Xan put his hand out and touched the markings on the stone tablet: the star and the dragon. Carlo might have used these symbols to remind himself where he’d hid the treasure. Xan slipped the cross and pendant back into his pouch. Then he stood over the casket and pressed against the stone lid.
“What are you doing?” Lucy asked. “We really should take this boy to Father Philip.”
The lid moved without significant effort, as though it had been accessed many times.
“Carlo’s treasure,” he said, sticking the candle in the space under the lid. “What if . . .”
A glint of gold and green and red flickered under the lid in the light.
“His treasure is hidden here?” Lucy sounded doubtful. She peeked into the tomb.
Somehow, God had led him to Carlo’s treasure. The man who had killed his family and taken everything from him owed him much more than treasure could ever repay. Yet, could not this treasure be the answer to his current problems: his head money, Uncle William’s debt?
Unless he wasn’t the only person who knew about this treasure. His face grew as cold as the water in that freezing stream near the road to Lincoln.
“Oh no!” he said. “Lucy, we have to get out of this cathedral. Right now!”
“What’s the matter?”
“Remember the sound of chains we heard ere we came down here?”
She nodded. “Someone at the front door.”
“Aye. Someone more dangerous than a ghost wants to find this tomb tonight.”
“What are you talking about, Xan?”
He grasped her arm and pulled her and the Northman boy toward the steps. “There’s no time!” he said. “We have to leave. Now.”
They rushed out of the crypt and up the stairs.
“That bandit—Rummy,” he said, as they reached the hole. “It may already be too late for us. If he’s got inside this cathedral, we’re as good as dead.”
23
God’s Thunder
They emerged from the hole into the darkness of the cathedral.
The little Northman followed with no resistance. The child looked to Lucy with trusting eyes and stayed close to her side, the way a duckling might shadow its mother across a field.
“Slow down, Xan,” Lucy said, struggling to keep up as she held the boy’s hand.
He led them into the open nave of the church in the direction of the only exit they knew: the back chapel with the broken window. “We need to get back out that window ere Rummy finds it,” he said.
Halfway across the nave, he halted abruptly. A light was heading toward them from the hall that led to the chapel. Too late!
Someone already had entered through that window. Even worse, the candle in Xan’s hand would be a beacon advertising their location to the intruder. Instinctively, he snuffed it out.
“What’re you—” Then Lucy also stopped.
“Down!” he shushed, dropping to the cold floor and pulling the other two with him.
Please, Lord, help us.
They lay still in the center of the nave, as the light from the hall finally reached the opening. A dark figure held up an oil lamp, head moving from side to side, scanning the area.
The intruder—tall and brawny—was dressed in a black tunic and pants. The flame in his hand lit up his face with a hellish glow. Long black hair, scraggly and unkempt, partly covered a jagged scar that stretched across his right cheek.
“Is that him?” Lucy whispered into Xan’s ear. “Is that Rummy?”
“Aye. Follow me.” He led them on their hands and knees back toward the left aisle to hide behind a pillar. They had almost made it there when the Northman boy let out a frightened cry.
It was enough. Rummy homed in on the sound, his dark eyes picking out the three crawling shapes. “There you are!” the bandit said. “I knew I saw a light.”
Rummy approached closer and held up the lamp, his eyes widening in surprise. “You again, boy?”
Xan stood, along with the others. “Let us be. We were just leaving.”
Rummy almost cackled. “Let you go? You have been nothing but trouble to me.”
Xan pulled at Lucy’s hand. “Run!” As they fled, Rummy ran to cut off their escape. The jostling of his body extinguished his lamp, but the windows in the cathedral now shone with a dim gray light. Dawn would arrive soon.
Rummy blocked their route to the chapel and edged them ever closer to the front doors, which must still be chained. The bandit closed the distance and would be upon them any moment.
“This way!” Xan said, leading them to the right aisle in a last, desperate attempt to escape.
Again too late! Rummy cornered them against an arch. The bandit sneered, making the scar on his face seem even longer. He took long, deliberate steps and unsheathed a dagger shoved under his belt, directly next to an empty sack.
“Nowhere to go now, boy. And Carlo is not here to protect you this time.” Rummy drew closer, his black eyes near enough to see them in the dimness. When he was only two paces away, he halted and held the dagger before him.
“What does he want?” Lucy cried, as the Northman boy began to whimper.
If they all died this morning it would be Xan’s fault. He’d thrown the stone at Rummy in Hardonbury. He’d thwarted the bandits’ plans at Harwood Abbey. He’d been the one to get Carlo captured again. Now he had been the one to lead Lucy into this cursed trap.
He cringed. Whatever happened to him wouldn’t matter—he’d already cheated death several times over. But Lucy and this poor child shouldn’t suffer the consequence of his actions. Yet, there was only one way out alive, and that would require convincing Rummy to let them go.
The heartless bandit would never respond to pleas for mercy or appeals to his conscience. Rummy had no conscience—not after having killed so many women and children in his lifetime. There was only one thing that would motivate the bandit, as Carlo had said in the dungeon.
“I know what you want,” Xan said, dropping the fear from his voice. He calmed the frightened expression on his face, just as Brother Andrew had on the road to Lincoln.
“Really? You know what I want?” The bandit laughed.
“Aye. You want Carlo’s treasure.”
Rummy stopped laughing. “That fool told you about his treasure?”
“I already found it,” Xan said with feigned confidence.
A wave of uncertainty flashed across Rummy’s face. He couldn’t possibly know whether Xan had found the treasure and taken it or was merely bluffing.
Lucy held the Northman boy close to her side. They were barely breathing.
“You lie, boy.”
“If I’m lying, then how do I know about the crypt of Saint Mary Magdalene’s? And how do I know Carlo discovered the tomb when he was a boy, after fire damaged this place?”
Rummy was speechless.
“And look—dawn approaches,” he added, pointing to the gray sky taking shape through a glass window on high. “You won’t have much time ere the priest unlocks the doors.”
Rummy took a step, the dagger mere inches from Xan’s chest. “Carlo is a greater fool than I thought if he told you about his hiding place. All that treasure, yours for the taking, hmm?”
Xan shook his head. Rummy would never part with as much as a single jewel or coin. “I don’t want your treasure.”
Rummy laughed. “Of course not! Why would you want jewels and gold?”
“But I can show you exactly where he hid it, if you let us go.”
“You get me the treasure, and I set you free?” Rummy stared at him a long moment.
“Time is passing,” Xan said, his heart racing.
Rummy waved the knife before Xan’s eyes. “I could kill you all this instant and take the treasure without your help. Carlo told me how to find the crypt already.”
“But did he tell you in which tomb to find the treasure?” Xan asked, taking a final gamble. “There are many tombs down there, but only one with the treasure in it.”
“You have been to the crypt then?” Rummy said, doubt in his eyes.
“There are many stone lids, and soon ’twill be too late; everyone will be here for Mass.”
Lucy and the boy were watching with fascination. He could see on their faces that he’d succeeded in projecting confidence, as though he’d grown into manhood before their eyes.
“Let these two innocents go,” he said. “They’re just children who don’t know anything. I promise I’ll lead you to the treasure quickly. Then set me free and ’twill all be yours to keep. There is much gold in there, and jewels both red and green.”
Rummy looked to the window, where the grayness was turning lighter. His eyes flashed with resolve, as though he’d finally made up his mind what to do. “You two—go now,” he said, turning to Lucy. “But I warn you: do not run for help. If you do, I swear I will kill your friend.”
Lucy glanced at Xan with uncertain eyes.
“You heard him,” he said. “You must go. For the boy’s sake, at least. Please.”
She looked at him doubtfully, but then glanced at the Northman boy, so young and scared. She gave a nod. “God be with you, Xan.” With that, she and the boy ran off down the hall toward the back chapel and freedom.
“Now, show me,” Rummy ordered, as he relit his lamp with a piece of tinder.
Xan strode across the nave to the row of candles in the left aisle. If he attempted to escape now, the bandit would murder him. He must keep his end of the bargain.
“Ahhh.” Rummy smiled as Xan pulled the metallic frame of the candleholder farther from the wall, revealing more of the jagged hole. “So, this is where the fool labored on that wall.”
Indeed, chipping that hole through rock must have been painful and taken many nights.
“Enter!” Rummy commanded, handing the lamp to Xan. He squirmed into the hole, lamp first. For a moment he was out of the bandit’s sight as the man pulled himself through. Xan’s body began to tremble. Would Rummy really set him free?
“Continue,” Rummy said, once he’d made it onto the staircase.
They crept into the tomb. The smothering odor nearly caused Rummy to take ill, as he choked back sickness. They emerged from the short hall into the open crypt and its rounded arches.
“How do you know which of these holds the treasure?” Rummy asked, looking upon the rows of graves, shielding his nose with his hand.
“’Tis the one with the star and dragon carved on it—an heirloom of Carlo’s house,” Xan said. “I will show you, but then you must let me go.”
Rummy glared and set a hand to his dagger. “I give the orders here, boy. I will free you when I see the treasure.” Grabbing Xan’s arm, he twisted it until he cried out in pain. “Show me!”
Xan yanked his arm from the cruel man’s grasp. In the end, Rummy couldn’t be trusted. The bandit would probably kill Xan in this crypt and leave him with the rest of the dead. Rummy’s word was worthless.
But what other choice did he have?
Xan paced the tombs until he saw the star and the dragon. Then he pushed the stone lid aside.
There inside—gold and silver coins, emeralds, rubies—piled high within the casket. Who knew how much wealth must be crowded into that space, longer and wider than a man’s body?
But Rummy didn’t respond as expected. Instead of running to the treasure with lusty greed, he stood deathly still and held a hand to the wall.
“What is that sound?” the bandit said, cocking his ear toward the wall. A deep rumbling had begun in the belly of the cathedral—the same noise as two days earlier, but back then they all had assumed it was the wrath of an evil spirit.
A booming echo increased in intensity until it shuddered the very foundations of Saint Mary Magdalene’s crypt. Dust and particles of rock began to fill the air around them.
Perhaps God had sent an army of angels to save him.
The cathedral shook as before, but this time it did not cease. Like an approaching stampede, the clamor within the earth rose until even the sturdiest heart could not withstand it.
“’Tis God’s thunder!” Rummy cried, as pieces of the roof rained down. “An earthquake!”
This was it—Xan’s only chance for survival.
He bolted across the crypt, pushing past Rummy. Reaching the stairs, he pressed his hands against the wall to balance himself and turned to see if the bandit had followed.
There stood Rummy—lamp on a tomb—desperately scooping jewels and coins into the sack he’d pulled from his belt. Surely he wouldn’t finish before the entire crypt collapsed on him.
Xan bounded away from the havoc and up the shifting stairs. He dropped and dove through the opening. The crumbling wall was already showing signs of fatigue. Soon it would disintegrate under the strain of the quaking earth.
He was free of the foul tomb, but now what? He could barely stumble across the unsteady floor of the nave, like Noah on his ark in the raucous waves of a great flood.
That’s when the windows above his head shattered and the tall stone roof began to drop its deadly darts around him. He’d almost made it to the hallway that would lead to his freedom when, before him, a jagged crack opened down the center of the nave.
“Lord, save me!” he shouted, falling to the ground. The roar of the quaking drowned out his voice. He rose again, limping on a sprained left ankle.
That fall saved his life. As he struggled to regain his footing, the hallway to the back chapel crumbled to the ground. Had he been within it, he would have been crushed under the stones.
But that had been his only way out.
Suddenly part of the north wall collapsed into the church with an ear-piercing crash, revealing the rising sun between clouds of black dust. There was no longer need for hallways or doors—a pile of rocky debris now stood between him and escape.
If he hesitated any longer, he would surely die. He must climb.
Ignoring all pain and clinging only to a fragile hope, he threw himself upon the hill of broken stones and crawled—grasping hand and foot—out of the destruction behind him as chunks of the wall rolled over his shoulders and fell to the nave below.
Tumbling down the other side of the wreckage—his arms and legs scratched and bleeding—he hit the grassy earth and lay there for a moment, stunned.
Still the shaking did not cease. Across the street from the cathedral, a stone house collapsed, its inhabitants scurrying to safety. The din of screaming women was overpowered by that deafening, pounding rumble.
Fighting off dizziness, Xan used his last bit of strength to claw away from the foot of the cathedral until his injured body could go no farther.
His strength faded.
His ears rang in pain.
And with his last moment of consciousness, he breathed a prayer for the safety of Brother Andrew and Uncle William and Lucy and the Northman boy.
24
Holy Monday
He’s over here!”
Simon’s voice brought Xan out of his swoon and back to the devastating reality that surrounded him. He still lay on the grass, not far from the ruined cathedral.
How much time had passed—an hour? A day?
His body, bruised and cut, assured him that he still lived. His head still felt as though it were spinning. He pushed his bleeding elbows against the grass and raised himself to a sitting position. It was as if he’d awakened into another world.
The cathedral, once majestic and glorious, was now a mound of debris, with only its western face standing proudly, as though God Himself had stomped the building with His foot.
God’s thunder. Nay, Rummy had called it an earthquake. Xan had heard an ancient story about such things, but that seemed so strange and far from any experience in his own lifetime.
All those rumblings in the cathedral must have been a warning of this impending disaster, not the tantrum of an angry ghost.
“Are you well?” Simon asked, stepping over the sharp, stony debris.
Christina foll
owed close behind. Her green dress and combed hair hadn’t even suffered a wrinkle in the disaster. Nor did Simon’s black pants and brown overshirt seem ruined. Perhaps the earthquake hadn’t struck them or their home—they probably would have been sleeping still.
“I’m all right.” He pulled himself up, avoiding his sprained ankle.
Destruction surrounded him, yet Lincoln Castle seemed mostly unharmed. The earthquake must have struck strongest at the center of the cathedral—more evidence of the curse of Remigius.
“We thought you were dead,” Christina said, concerned. “We’ve been looking for you.”
“Where’s Lucy and that boy?” he asked, still in a daze.
“She’s probably at the castle,” Christina said. “Wait—what boy? What are you talking about? Your uncle came searching for you. That’s how we knew you went missing.”
Of course, they had no idea what had happened. The last they’d heard from him after Palm Sunday Mass, he was thinking of heading into the cathedral alone. That was all they knew.
His face grew cold as the ground began to shake again, tumbling loose pieces of stone from damaged buildings. Yet this tiny new earthquake—already beginning to ebb—acted more to frighten than destroy.
“Don’t worry,” Christina said. “It has been doing that for hours. It stops after a moment.”
“Help me get to Father Philip’s cottage,” he said, limping. “There’s a lot to explain.”
He put his foot down once into the pain. Twice. A third time. That’s when the dizziness came again and all fell back into darkness.
He awoke in Father Philip’s bed, where Brother Andrew had also recovered from injury.
“Ah, Xan, you finally wake.” Brother Andrew stood over him, both his brown and blue eyes smiling. “Are you feeling any better?”
He winced at the pain all over his body. “I think so, Brother.”
“Praise God.”
Xan looked around the room, counting the monk, Father Philip, Simon, Christina, and Lucy. Thank God they were all safe, staring at him with relief.
The Haunted Cathedral Page 15