Ash chuckled. “You know you sound crazy, right?”
“This from someone in an ancient cult?” She shined her light around the room. “It’s as good an idea as any. The bird got in here somehow. Maybe it knows a way back up to another level. If I can find a place to get my bearings, I’ll have a general idea where to look for St. Stephen’s.”
“I thought you didn’t know where it was.”
“I know where it was located on the island. Roughly.” Mike had sent her a description found in a letter from a Roman general.
“Can’t you figure it out based on the bridge? Baptiste said the tunnel we came through runs parallel to the Pont au Double,” Ash said as they climbed over the rubble, following the wren as it swooped and sang.
“I’ve been trying. But it’s hard to tell for sure underground. My best guess it to head northeast.”
The bird whooshed by her head again, circling back in the same direction—northeast. M couldn’t bring herself to say it.
Ash pointed reluctantly. “As far as I can tell, that’s exactly where it wants us to go.”
“Yeah. Well. Just a coincidence.”
When they’d finally climbed over most of the rubble, they found a crumbling wall with a heap of rock hiding it from view. The little wren perched on the ledge, tweeting at them.
“We can fit through if we dig out the opening a bit,” Ash said. He picked up a curved piece of pottery that had once been an amphora. M grabbed it before he could throw it and break it.
“This is valuable,” she hissed. If she ever did save Dad, she definitely had to bring him here.
“It will be slow going if we examine every piece,” Ash pointed out.
“Let’s just try to move things carefully,” she said, placing the amphora to the side.
Ash sighed heavily, but he did as she asked. The bird sat up above, no longer singing, as if it were waiting for them to finish.
“You know, there’s a wren in one of the legends about St. Stephen,” M said as they worked. “Because St. Stephen was a martyr, his remains were considered holy, and they were moved around a lot through the Middle Ages. Stories about him spread all through Europe. One says that, when his enemies were hunting him, he hid inside a bush, and a wren sat on one of the branches, singing. It led them right to him.”
“What happened then?” Ash asked.
M shrugged. “They stoned him to death. So now people hunt wrens—”
“—on St. Stephen’s Day!” Ash cut in. “In Ireland. They don’t hunt real wrens, of course—”
“They used to,” M said.
“But there are songs and games involving a stuffed wren.” Ash moved another slab of stone. “I never really thought about why they did that.”
“History explains everything,” she said. “The wrens have to pay for betraying St. Stephen.”
Ash stood still, gazing at the little bird.
“What?” M asked.
“It’s a meaningful bird. I think it’s a messenger. We are on the right track.” He resumed digging at a renewed pace.
“You’re kidding, right? A messenger from who?” When he didn’t answer, she continued. “From Horus?”
“It’s strange that someone who knows so much about religion has such little belief,” Ash commented.
“I don’t believe in magic, if that’s what you mean. An ancient Egyptian god sending a bird to guide us to a statue of his enemy, in the twenty-first century? Come on.”
“Your father is an open-minded man.”
“And my mother was a scientist. My parents taught me to think logically. Magic—or miracles, if you want to talk religion—isn’t logical,” M argued. “I can name twenty so-called miracles that all have scientific explanations.”
“We’ll see,” he said.
By the time they cleared a big enough space to crawl through, M felt her eyelids growing heavy. Even the wren seemed to have fallen asleep. They’d gone down into the catacombs more than twelve hours ago.
“Maybe we should nap before the next step,” she suggested.
“Could you really sleep down here?” Ash sounded appalled.
M thought of the huts she’d slept in as a child with her mother, and the rocky campsites at her dad’s digs. “I can sleep pretty much anywhere. Eat, too.” She pulled a packet of jerky out of her jacket pocket and tore it open, offering it to Ash.
Ash ripped off a piece with his teeth. “Let’s keep going.” He stuck his head through the broken wall. “Oh good. Another chamber.”
“Let me see.” M shoved past him, climbing into the new space. She took a quick look around. The walls were smooth plaster rather than rough stone, and the floor was covered with dirt and dust, but no rubble. “It’s a crypt,” she said. “Or was. There are inscriptions on the wall.” She pointed her light at the faint lines. “The paint has chipped in most places. I can’t make out the words.”
“Is it more of the pagan temple?” Ash had climbed in behind her.
“No. It’s constructed differently. The last space was neglected, filled with waste. This room was tended, cared for. Revered. If I had to guess, I’d say this was a sacristy, or the crypt of an important person, a noble or a rich patron…” Her voice trailed off as her eyes found the wren. It had alighted on a triangular structure of stones in the middle of the room, like a cairn. M followed the bird over. Lifting the top rock, she peered inside. “… Or a saint.”
“What?” Ash rushed to her side. “That’s a skull.”
“But see how it’s placed? What do you see when you look into the cairn? The crown of the skull. Stephanos. Crown.” A thrill ran through her body. This was what the glyphs had meant!
“So that’s St. Stephen’s skull? His remains are here?” Ash asked.
“Maybe,” M said. “They were lost. And this church was dedicated to him.”
“And the wren led us directly to them,” he pointed out.
M ignored him. “A crown in a temple,” she whispered, picturing the carving from Baiae. She reached into the cairn, lifted the skull, and stared at the dense, black rock below it.
Two long, thin arms ending in what were unmistakably the feet of an animal, perhaps a dog, or a jackal.
Like the feet of the god Set.
CHAPTER 9
“It’s a piece of the statue,” Memphis gasped, stunned.
Ash nodded, too choked up to speak. The very thing Philip had told him so much about was before him, the object of lore passed down through a hundred generations of Horus devotees, the artifact his parents had spoken of in hushed tones.
It shone like obsidian in the flashlight beam. The entire piece was small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. He gaped at it, forcing himself to remember the destructive power contained within that tiny bit of rock.
“These could be the arms of a Set animal.” Her voice had regained its composure. She always seemed the most at ease when talking about archeology. “Set was often depicted as a strange creature, possibly canine, but with an oddly shaped head that led most experts to believe it was a fictional beast, or a composite of different animals. Or originally based on some creature that’s now extinct.”
It’s a composite, Ash thought. Proof of Set’s ability to disfigure nature itself. But he couldn’t manage to find his voice. Hugh used to draw the statue when they were children, what he imagined it would look like. Obsessively. Over and over. Hugh was a fervent believer, more so than Ash. He would envy this.
Memphis continued talking. None of what she said was new to him. He’d known all of it since he was a toddler. “Frequently he was shown with a human body and oddly shaped head.” She carefully lifted the piece from its place. “It’s really the head that would definitively tell us this was Set—”
“It’s Set,” he croaked, swallowing the lump in his throat.
“Then it’s a Set animal,” Memphis went on. “The arms aren’t human.”
“I can’t believe it’s really here.” He reached out to touch it, hi
s hand trembling.
Memphis jerked away, shooting him a look of such venom that he stepped back. He understood instantly. She didn’t trust him anywhere near it. He could hardly blame her—every member of the Eye would tell him to grab the piece and run. He wasn’t exactly sure why he hadn’t done that already.
She turned her back, blocking his view of where she put the Set piece in her pack. He took a deep breath, unexpectedly relieved it was out of sight. Just one look had seemed to squeeze the air out of his lungs. Deep inside, he felt Horus stirring, as if the black piece had awakened his god.
The little wren suddenly took flight, zipping up and out of the crypt so quickly he didn’t see which way it had gone. He cleared his throat. “I guess its job was done,” he joked, trying to break the tension.
Memphis made a noncommittal noise. She aimed her light around the room. “St. Stephen’s skull would be kept in a sacred space. This chamber would’ve been treated as the holy of holies, which means they would have protected it. That might be why it wasn’t destroyed when they built Notre Dame. The chamber might be hidden somehow.”
Ash steadied himself on the stone altar—what had she called it? A cairn? The piece of Set was still forefront in his mind, and he couldn’t shake it.
“It’s a strange room. Why build a cairn inside? That’s very unusual. The remains of a saint should be in a reliquary.” Memphis paced as she spoke. Ash focused on achieving stillness. He couldn’t let the statue throw him like this.
“But it’s only the skull. The top, actually, the crown. Which means your little group did it on purpose! Crown is the clue, and they put it under a crown. But what did they do with the rest of him?” She turned to him as if he knew the answer.
“I have no idea. I’m sorry.” He held up his hands, helpless. “We have lost much of our lore.”
Memphis spun away, pacing again. “It just doesn’t make sense. The original reliquary would have been taken from here before the old church was destroyed. So did they take his crown and bury it here? Or did they use someone else’s skull to represent the crown? The clue for St. Stephen could have been separate from the actual crown part, I guess…”
“What clue?” he asked. She wasn’t making sense. Or was it simply his own confusion? His pulse still raced from seeing Set.
“Oh, I know!” she continued. “The Eye hid it here after Notre Dame was built! How could I forget that? That’s how they knew to put three glyphs for temple!”
She was definitely not making sense.
“Anyway, it doesn’t matter. He’s a saint, and it’s his skull. So you give him a proper burial, which means you build a cairn over him.”
You do that over the body of the god Set, as well, Ash thought.
“But the room was holy, a part of St. Stephen’s, and clearly wasn’t disturbed by the construction of Notre Dame. Which means it’s disguised, hidden. In some ancient churches and temples, they would hide the holiest of holies in the floor. That way, if they were attacked, the important things would be safe.” She was getting more and more agitated, talking faster as she did. How could he practice stillness when she was such a whirling dervish?
“So we’re underground!” she cried.
“We’ve been underground for the better part of a day now,” he pointed out wryly.
“No.” She frowned at him as if he were an idiot. “I mean we’re under the floor. Or something. So there’s a way up.” She turned her light on the ceiling, suddenly still. Inch by inch she moved the beam of light, studying every bit of stone in painstaking detail.
“What are we looking for?”
“I don’t know.”
He groaned. She really was the most impossible person.
“Oh, be quiet,” she snapped. “I’ll know it when I see it.”
Ash found himself staring at the ceiling with her, though he had no idea why. It was dark rock, just like the floor, nothing special. Strange to think another member of the Eye had been in this very room, with that small black piece in his hands, hiding it forever. It should have been forever anyway.
“There! I knew it.” Memphis grabbed his arm and shook it excitedly. “See?”
Her light illuminated a patch of rock that looked exactly like the rest of the ceiling. “No,” he said.
“The chink? That rounded depression? See? It’s too perfect to be natural. Boost me up.” Without waiting, she began to climb onto him. Ash recovered quickly, grabbing her foot before she fell. He lifted her to the ceiling. She pressed one hand against it to steady herself, then fit her other thumb into a small dent in the rock, and pushed.
A sharp pinging filled the room, like a latch had been sprung. Then, slowly, the rock above Memphis slid away with a loud grinding noise. Cool air hit his skin, and he saw lights twinkling above.
“What is that?” he gasped.
“Notre Dame,” she said. She pushed off from his hand and pulled herself up and through the hole, disappearing before he could stop her. A sudden panic filled him. Was she going to run off with the piece of Set? Ash leaped into the air and caught the edge of the door, swinging up and scrambling through so fast that he scraped his side against the rock.
Memphis stood waiting, the cathedral of Notre Dame soaring against the darkening sky behind her. Ash blinked in surprise. They were in a small courtyard about fifty yards from the church. He turned to look at the trapdoor he’d come through. From this side, it was nothing more than a large paving stone. He moved closer to Memphis, not wanting her—or the artifact—out of reach.
“Ash…” Memphis whispered, her voice odd.
He couldn’t answer. A sudden, deep pulsing noise had hit him almost like a physical punch.
“It’s the piece,” she said, eyes wide. “It’s throbbing.”
“Did you just come from underground?” a voice asked.
Ash glanced over at two boys sitting on a nearby park bench.
“Ash. A little help?” Memphis said, nodding toward the trapdoor. He bent to grab one side of the stone while she took the other, and they slid it back over the hole. Then she turned to the kids and nonchalantly asked what time it was.
“Seven at night,” one boy replied.
Memphis glanced at Ash and raised her eyebrows. “Wow. That took a long time.”
“What’s down there?” the other boy asked, frowning at the ground.
“A medieval crypt on top of an ancient temple next to a tunnel under the river,” Memphis told him. She slung her pack over her shoulder and took off, leaving Ash and the boys behind.
“She’s joking,” Ash said.
“Obviously.” The first boy rolled his eyes.
Ash jogged after Memphis, catching up to her near the Pont au Double. “I’m much happier walking over it than under it,” she said, turning onto the bridge.
“Me too.” They strolled in silence for a couple of minutes, just like any other tourists. In the middle of the old bridge, she suddenly stopped.
“Why is it making that sound?”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “I think it’s quieter now.”
“No. We’re just more used to it. I can still feel it. It’s almost … vibrating.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “Is it magnetic?”
“I don’t know,” he said again. He didn’t bother reminding her that it was part of an ancient and powerful god. “I can’t believe we really found it.”
“I told you we would.” She leaned against the iron railing and tipped her head back, stretching her neck.
She had, but he hadn’t truly believed her. It was too mythical, too impossible. As much as he’d always known the Set artifact was out there, hidden, he’d also known it hadn’t been seen in centuries. He’d gone along with her, out of hope, but he’d assumed she was leading him in circles, buying time until she figured out her father’s location.
“You did. I’m impressed.” His arm brushed hers as he leaned next to her. “How did you know where to go? St. Stephen’s wasn’t on the map. Was it?”<
br />
“Nope.” She grinned broadly. “It takes more than the map to find the pieces. That thing is useless without me. Only I can figure out where the pieces are. So you can take the map if you want, it’s right here.” She fingered the small glass pendant around her neck.
He grimaced, shifting away from her. The map had never been in her bag. He’d been outrageously stupid. She would never put it someplace so obvious!
“You’ll have to stick with me if you want them,” she added, pushing away from the railing. She headed off along the bridge without a backward glance.
With a sigh, Ash pulled out his phone. He couldn’t keep all this from Philip.
ASH: We found a piece. The girl has it. It’s giving off some sort of low-pitched sound.
PHILIP: I told you to get the map, not the pieces.
ASH: I found it, just not in time.
PHILIP: Well, now you can take it by force.
ASH: The map doesn’t lead to the rest. She gets info from the map sites, but I don’t know how. If I take it, she’ll go to Set and offer her services in return for her father’s life.
PHILIP: Then bring in the girl as well.
ASH: To do what? We can’t hold her forever. And she won’t cooperate unless her father is safe.
PHILIP: Protecting the pieces is our primary concern. We are all in danger with the piece out there. It must be hidden immediately and the map destroyed. Will decide how to handle the girl later.
ASH: Or we bring them all in to be rehidden.
PHILP: Finding multiple pieces increases the danger. We cannot allow them to be rejoined. Bring me the piece you have. IMMEDIATELY.
ASH: She won’t let me near it.
PHILIP: Then overpower her.
Ash shoved the cell in his pocket. He wasn’t going to overpower Memphis. If he used force against her, she would never trust him enough to help him find the other pieces. Then the pieces would still be in danger. If the cult of Set ever got the idea to bring her father to one of the sites, he would be able to find the same information she had.
Or do you just want to find the rest of the pieces? a voice in his head whispered.
It didn’t matter. He knew what he was going to do.
I Do Not Trust You: A Novel Page 9
