by C. E. Murphy
Methos laughed, stepping into the main street, looking back at the temple as the moonlight faded from it to leave it bleached colorless in the dull morning light. I wonder if there’s really a room under it. Shaking his head, he turned away and made his way back up to House Aries.
Ghean sat up in bed when he came in, blinking tiredly at him through strands of long hair. “Where have you been?”
“Setting old ghosts to rest,” Methos said after a moment. “Or trying, at least. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Ghean’s smile was rueful. “I haven’t been sleeping well. I wake up and wonder if it’s the morning of the ceremony yet.”
He chuckled. “Not for three days.”
Ghean pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. “Mother says you’ve been studying about the House artifacts.”
Methos nodded. Ghean’s expression turned wistful. “Do you suppose they might work? That I could live forever with you?”
A pang of guilt went through Methos. “You’ll inherit Aries’ artifact when your mother dies, Ghean. If it works, you’ll find out then.”
“I’ll be old when she dies, gods keep her. I want to be young forever, like you are. I’m the last of my House, Methos, and we won’t ever have children. I don’t want my House to die out.”
At a loss for words, Methos sat on the edge of the bed, pulling Ghean close to him. Marry a mortal, then. The thought came and went. Married to him or not, Ghean would never bear children. “The artifacts seem to work,” he said to her hair. “I’m looking for Aquarius’ artifact, the book. Maybe it explains how to make the artifacts. It was lost a long time ago, apparently.”
He felt, more than heard, the little sigh of relief that indicated she believed he was not abandoning her to old age. Guilt filtered through him, and he remained silent a few moments, unwilling to betray her secret to her. “I saw Ertros in the street,” he said eventually, still to her hair. “He said the other children said the Book’s under the temple.”
Ghean laughed a little. “I remember that story. We used to go on great hunts, trying to find a way under the temple. The temple’s the oldest building in Atlantis, and the floor is solid stone. There’s nothing under it.”
“You’re sure?”
Ghean nodded. “Everyone would know if there was. I’m sure some of us must have gone looking once we were adults and didn’t have to hide from the priests anymore. We’d all know.”
“Would you?” Methos asked. “If someone found the Book of Aquarius under the temple, would they tell everyone? Or anyone? It’s supposed to be the city’s greatest treasure. Why risk it?”
Ghean’s voice became offended. “It is our greatest treasure, if it still exists. Atlanteans aren’t brigands or thieves. It would be safe.”
“Maybe. But why risk someone getting drunk and mentioning it to an outlander? The island would be overrun by armies of men looking for the secrets of Immortality.”
“The gods would protect us,” Ghean said confidently. “They always have. At any rate, there’s no room beneath the temple. No one can hide something so well that thirty generations of children couldn’t find it.”
Methos laughed. “All right,” he acquiesced. “You have a point there.”
Ghean turned her head to look out at the rose-colored sky. “I wonder if you could be persuaded to come to bed for a few hours,” she murmured, glancing sidelong at Methos. “I know I’m not as stimulating as intellectual pursuits, but I do try … .”
Methos struggled to keep laughter off his face. “I could use a few hours sleep,” he agreed blissfully, and laughed aloud when Ghean hit him in the face with a pillow.
Chapter 14
“Tell me about the room under the temple.” Methos looked up as he asked the question, watching Ragar’s reaction. It was a calculated gambit, one that paid off. Ragar paled, eyes widening as he opened his mouth, on the verge of asking how Methos had learned of it. Within a fraction of a second he regained control over his expression, shock panning away to mild perplexity.
“Room under the temple? I don’t know of any such thing. The temple is set into the bedrock of Atlantis.”
“So Ghean said.” Methos stood, coming around the table the duo shared to lean on it, studying Ragar from above. “It must have been difficult to carve out, then.”
The mortal scholar returned the ancient Immortal’s gaze with evident confusion. “Truly,” Ragar protested. “I know of no such room. What purpose would it serve?”
Methos sighed, straightening away from the table to pace the room with long, idle steps. “My guess,” he said, turning his head to speak to directly to Ragar as he moved, “is that there is a tunnel, probably leading from House Aquarius, probably very deep in the stone, that leads directly to the room. A maze would be more clever, but it would also be a great deal more work, and most people who don’t keep slaves tend to be a little more straightforward when it comes to hard labor. Of course, I’m assuming the histories haven’t been adapted, and that Atlantis was never a civilization built on the backs of slaves.”
“We are the favored of the gods,” Ragar said stiffly. “We have no need to enslave other races.”
“Ah.” Methos nodded. “So the tunnel was dug by Atlanteans.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ragar repeated, only narrowly keeping from snapping the words out.
“The stone is soft enough to carve,” Methos continued thoughtfully. “The small altar in the temple has only the shallow blood bowl, but the larger one outside seems to have a room for pooling blood beneath it. I presume it drains into the waste crevasses that Ghean told me about. How long do you think it would break into the other room, if I went into the blood room and started chiseling my way towards the temple?” He reached the far side of the room and began circling back the other way, still watching Ragar. “Probably from House Aquarius,” he repeated, “from a room hidden underground itself; the artichects of Atlantis are too astute to fail to notice an extra wall or wing on the outside of the house that wasn’t available from the inside.”
Ragar frowned a little. Methos smiled in response, nodding slightly as he went on. “It must have been built at very nearly the same time Atlantis was, I’d think. The room constructed, the temple built on top of it, the tunnel dug and the Book of Aquarius stashed there, safe from prying eyes. Perhaps not even the head of the House knew where it went, so when someone got around to asking, maybe generations later, it really had disappeared. Only a handful of scholars still knew where it was.”
Ragar’s frown grew deeper. “All I told you about the Book was that it had been lost. Where did you come up with these ideas?”
“The priests are going to be very unhappy when I go into their blood room and start chopping a hole under their temple. I think Ertros might help me. He seemed enthusiastic about the prospect.”
Ragar’s eyebrows shot up. “Ertros told you about th– ” He broke off, eyes closing at his self-betrayal. “Ertros told you there was a room under the temple?” he asked, much more mildly.
Methos smiled faintly, returning to the table. “Ertros told me a children’s story about a room under the temple. You just confirmed it. How much of it did I have right?”
Ragar sighed. “I’m going to have to invite that boy into House Taurus,” he muttered. “He’s too clever by half.”
“He really was talking about chopping a hole in the temple floor,” Methos warned. “I saw him the other night when I was leaving the temple and the thought struck him to try it in the middle of the night when no priests were around.”
“He tried two years ago,” Ragar said dryly. “At midday. If he weren’t a commoner he’d have found the tunnel by the time he was nine. It’s harder to get into the House grounds if you’re not a member of one of the Houses.”
Methos smiled. “Ghean said it was impossible to hide something from thirty generations of children. I realized she was right. Some of the more enterprising children had to
have found the tunnel’s entrance. Were you one of them?”
Ragar’s expression was caught between defeat and the remains of a childhood pride. “I was,” he allowed. “There are a few in every generation who do. They’re almost all brought into the circle who know and protect the truth, and they virtually all become scholars.”
Methos’ eyes narrowed. “Almost all? What about the ones who aren’t?”
“There are always one or two who aren’t suited for the task of protecting the Book. Gods, man,” Ragar said, staring at the dark look clouding Methos’ face. “What do you think we do, drown them? They’re given a drink that makes them susceptible to believing what they’re told. We give them a story about a dead-end tunnel outside the city, and encourage them not to talk about it. They rarely do.”
Methos relaxed a bit, nodding. “What about the ones who do?”
Ragar shrugged. “There’s a dead-end tunnel outside the city.” He almost grinned. “How prosaic, hm? It’s maintained so it won’t be dangerous. They lose interest.”
Methos brushed the explanation aside, satisfied that the refined Atlantean culture wasn’t hiding a barbaric underside. “I want to see the Book, Ragar.”
The other man shook his head, almost violently. “No one outside of Atlantis has ever read it. They would never let you near it.”
“I’m not interested in what ‘they’ would do. Apprentice me, adopt me into your House; I don’t care.” The germ of an idea finally focused in Methos’ mind, the real reason the hidden book was of such interest to him. If it really has the secrets of Immortality in it, perhaps we’re explained somewhere in its pages. Older than I am, Minyah said about the city. Maybe somewhere in Atlantis’ past, those who held the power to create the artifacts crossed paths with the first of us. Methos looked up, eyes intent on Ragar’s face. “Ragar, please. This is very important to me, for reasons I can’t explain.”
Ragar studied Methos shrewdly. “Can’t,” he asked, “or won’t?” Dismissing the question as he asked it, he added, “It was written in the earliest days of Atlantis, Methos. Even I find the language difficult at times, and I’ve spent my entire life studying it. You wouldn’t be able to read it.”
Methos lowered his eyes, then looked up. “I will be able to read it,” he said with frightening certainty. “Just get me to it.”
Ragar went still, the almost quivering stillness of an animal being hunted. He said nothing, completely absorbed by his examination of Methos, as if another moment’s study would produce a flash of insight that would explain him. Seconds stretched into a full minute before he broke the pose. “If I do this for you,” he said slowly, “you will tell me what it is that you’re hiding.”
“I’d risk my life by doing that, Ragar.”
“I risk mine by smuggling you in to see the Book!” Ragar snapped. “Is it a bargain, Methos?”
Methos fell silent, once more regarding his companion. In time he inclined his head. “It is a bargain, Ragar. The Book, and then my story. How do we do this?”
The entrance beneath the House Aquarius garden was left unguarded, simply to avoid broadcasting the fact there was something worthy of guarding. Ragar leaned against the dead end wall, shoving lightly, and it swung inward, leaving Methos studying the overall width of the garden walls with mild curiousity.
“Come on,” Ragar hissed, and disappeared down a latter built into the wall, barely two feet from the door.
Methos followed, swining the door shut again with a faint grating of stone. “I hope that opens again from down here.”
“It does,” Ragar said. “There’s even a remarkably clever device which uses mirrors and allows you to check the surrounding area to be certain no one is there when you come out again.”
“Good idea,” Methos said. “Was it installed before or after someone got caught?”
Ragar struck up a light, lifting it to grin at his Immortal companion. “After. They say there were rather more recruits than usual that year. Someone came out in the middle of a birthday party.”
Methos laughed. “Poor planning, that.” He glanced around. The room they stood in was barely large enough to deserve the name, bleeding into the tunnel only a few feet away. “Tell me, where does a scholar learn the knack of lock-picking?”
Ragar cleared his throat, and turned down the tunnel. Methos ducked after him, realizing in dismay that the only reason he’d had head room was to permit the ladder that reached back up to the garden. Sighing, he rubbed his neck in anticipation of stiff muscles, as Ragar replied, “There are half a dozen rooms in the library that you can’t get into unless you employ somewhat circumspect methods. I learned how to pick locks when I was about twelve.” He was silent a while, concentrating on the steep downward slope before the ground leveled out and he followed a sharp twist in the stone. “It’s come in surprisingly handy over my life, actually. Not in the least for sneaking in Aquarius’ back door. Be glad I can. It’s an easier way to access the Book than trying to ask permission.”
“Are we likely to be caught?”
Ragar shook his head, following another bend. “No. The Book is left alone most of the time. It’s fragile. We copy parts we want to study and use the copies down in the room.”
“Why not copy the whole thing?”
“Half of it is unintelligible. Besides, the gods told us it needed to be protected. Making copies to distribute isn’t a good way to protect something.”
“Unless disaster should happen to strike and you should lose the original,” Methos said. Ragar stopped abruptly and turned around to stare at him.
“Must you point out glaring follies in our logic?”
Methos blinked in surprise. “Sorry.”
Ragar snorted with irritation and turned again, following yet another sharp curve.
“This was dug this way on purpose?” Methos asked.
“Oh no,” Ragar said, lifting the light close to the wall, allowing a reflection. “The first section, the sharp downhill, had been carved out when someone broke through to a chute in the stone. They followed it to its end, or as close to it as they could. It comes out under water, not far from the harbor. After enough surveying, they determined it passed within yards of the temple.” He gestured with the litter lantern, making light bounce off the walls. “See how smooth the walls are? My teacher thought there had been a river through here once. If you follow it the other way, it comes out in a deep basin outside the city.”
“Where the blocked-off tunnel is?” Methos guessed.
“Indeed.” Ragar continued down the passageway. “There’s more than fifty feet of solid packed rock between that blockaded end and open tunnel.” He swung the lantern forward, indicating the far end of the tunnel. “They didn’t want to risk water damage to the Book, so the other end has also been blocked off. It’s one of the things initiates do. Everyone has to add at least three feet of new stone during the three years they’re students. Every time there’s a major earthquake, someone goes tearing down to check on it. So far, though, nothing has budged the stones we’ve set in.”
“Earthquakes?” Methos asked. “Are there a lot of those?”
Ragar nodded, unconcerned. “I’m surprised you haven’t felt one. There’s usually one or two every moon that are strong enough to feel, but nothing damaging. You get used to it. We don’t think much of them.”
Methos laughed. “I’ll try to adopt that cavalier attitude, Ragar. It may take some time.”
“There are no earthquakes where you come from?”
Good question. “No, though I’ve felt them a few times in my travels. Disconcerting, to have the earth shift under your feet.”
Ragar laughed, about to respond, but pulled up as the men rounded yet another corner and faced a dead end. Methos frowned at it curiously. “Either that’s a door or your initiates have been a little too thorough.”
“The former,” Ragar chuckled, lowering the lantern to inspect a small crevasse in the stone. Two faint clicks sounded as he poked
his finger into the niche. The wall swung back silently. “The Book,” Ragar said a little dryly, and gestured Methos into the room.
“You first. I insist.” Though Methos kept his tone light, Ragar glanced at him sharply before stepping through the doorway into the room beneath the temple.
It was only slightly smaller than the temple itself. To Methos’ relief, it was also carved a little higher than the tunnel had been. He straightened, rubbing his neck as he looked around. The top of his head barely missed the ceiling; had his hair had been cut short, the ceiling would have bent it.
Ragar circled the room, lighting torches spaced evenly every few feet. A longish table dominated the rom, half a dozen chairs scattered around it. The door directly behind Methos appeared to be the only exit or entrance. Methos squinted at the walls as he followed Ragar around. “You said the initiates worked to fill the tunnel from the other side. I don’t see another door.”
“You wouldn’t see that one if it were closed behind you,” Ragar said, completing his circuit. “But there’s only the one door into this room. This is all hand carved. We left the river chute a few minutes ago. The other door you’re looking for was built between the natural tunnel and the one we created, back where we turned the last time. It’s beyond there that they add to the blockade.”
“Oh.” Methos came to a stop in front of the door again, beside Ragar. “I don’t mean to be difficult,” he said after a moment, “but there are no books in here.”
Ragar crossed the room again, locating a chisel in the stone, completely indistinguishable from any other to Methos’ eyes. The same double-click the door had made sounded, and a wide slab of rock detatched itself from the surrounding stone. The scholar lifted another slab out from within it, and set the second on the table, pressing his fingertips against seven different points, in rapid succession. A hairline crack appeared in the box, and he slid the two halves apart.
“Minyah has a box like that,” Methos said with fascination. “How do they do that?”
