break his pace.
‘Je sais pas,’ he said, ‘but it is my belief that the Scroll never made it to the Atlas Mountains. Or, if it did, it was removed from there long ago.’
I frowned. ‘Why do you think that?’
‘Attention à la marche! Prenez garde! Watch your step, Saffron!’ he cautioned as I made my way up the slippery surface, the bell-like tones of his voice ringing out in the tunnel. Then, in answer to my question, continued, ‘I stumbled upon an obscure connection between the Scroll and the Catholic Church when I was a Knight Templar. I think that somehow the Scroll made it into the hands of a Benedictine monk.’
‘Really? How?’
‘It was given to him by Pope Gregory the Great for safekeeping when he was sent on his mission to Britain to convert the pagan king,’ Gabriel said.
I shook my head. It was all so confusing. ‘Who are we talking about now?’
Gabriel briefly looked back at me over his shoulder. ‘St. Augustine of Canterbury, sent to the Kingdom of Kent to convert the heathen King Æthelberht in the year 597. He brought the Scroll there with him.’
Again I stumbled, this time catching hold of Gabriel’s tuxedo jacket to stop me falling forward.
‘Kent? As in the Kent where I live?’ I yelped.
I could hear the amusement in Gabriel’s voice as he replied.
‘Oui, oui, oui. As in the Kent where you live. It is no coincidence that you live in the vicinity of where the Scroll was most likely taken. All things happen for a reason, Saffron, don’t you agree?’ Gabriel observed, ‘It is providence, n’est-ce pas?’
‘I don’t know that I believe in providence,’ I replied sceptically.
But Gabriel wasn’t listening.
We had reached another fo
rk in the path ahead. I stopped behind Gabriel. There were markings above each of the iron grates that blocked our passage.
‘What does it say?’ I asked, averting my eyes again so as to avoid looking too intensely at the symbols.
‘It says that we must call the dead,’ Gabriel replied, removing his silk scarf from the pocket of his tuxedo jacket.
I swallowed, feeling suddenly anxious. ‘That doesn’t sound too good. I take it that it’s not some sort of metaphor.’
He gave a derisive snort as he turned to face me.
‘Bah, I’m afraid not. Beyond this gate, we will be entering the City of Bones, the ancient necropolis that lies beneath the City of Lights. The underground system contains avenues of crypts and catacombs, as the poor citizens of Paris were forced to dispose of the vast numbers of corpses that resulted from the many outbreaks of plague and disease. A person could easily get lost down here if they did not know their way around.’ He motioned to the other gate by way of explanation.
‘But I’m guessing there’s more to it than that,’ I commented, speculating whether the dead truly remained dead.
Gabriel shook his head gravely. ‘The mind plays tricks on you within the City of Bones. Fear makes the ghosts of the past real. Shadows move. Everything feels wrong down here.’
I tilted my head towards the gate that led out of the slipway. ‘If that’s the fastest way out of here, let’s go.’
Gabriel thrust the silk scarf into my hand. ‘I have never taken a human down here before. It’s dangerous. You may need this. Use it as a blindfold and hold onto me.’
Squaring my shoulders, I lied, ‘No, thanks. I’m not afraid.’
But, this time, Gabriel’s response was solemn.
‘Everyone feels fear.’
His expression was inscrutable though I did not think he was judging me, just voicing a truth. But still I shook my head, pocketing the scarf instead.
