The Crypt Trilogy Bundle

by Bill Thompson

  From a distance the Bad Man watched for fifteen minutes. He saw two paramedics come out of the theater, rolling a gurney. A white sheet covered a body. A distraught girl walked alongside, sobbing as the body was hoisted into the ambulance. Siren and flashing lights off, it drove silently away.

  Had Juan Carlos done this? Did he just witness Roberto Maas the assassin at work? This was no coincidence. Juan Carlos didn’t come all the way back to Moscow just to see a play. He had killed this man.

  This changed everything. He’d confirmed firsthand that his partner was a cold-blooded murderer who could kill, then stroll nonchalantly back to his hotel. Instead of ending up as one of the man’s next victims, he’d turn the tables.

  The predator will become the prey.

  The Bad Man considered his evening very successful. Things were finished here and he’d be back home tomorrow. No one would ever know he’d been in Moscow.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

  The Council for British Archaeology directed the frequent, often complex projects constantly underway in the City of London. Every time excavations began for a new building, ruins of Roman Londinium inevitably were found a few feet underground. These discoveries got top priority – time was money on enormous construction projects. Even then there were too few people to handle everything. More things got reburied or destroyed than got seriously examined by archaeologists. It was a sad fact in the ancient City.

  Roberto submitted a proposal to the Council, confident they’d deny his request. He asked for money and archaeologists for further examination of some things they’d found. A scant few paragraphs described the situation: he and the adjoining property owner in St. Mary Axe Street had discovered an old crypt from the Middle Ages and a burial ground from ancient Londinium. All this was interesting on the surface, but to the Council for British Archaeology, it was simply more of the same thing. Old crypts and Roman burials were everywhere. They had no time for this rather routine project, so it was denied without discussion.

  Roberto had deliberately left out a few key facts that would have caused the Council to spring into action. He omitted the names of the occupant of the sarcophagus and some of the personalities in the Roman passageway. He wanted the project rejected – a denial gave him the right to continue without their oversight. They weren’t interested, and that was exactly what Roberto had planned.

  Next he went to the British Archaeological Guild, a privately funded nonprofit that engaged archaeology students and professors from local universities. The Guild focused primarily on sites outside of London. They’d uncovered some important things near Stonehenge and Avebury in western England; now they were on the coast near Brighton, digging to see if the Romans had built a port there.

  His proposal to the Guild was totally different and irresistible to its archaeological staff. Roberto would underwrite the entire project if the Guild would begin immediately. That was no problem – within two weeks a team was ready to start in the crypt. They were delighted to have both a fully funded project and one in London, close to home instead of out in the countryside for once.

  Roberto added a requirement – he and Edward would be part of the Guild’s team. This was a privilege his funding bought that wouldn’t have happened had the government been in charge.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

  Edward opened the safety deposit box and removed the only thing it held, the ancient book that in handwritten Latin described the Battle of Badon. For years it had sat, as so many other things in the crypt seemed more important. A simple military history, even one mentioning King Arthur, paled in significance to the diaries of Queen Guinevere. But now this book was crucial. It could independently corroborate the diary entries about Lamorak’s death and burial.

  Its words were easier to translate than the Welsh of the diaries. This one was in Latin, a dead language in which he was fluent. In a day he skimmed the entire book, stopping here and there as relevant passages arose. According to the anonymous eyewitness who wrote it, Lamorak did indeed die in 500 AD. The knight’s brother Percival accompanied his body back to Camelot, where a sarcophagus would be prepared.

  So far this book and the diaries tallied perfectly.

  Most of the story was a monotonous, tedious description of medieval warfare. He’d found nothing of benefit except the validation of Lamorak’s death. He stayed with it to the end, just in case. After all, the last was best in Guinevere’s diaries.

  This book was the same. As in the Queen’s third diary, the final two pages of this book were the astounding parts. These words were in old English, not Latin.

  These last two pages completed the puzzle.

  Today is the fifth of June 1278. I, John Taunton of Glastonbury, am responsible for the removal of the remains of the three.

  Since their discovery by the monks almost a hundred years ago, the bodies of our King and Queen have lain in the abbey, awaiting a final resting place. I had hoped they could remain here where ancient Camelot once stood. But that cannot be. Edward Longshanks, our King and Protector, valiantly defends England against both the Welsh and our enemies to the North. If either of those prevails against us, they will surely ransack the abbey and our city as well. Its longstanding ties with King Arthur’s reign make it a prime target for enemies who would destroy our culture and heritage.

  Edward stopped reading and turned to his computer. He knew the name Edward Longshanks – it was the nickname for King Edward I, ruler of England from 1272 to 1307. He had put down rebellions in Wales in 1276–77 and would permanently defeat them in 1283. The book’s mention of “our enemies to the North” was a reference to the Scots, with whom Edward I was engaged in an ongoing battle that Scotland would temporarily win in the 1290s.

  He was excited to see the entry written by John of Taunton, who was abbot of Glastonbury from 1274 to 1291. The same man had written the final entry in Guinevere’s diary, saying he’d “arranged the movement of Lamorak” and “the others rest with him.” This book was the final nail in the coffin; he laughed to himself at the comparison.

  John Taunton’s name had also been mentioned when Edward and Roberto visited Glastonbury Abbey. During their tour, the guide had spoken of an old rumor. “Some people say the abbot whisked away the bodies of Arthur and Guinevere.” He laughed derisively. “But that’s not true, is it? Look here.” He pointed down to a marker. “This is the site of their reburial in 1278. End of story!”

  The sad truth was that the guides spewed out the lies that kept tourists coming. They assured visitors that Arthur and Guinevere were still around.

  Edward returned to the abbot’s final words.

  At the direction of my King I have prepared the sarcophagus and the bodies for the journey to London. The knight will be buried in the crypt below the Church of St. Mary Axe, near the graveyard where legend says his father Pellinore lies. Longshanks has impressed upon the Archbishop of London the requirement of secrecy. No one will ever know that the knight’s sarcophagus hides the secret resting place of the beloved monarchs of Camelot.

  In the crypt with their bodies I will place the books our monarchs loved. I personally prepared the boxes that will protect them from the elements. All that remains is for me to add this final book to the last box and seal it. That I shall do before we leave.

  Caledfwich has been prepared as well. May it guard our King as it has for almost eight hundred years.

  Edward stopped again. Caledfwich? It was a word he didn’t recognize – Welsh, almost certainly, but what was it? He googled the word and looked at the screen. Suddenly he became light-headed. His hands slipped from the keyboard and he fell from the chair onto the floor in a dead faint. Moments later he awoke, dazed and dizzy but with adrenalin rushing through his system. His head almost burst with the amazing knowledge he now possessed. He stood and looked at his computer again to be sure he’d seen it correctly.

  Caledfwich was the Welsh name for Arthur’s sword. The screen also showed the name in English.

  Exca
libur.

  King Arthur’s sword is buried in the crypt too.

  There’s a relic that’ll make history for its discoverer.

  With shaky hands Edward returned to the book.

  A special place in the crypt has been prepared for the bodies where a heavy wooden door separates it from an ancient Roman tunnel. The three will be safe for eternity and free from harm, God willing.

  The book ended with three simple sentences.

  Tomorrow we shall begin our journey. God be with us and protect our revered King, Queen and knight. God protect our country and our brave monarch Edward Longshanks.

  In an old book about a long-forgotten battle, the abbot of Glastonbury wrote that he personally accompanied the bodies of three legendary figures from his abbey to the crypt at the Church of St. Mary Axe. Guinevere’s diary had been one piece of the puzzle, but this book nailed it. Here was the proof.

  In addition to three bodies, the abbot had also moved a sarcophagus, books and a legendary sword named Excalibur. Everything fit together perfectly with what was in the crypt. If the sword actually were there, it would be an overnight sensation. It would rank among the most important relics of England’s historic past. If there had been nothing but Excalibur, its discoverer would still have the fame Edward sought. But he had the sword and much, much more.

  Although the book never mentioned them by name, there was absolutely no doubt who the “beloved monarchs of Camelot” were. No other royals had ever been linked to Camelot and Avalon. It was the home of just one – King Arthur himself.

  Pellinore, the book said, was the father of the knight buried with the monarchs. That was the name of Lamorak’s father. Case closed.

  At long last Edward knew the incredible history that surrounded the burials in the crypt. He knew why, how and when the bodies were moved. During the week of June 5, 1278, Arthur, Guinevere and Lamorak were laid to rest in the crypt of St. Mary Axe. This book made it all clear. And Edward was sure it was all true. King Arthur and the naughty queen Guinevere lived, reigned and died. And they were buried in the basement along with Excalibur, the most famous sword in history.

  Amazing. Truly amazing.

  And his alone.

  Can we kill him now? Can we? Can we?

  It was getting harder and harder to keep him at bay. And less and less necessary to do so.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY

  The Bad Man had waited until the long passageway was quiet, devoid of the activity that had been going on all day. It was after midnight and he easily gained access through the skylight on the roof of the vacant building.

  Both Edward and Roberto had intended to repair the skylight Edward had slithered through weeks earlier. In the excitement of their discoveries, both had neglected to have it fixed. That was a good thing tonight. It was a perfect entryway. He could easily have gone through one of the front doors, but he avoided the street because of the security camera. The Bad Man didn’t want his partner knowing he was paying a late-night visit to the crypt.

  This time all he did was look. He noted everything and prepared his final plan. There was one thing to do before he’d be ready to fix things once and for all. To right the wrongs, the injustice. His partner was going to pay for what he’d done. It was finally time.

  He stood in front of the sarcophagus of Lamorak for several minutes, gazing on the fully armored body lying before him. A bronze helmet and faceplate covered the knight’s head. A shield nearly four feet long, surprisingly free of adornment, covered his torso. His gloved left hand was wrapped around an impressive sword. The word Lamorak was lightly etched on its golden handle.

  The Bad Man loved history. He’d spent hours at one museum or another, staring at suits of armor and coats of mail. But none of those seemed real like the one before him. Seeing a stone coffin in a crypt was breathtaking in itself. It was even more so when one considered this knight served under Arthur, King of the Britons.

  He knew how much his partner coveted the things that had been found in this crypt – the books, the knight, the possibility of a connection with Arthur and Guinevere. Roberto had been a different person since he’d begun working on the project here in St. Mary Axe. He was full of wonder, full of excitement, full of anticipation. He didn’t care about anything else anymore. He was passionate about the discovery here.

  All that made it more satisfying to know his partner would never have these things he coveted so much.

  So close to success, partner, and yet so far.

  The Bad Man left the building the way he’d come in, through the skylight onto the roof. He was pleased how well everything was falling into place.

  It would all happen very soon now.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

  Over the past few weeks there had been more activity in the narrow lanes of St. Mary Axe than at any time since merchants hawked their wares here in the Middle Ages. The British press eagerly reported the discovery of what appeared to be a fifth-century knight’s tomb. For the moment the connection with King Arthur remained a secret. Roberto and Edward would confirm the truth before creating a firestorm of rumors. Once they saw the bodies and told the world, everything would change. St. Mary Axe would become one of the best-known lanes in the world.

  Today tourists streamed to The Necromancer’s Bookshop to see the site where the ancient things had been discovered. Huge double-decker tour buses that had no business turning into the tiny street tried anyway, failing and tying up traffic for hours. The police had finally blocked both ends of the street and made it solely pedestrian. Edward hired additional people to work in the store while he and Roberto used the first floor of the vacant building next door for the Guild archaeological team’s command center.

  The archaeologists had been here nearly a week. They’d developed a routine – every workday ended with the team sitting around a table for a wrap-up meeting. There were three conservators, a photographer, Edward and Roberto. The daily recap, recorded for transcription later, summarized the accomplishments of the day and laid out the plans for the next day’s work. Every evening after the crew left, Roberto and Edward went back down into the crypt for a few minutes. These two enemies forced into partnership held a short daily recap of their own.

  For four days the crew worked on Lamorak’s sarcophagus, getting it ready to be removed from its niche in the wall. Yesterday it had happened – the stone coffin now sat in the middle of the room. The heavy winch and steel wires that had been used to move it were still in place. Photos and videos were shot from every possible angle; then the knight’s shield and sword were lifted out. They carefully snaked six straps underneath Lamorak’s body and slowly raised the corpse a couple of inches with the winch, just enough to slide a sheet of plastic under it. Lamorak was gingerly raised from his coffin for the first time since 1278, the year he’d come to London from Camelot. His corpse now lay on a table in a corner of the crypt. In a few days it would be transferred to a laboratory at the British Museum.

  Today’s work on the body and armor had been the most critical so far. The sarcophagus lid was considered important too, but Edward had broken it earlier. The pieces were already at the museum, where experts would reassemble the lid for study.

  The coffin’s front carvings had been carefully photographed because of the chance of its destruction during removal. Luckily that hadn’t happened. The ancient sarcophagus remained as solid now as it was centuries ago when it made the long ride from Glastonbury Abbey to St. Mary Axe.

  Edward and Roberto stood looking at the space where the sarcophagus had been. When it was moved, a three-by-four-foot hole in the floor underneath it was revealed. Dirt filled the hole completely to floor level.

  “I just can’t believe it,” Edward said in a hushed voice. “Everything I read – it’s … it’s all true!”

  “What you read? What are you talking about?”

  He hadn’t told Roberto until now. “I translated one of the books we found in the metal boxes. It’s about King Arthur and the Battle
of Badon. It appeared to be a routine military history book, significant only in confirming Lamorak died in 500 and was buried at Glastonbury in this sarcophagus. But then came the last couple of pages. They were the best of all.” He stopped and smiled.

  “Are you going to tell me what you found out?”

  “Curious, are we?” The bookseller grinned like a schoolboy and taunted, “Want to know more, partner?”

  My God but this man was crazy. Roberto went on alert. Edward was changing personalities. The psychotic side would be out soon – Roberto wanted to know what Edward had learned, but he had to hurry. Edward was quickly transforming.

  “Of course I want to know more! You’re the scholar here. Enlighten me!”

  Edward clapped his hands excitedly, the compliment keeping him sane for the moment. “You’re not going to believe this! On June the fifth, 1278, at the direction of King Edward I, known as Edward Longshanks, the abbot of Glastonbury himself moved three bodies from there to St. Mary Axe. Right here.”

  Amazed that Edward had withheld this critical information from the archaeologists, Roberto nonetheless held his tongue. “So this book confirms that Arthur, Guinevere and Lamorak were put into the crypt?”

  “Not by name, but there’s no mistaking who they are. It talks about the sarcophagus of the son of Pellinore, below which are buried two monarchs. You know the metal boxes of books my grandparents found? The abbot put the books in the boxes and brought them here too. The book I read even describes the Roman burial passageway underneath your building. It’s … it’s the final piece of the puzzle – the last thing we need.”

  Roberto shook his head in disbelief. “What were you thinking? Did you plan to let the archaeologists in on your little secret? Did you intend to tell them you know for certain who’s buried down there?” He pointed to the dirt-filled hole.