Read The Tavernier Stones Online
Authors: Stephen Parrish
The Tavernier Stones (45 page)
Sarah watched them in the dim light until they disappeared from view. Then she dropped to her hands and knees and groped around on the floor, looking for the witch woman’s pistol. It had to have fallen when the bell hit her on the head, but it was nowhere in sight. Finally she lifted one side of the bell and found the gun underneath.
She returned to the altar and cut the wax seal of the amphora with the blade of a pocketknife. When she lifted the lid, she smelled the powerful aroma of red wine.
It smelled good. And probably tasted good, too. But she knew its deadliness and was careful not to let any of the liquid come into contact with her skin. She gathered up the lost Tavernier stones, fingering through the clay fragments on the altar to make sure she had not overlooked any. David would notice even the smallest one missing.
John reached the staircase and raced up to the nave one step ahead of David. Together they examined the lid of the sarcophagus.
“Even if we
could
fit these pieces together again,” David said, “and we can’t, it would be obvious the lid was broken.”
could
fit these pieces together again,” David said, “and we can’t, it would be obvious the lid was broken.”
From outside the church, from the far end of the tunnel, came the rattle and groan of the gate being battered, over and over. Optimistic chants rose from the mob.
“Then we’re going to have to block the church door,” John said. “And keep those people from coming inside.” He inspected the door and found it had already been blocked by a candlestick. He checked to make sure it was secure. “The witch must have done this,” he suggested. “But it’s not going to be enough.”
“The witch must have been hiding in the church,” David said, “because I’m sure we locked the gate and door behind us.”
“It’s academic now. They’ve broken through. Here they come.” He heard what sounded like hundreds of angry men pounding up the steps of the tunnel. When the first few made it to the top, they were so near he could make out panting on the other side of the door.
“If they can get through an iron gate,” he whispered to David, “they can get through a wooden door.”
“We need something else to block it with.”
The two men ran up the aisle, looking for heavy objects. The mob was already trying to force the door open; the candlestick rattled with each kick and shoulder slam delivered from the other side.
“How about the sarcophagus lid?” John asked.
“It’s in pieces. They’re too flat, and none of them is large enough.”
“Then maybe the altar—the table itself.” John stepped over the “no trespassing” rope and almost tripped over a body. “Jesus, look at this.” He recognized the person immediately: it was the yuppie who had shared his pew at mass that morning.
David squatted down and examined the sprawled figure. “He’s been shot in the chest.”
“Shit. Just how many people are in this church, anyway?”
It was the man wielding the long-handled ax who finally breached the door. He hacked a hole in it big enough for Pfeffer to get his arm through and dislodge the candlestick. After that, Pfeffer and his fellow barrier-beaters kicked the door until it splintered from its frame.
The mob spilled into the church. Men stepped over pews, ran up the steps to the balcony, stormed onto the altar, searching for the source of the night’s disturbance. They found the body of a man at the foot of the altar, and someone questioned whether he was a victim of witches.
Someone else noted that witches didn’t use guns—thieves did.
Pfeffer was first to notice the open sarcophagus. By now comfortable in his role as leader of a rag-tag militia, he shouted, “
Hier entlang!”
Hier entlang!”
John and David returned to the main chamber and found Sarah clutching the lidded amphora, waiting for them. John couldn’t help likening Sarah’s hold on the amphora to a mother cradling a baby.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” she said.
“That might not be so easy anymore,” David told her. “They’ve already broken into the nave.”
“We’re dead if they catch us.”
“Not necessarily.” David patted his belt; tucked into it was a Colt .45.
“Where did you get that?”
“We found the witch’s accomplice upstairs.”
“There was another woman upstairs?”
“No, a man. And he’s dead.”
“Well, good. It’s getting damn crowded around here.”
John stepped into the corridor and looked into the adjacent chamber, the one that had served as a bedroom. “There’s a hole in the wall behind the bed. It’s our only option.”
“We don’t know where it goes,” Sarah said.
“We’re going to find out.” He led the others into the room, taking care not to step on the rug stain for fear of leaving footprints. The hole was visible behind the headboard only because the wooden slats of the board had decomposed. John pulled on a slat and the entire wooden frame collapsed onto the floor.
The hole was just big enough for a person to crawl through. Its circumference was etched with gouges.
“Someone spent years creating this opportunity,” Sarah said. “I wonder if she was able to take advantage of it.”
John poked his head through the hole and shined his flashlight around. What he found on the other side was a spacious pipe; a long, cylindrical passageway made of carefully cut and fitted stones. Reemerging, he said, “It looks like some kind of canal or aqueduct.”
“Are you sure it’s not a sewer?” David asked.
John poked his head in again and sniffed. “Pretty sure; it doesn’t smell like shit.”
They each climbed through and stood on the dry, curved floor, their flashlights criss-crossing like searchlights, making elliptical pools on the polished stones.
“What the hell is this place?” David asked.
“I don’t know,” John answered. “But whatever it is, the Romans built it.”
“How can you tell?”
“Look.” He pointed at a brick on the wall, one that had been chiseled with letters and Roman numerals.
“What does it say?”
“It’s too faint to read, at least in this light. But I know Romans conquered Germany shortly after the death of Christ. And I know they quarried and cut stone from glacial deposits while they were here. Sarah, do you remember reading anything about Roman aqueducts in Rheinland-Pfalz?”
She shook her head. “Some roads have been identified in this area, and a defensive wall or two, but no mention of aqueducts, cisterns, or other water-related technology.”
“Then this is probably an important archeological find.”
“A find for someone else to find,” David said. “We’ve got higher priorities.”
From the other side of the hole, from far down the corridor, came the racket of scuffing shoes and excited voices.
“They’ll be here any second,” John said.
Sarah held a finger to her lips. “Shh!”
Above the approaching din, John could just hear the soft roar of running water.
“That would be the river,” David said. “We should be right next to it.”
Although Pfeffer could make out three chambers ahead of him, only one of them was lit. The flickering inside suggested candlelight. He slowed down, and a pair of men right behind him collided with his back.
Whoever had shot the dead man upstairs was still on the loose. And
that
person had either escaped with the stones or was still down here, looking for them. The former would mean Pfeffer had lost the race. The latter would mean an armed killer was now one of the obstacles. Pfeffer didn’t know which he preferred, but in either case, there was no reason to hurry. He held up his free hand to slow the others, then made sweeping, up-and-down motions with his arm to quiet them.
that
person had either escaped with the stones or was still down here, looking for them. The former would mean Pfeffer had lost the race. The latter would mean an armed killer was now one of the obstacles. Pfeffer didn’t know which he preferred, but in either case, there was no reason to hurry. He held up his free hand to slow the others, then made sweeping, up-and-down motions with his arm to quiet them.
Once inside the illuminated chamber, he could hardly believe his eyes. The candles, welded to the tops of curved monoliths, appeared to have been burning for centuries. Of course that couldn’t have been the case; someone had to have just lit them, probably in the last hour. The walls and ceiling were covered with pagan images. Scattered in disarray on the floor were what looked like parts of a human skeleton, as well as clay amphorae with Michelangelo signets engraved on their bellies.
And then there was the prostrate woman, no doubt also dead. She was lying crumpled next to a low table that was covered with dust and clay fragments. On the floor next to her head was a crude bell.
The room quickly filled with townspeople who speculated wildly on what had happened.
“Someone obviously clobbered her with the bell.”
“No, the rope broke—look at how weak it is—and the bell fell on her head.”
“So she must have been the one ringing it. But why?”
“Why else? To call the other witches!”
Pfeffer spied the broken tile in the far wall and caught his breath. He looked at the clay fragments on the table and suddenly understood their meaning.
The prostrate woman abruptly sat up and rubbed her head.
“Look,” someone said, “she’s awake!”
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