Bestselling Conspiracy Thriller Trilogy: Sanctus, The Key, The Tower. Simon Toyne

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      70

      Athanasius had been summoned into his master’s office shortly after Matins and asked to accompany him on a task – ‘for the sake of the brotherhood,’ the Abbot had said. ‘A task that you must not discuss with anyone.’

      So here they were, picking their way down a narrow, rubble-strewn stairway, the way ahead lit only by the burning torch in his hand. Occasionally they passed other narrow and mysterious passageways.

      They had been walking steadily downwards for almost five minutes when Athanasius saw a dim glow up ahead. It came from inside an arched doorway that looked newer and more sculpted than its forgotten surroundings. He followed the Abbot into a small cave where two monks stood silently, each carrying a torch of their own. Both wore the green robes of the Sancti.

      Athanasius averted his eyes and noticed another door sunk into the wall, this one made of heavy steel. A thin slot sat to one side of it, similar to the hi-tech locks that guarded the entrance to the great library. The Abbot nodded a silent greeting to the Sancti, reached into his sleeve and removed a magnetic card. There was a muffled clunk. The Abbot pushed the door wide and the three of them passed through. Athanasius stood alone for a moment, then followed.

      The chamber was slightly smaller than the one they had just come from and the air inside seemed warmer, thickened by a fine dust that caught the orange glow of the flambeau. It had an identical steel door built into the far wall, in front of which lay three cocoons of heavy-duty plastic. Athanasius knew immediately what they must contain.

      One of the Sancti unzipped the closest far enough for a head to emerge. A thin trickle of blood ran from a small hole in his temple to his hairline. Athanasius didn’t recognize him, nor the second body. But he knew the third. He looked upon the face of his dead friend and had to reach for the wall to steady himself.

      ‘The cross has returned to the Citadel,’ the Abbot said softly as he too looked down upon the battered face of Brother Samuel.

      For a moment all four stared at him, then, as if on a prearranged command, he was zipped back into the bag and the Sancti carried him away. He waited for them to return for the other two bodies. But they did not.

      ‘These unfortunates must be disposed of,’ the Abbot said. ‘I am sorry to have to leave this task to you – I know you will find it distasteful – but I have matters of great importance to attend to, your brothers may not walk in the lower section of the Citadel, and you are the only person I can trust …’

      He made no move to explain who the men were, or why they were now lying dead on the floor of this forgotten cave.

      ‘Take them to the deserted section in the eastern chambers,’ he said. ‘Drop them in one of the old oubliettes. Their bodies will be forgotten, but their souls will be at peace.’ He paused at the entrance and rubbed his hands together, as if washing them. ‘The door will close automatically in five minutes,’ he said. ‘Make sure you are clear of this room by then.’

      Athanasius listened to his footsteps recede into the darkness.

       The cross has returned to the Citadel …

      Athanasius recalled the words of the Heretic Bible:

       The cross will fall

       The cross will rise

      He wondered what they had in mind for the defiled remains of his friend. He’d be taken to the chapel of the Sacrament, no doubt; why else would Sancti have come to fetch him?

      But to think he might rise again …

      It was the logic of a madman.

      He glanced down at the remaining bags, two anonymous corpses in a silent crypt, and wondered what lives they had woken up to that morning and who might now be wondering anxiously at their silence. A wife? A lover? A child?

      He dropped to his haunches and said a silent prayer over each as he zipped them gently back into their plastic shrouds. Then he dragged each of them into the antechamber, fearful that the door might click shut at any moment, and turn the dusty chamber into his own tomb.