Quest for the Ark

by Taggart Rehnn

  At the castle, Sól and Haim, helped by one of Tony’s ‘assistants’—who seemed to know more about hacking and the dark web than anyone under the sun; and who also took an immediate shine to Céleste, a close second to Irène in approachability—constantly monitored the castle’s defensive perimeter, surveyed the web and the dark web, and provided course corrections to the ‘mole team’ when they seemed necessary.

  Though visibly incommoded by her rather ‘plebeian lodgings’, from a room next to Siegfried’s, the Countess was keeping in touch with authorities, lay and clerical, local and higher up on the food chain, reassuring, cajoling, appeasing as per needs. Discretely, Siegfried also kept in touch with his friends at the DGSI, and periodically reassured jittery Oskar his ‘undies’ were being taken good care of.

  By then, the hotel itself in Chartres downtown where the Countess, Siegfried and Tony were staying had become in a sense like Jupiter: orbited by scores of people, although the frequency of collisions among hangers-on far surpassed that among any of the Jovian moons, if astronomers are to be believed.

  No few of those orbiting, needless to say, wore sunglasses or looked excessively combat-ready to be regular tourists, which, in principle, should have been reassuring. However, since on that first night the Countess had been all too happy—and now, for some reason, a very good looking colossus in sunglasses, who often addressed her as ‘chérie’, remained all too visibly affectionate, even when driving her to see the bishop—she had decided, from now on, and until completing this mission, to concentrate on spirituality, while avoiding both concentrated spirits and concessions to spirited visitors.

  As the excavation progressed along, things kept appearing, here and there—some of which could have delighted every Chartrain and Chartraine, and other who should have enthralled history buffs and professional archeologists. Sadly, during this dash for the Ark, there would be no time to inventory everything uncovered by the ‘undies’, just barely enough minutes to circumvent and GPS-locate bulkier items, carefully set aside and photograph uncertain ones, and safely wrap and prepare to take back to the castle particularly promising findings.

  There and here as well, as the digging hit occasional mud ponds—hard to wade through—all three diggers would slow down, and David, be forced to cope with yet another panic attack when the telescopic ‘cage’ had to be deployed to prevent sinking. Aside from that, there were a few cave-ins, and occasional line interruptions, which they shrugged—until, eventually, the three discovered someone had seemingly found and either stole or destroyed the antenna placed in the ventilation lead tube. Undoubtedly, also, whoever had done it, had also copiously urinated in that tube—one more dripping among so many had gone unnoticed until the signal was lost. The nagging and unsettling sound of constant dripping all around was suddenly made more irritating by that discovery. Added to the asphyxiating and suddenly variable muddiness of their environment, and the smell of death and perpetual dampness, all this made David’s attempts at using just the filter mask—in sections supposed to get fresh air through the tubes—truly nerve wrecking.

  Once, the DARPA-type caterpillar-to-road wheels of the mini-mobile (powered by the reactor) which carried the generator and most of all required items inside a ‘giant transparent suppository’—as colorfully defined by the Countess—worked almost too efficiently. So efficiently, in fact, it carried the whole thing to the very edge of one of the largest crevasses created by a sudden cave-in. David’s quick thinking narrowly prevented an unscheduled testing of the ‘giant transparent suppository’s resistance to drop impact, followed, seconds later, by an equally unscheduled crush pressure test.

  When that happened, as mass at Saint-Pierre was ending, the three explorers had finished the climb leading to what had been ‘panic rooms’ under the dungeon of the Château des Comtes—shelters of last resort during its heyday.

  Noon was now approaching, and no matter how much Severian and Conrad could try to endure the pain, even at this depth, solar ‘light pressure’ was becoming too brutal for them. Since that forced them to take a two-hour vampire ‘nap’, David used his time alone to eat, find an area to relieve himself, and then go on exploring the tunnels further ahead.

  This was one of the largest undamaged rooms and had, stored in stone shelves, more than a few interesting—and, ostensibly, valuable—objects, for the most part surprisingly intact, despite the centuries. Having to rely on his laptop guidelines, provided by Siegfried precisely in case the commlink should go dark, David did some rudimentary cataloguing. Surmising, since Conrad had been inside Oskar’s mind, he would be better qualified to decide which items to pack and carry, and which to leave, David decided to wait for him to wake up, and went to explore the next tunnel section, which looked ‘different’.

  This was a far less old tunnel, of far gentler slope, wider than the one they had been following so far. It was also high enough for David to walk almost fully erect, barely having to bend his back forward, to his backbone’s decompression delight.

  The terrain structure also changed here: it seemed more compact, drier, and richer in Gallo-Roman ruins. It looked also a little more clayish, yet filled with much more rubble —putatively, from demolished ancient buildings.

  David continued until he found a whole tree, partially decomposed, blocking his way, and then went back. At this point, struggling against the ‘solar pressure’, Conrad and Severian had managed to wake up and were able to help him decide which items to pack and carry. That task accomplished, increasingly at ease as the sun began to set over Chartres, they visited the area David had explored while the two vampires were slumbering.

  Moments later, the ‘undies’ had turned the buried tree into a pile of sawdust, mush and toothpicks, allowing the group to move forward. Conrad’s excursions ahead of the ‘undies’ were now far more frequent.

  To save time, Severian continued excavating, and setting aside tombs and artifacts and what not, and David helping him from time to time, trying not to overexert himself. Another cave-in damaged one of the oxygen tanks, limiting his oxygen supply. Fortunately for him, however, most of the lead tubes that still provided fresh air were located along this newer section, allowing him to frequently dispense with the tank and wear just a filter mask instead. That extra oxygen made allowed him to push large items without feeling short of breath, and that, markedly lifted his spirits as well.

  He was now seemingly on a roll, so he kept pushing artifacts sideways to get some fresh air with gusto and gumption.

  As he pushed what he thought some sort of sculpture to reach into an air intake, the ‘sculpture’ suddenly sprung to life, and took David’s vampire killing dagger from its holster.

  When Severian and Conrad realized what had happened, ‘the sculpture’ had already immobilized David, and was menacingly brandishing the dagger, to forestall their approach.

  29—Quo Vadis, Geoffroy?

  Overcoming the shock, Conrad warned him: “Geoffroy, my son, you are in error if you think we would let you open the Gates of Hell,” his voice droning, seemingly trying to hide an all-too-obvious, visceral, overpoweringly profound, sadness.

  “I need this human, father. I need him, unharmed—to reverse the ritual, to put the splinters of the Tables above the Ark and his shawl with all those stones in it. But you have tinkered with his mind, I see. Now I seem to only be able to briefly fool him—for then my glamor is fast broken. Matters not! If I can’t have him do my bidding as needed, the process will merely take longer—but it will happen, anyway, eventually, inexorably. Justice will befall these accursed Roman executioners, by the hand of the innocents, rising from the ashes, guided by the charred, accusing hand of Frater Jacobus de Molay, Dei gratia Magister pauperis milicie Templi. We should be doing God’s work, as laid out in the Bulla “Omne Datum Optimum”: “Accedit ad hoc quod tanquam veri Israelite atque instructissimi divini prelii bellatores, vere karitatis flamma succensi, dictum evangelium operibus adimpletis quod dicitur: majorem hac dilectionem n
emo habet quam ut animam suam ponat quis pro animis suis; unde etiam, juxta summi Pastoris vocem, animas vestras pro fratribus ponere eosque ab incursoribus paganorum defensare”. As true Israelites and warriors most skilled in holy war, fired up by the flame of charity, fulfill by your deeds the words of the Gospel, a man lay down his life for his souls, in accordance with the words of the great Shepard, not afraid to lay down your souls for your brothers and defend them from attacks of the pagans.” I’ve spent centuries repeating those words, that inspire a thirst for Justice far more powerful that the Thirst of the undead.

  But we, undead, cannot touch the Ark, and you know it. And now neither of you two can touch me either, for I have the dagger and your human, a true Israelite, as a hostage. Join me! Be with me the hand of Justice! I could bite him, use my venom, and make him my slave—but that might take another night, and he might resist, and die instead.

  Why not let me do Justice, avenge the betrayal of all Templars, and his people’s massacre, by letting those innocent souls damn the pagans who murdered them? You, father, you who were murdered, robbed or your kingdom, of your wife, of your destiny, you sure can appreciate the victims’ right to right such wrongs, can you not? Don’t you agree that what was done to them was monstrous as well?” said Geoffroy, almost in a trance.

  “I agree. But two wrongs don’t make one right. What was done to this man’s people—often by the same powers who wronged the Templars—was monstrous as well!” retorted Conrad.

  “Yes! But now the Templars no longer exist, and they cannot claim revenge. And it is their Law as well, an eye for an eye. Didn’t the Nakam Holocaust survivors want to kill six million Germans in retribution?” angrily hissed Geoffroy.

  “Those were fifty wounded souls, with freshly bleeding wounds, in 1945. Your Talion law is more like Hammurabi’s law. The Mosaic Law has parallels to it, but it’s not the same. There is no religious or moral justification to the use of those innocent souls to punish all humans, good and evil, all the same, as if you were God Himself!” replied Conrad, outraged.

  “Where was God when my brothers were robbed, tortured, mutilated, and then savagely murdered? Where was God, when his brethren were being robbed, tortured, mutilated, and then savagely murdered? Where was God when even the minimum decency of providing proper burial to those victims of untold savagery was denied them? Where was He when the populace came to collect the ashes of those Templars to use in sorcery, as trophies?” snarled Geoffroy.

  “That wasn’t God. Those were the villains, and the Church!” replied Conrad.

  “Ah, yes! The Holy Mother Church, the same one that made us, and loved us, and used us, shamelessly, to protect Jerusalem when we were poor sheriffs, troopers of the Faith—to then unmake us, because we became rich. And then, our Holy Mother Church used David’s people, to enrich itself; and to enrich Philippe, at our expense—to then kill them in droves as well. The clemency of Clement V was clearly boundless, wasn’t it?” retorted Geoffroy, showing his fangs, his eyes now red, blood tears running down his eyes.

  “David is a man of many peoples. The Church using Jewish merchants to commit usury by proxy has hardly any bearing on those souls you now try to deceive, and enslave, to commit an unholy deed by proxy. How are you, then, any better, my son?” replied Conrad.

  “A man of many peoples? Semantics! Is that your objection, father?” snarled Geoffroy.

  “Not empty semantics, my son. David is now also an American: those too are now his family, his nation, his people. You can be more than one thing. You were a Templar, and also a man. Remember? I was a king and also a man. We’re all members of many peoples. And we’re all members of this living community that shares Earth. And his other people, those whose souls you’re collecting, were put in impossible positions and, like any other humans, did what they had to do to survive. We are no saints with flaming swords to judge anyone.

  Maybe you should mull over that. Have you not deceived the Church, you, the Oracle, replacing electrum swords by shiny gold and platinum alloy swords that can’t hurt us? You seem afraid of giving humans power, afraid of letting them learn, afraid of admitting that, if you do this, no one will be redeemed or avenged: we all shall become one enormous irredeemable cluster of lost souls, lost, perhaps…for forever…” argued Conrad.

  “Ah! So you know I swapped their Saint Michael’s swords when they kneeled before me. Serves them well. Idolatry is sin, after all. Seems father Nagy told father Bello,” retorted Geoffroy.

  “Who’s father Nagy?” asked Conrad.

  “Father Lajos Nagy, the man who discovered this deception. Guess he told father Antonio Bello—before I could silence him. Those gold and platinum swords also amplify human thoughts, so I could follow the Order’s operatives’ doubts and dispel them, to better monitor and enforce their obedience. Those swords let me turn Holy Mother Church’s lions into my very compliant lambs, and shepherd them. Under normal circumstances, I should go silence father Bello next—but that won’t matter after today,” snarled Geoffroy, incensed.

  “Maybe you should go over your own sins before judging every human from your self-appointed ivory tower, my son,” Conrad retorted.

  “Maybe you should stop your condescension, father. Every human is an accomplice of all these wannabe anti-Christs that now control the world, polluting it, making it Hell for the ruled and a seraglio for the rulers. Soon, when humans commit collective suicide by irreparably altering Earth’s climate, they will even deprive us from nourishment.

  They flaunt the laws of men and they twist the Law of God. Their god is greed. Their moral is money. Their compass is commerce. Their pride is amassing power, to stay in power, for power’s sake. And, since you mentioned this human is of two peoples, like many of us, did Benjamin Franklin not say: "Those who would give up essential Liberty, to purchase a little temporary Safety, deserve neither Liberty nor Safety."? He, the American ‘hero’, who came to France, to live in profligacy and sloth, to enjoy the French whores that now so trouble David’s mind with cold sweats and unwanted erections…Maybe he’s now a man of three peoples…and one too many fellatios…” sermonized Geoffroy, making David now go from pale as wax to beet red, in a few seconds.

  Ignoring David’s embarrassment and Geoffroy’s sermonizing, Conrad went back to business: “Using innocent, confused souls to fill the world with demons is hardly Justice. It’s hardly what so many Templars bled and died protecting, even if the Church ultimately betrayed them. Maybe you should remember this,” Conrad suggested, his face wrinkled with sadness, blood tears rolling down his cheeks.

  “Maybe I should enslave David with my venom and keep him human, and then be done with you two!” Geoffroy growled, opening his mouth to bite David. As he was about to pierce the skin in David’s neck, his flesh touched the electrum choker the Countess had given him for protection. Painfully burned by the contact, Geoffroy immediately stopped, recoiled, and roared in pain. “Oh, this human is what they accused us Templars of being! No, he’s not homosexual—yet he carries a choker that…Ah, you already told humans, traitor! Of course! That’s why he carries this dagger!” he bellowed, his eyes bulging in the sockets. “This will end now! I shall rip it with your dagger, make him my slave and kill you both!” thundered Geoffroy, his words coming as the wail of an angry wounded beast.

  “May…I…speak?” said timidly David, who, aside from French—fortunately, being a medieval history aficionado—had taught himself, understood, and spoke pretty decent Latin, the two alternating languages of the exchange.

  “What do you have to say, Freer of Souls?” asked Geoffroy.

  “What was done to your people, was done to mine, by the same people: your king Philippe and your pope Clement V. Both of them destroyed many lives, out of greed, for power and plunder. The souls I shall try to free were innocent souls, as were your brethren who were tortured, maligned and killed….” David began.

  “Innocent…?” roared Geoffroy. “Your people went to the slaughter like sheep…�
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  “Jacques de Molay surrendered without a fight and ordered the other Templars to do the same, did he not? When Clement V was carrying those farcical trials at Vienne, he invited Templars to come bear witness; and a handful did, telling him in Lyon there were over a thousand more, ready to bear witness as well. And those ‘witnesses’ were captured, not deposed, with little resistance, and tortured—and those in Lyon suffered the same fate…” David said, his eyes blinking with terror, the words crawling out of his half-compressed throat. But there is something that a man from the land of Lionheart said not so long ago: “How these madmen give themselves away! The real G-d taketh heed lest a sparrow fall; but the God created from human vanity sees no difference between an eagle and a sparrow. Oh, if men only knew!”

  “Ah, yes: a quote from Bram Stoker’s ‘Dracula’. How cute, human! You fancy yourself an eagle?” Geoffroy’s fangs were now out, at their full length, and his eyes were red like fire, seemingly ready to kill him but David did not stop. “No. I remind you that true power shows by being fair to the powerless. Like yours, our people were innocent, perhaps not all of them, but certainly most. They did what was asked of them. If anyone failed us, as in the case of your people, then as during the III Reich, was much of our leadership.

  The leadership disingenuously assumed power-hungry monsters would act, if not like decent human beings, at least like rational human beings. If not provoked, they could be mollified, reasoned with. Perhaps the ones who came to slaughter us were mistaken—and could be enlightened, they assumed. If their motive was blind greed, perhaps they could be bribed, they guessed. Perhaps if they needed a few lambs to show slaughter and please their rabid followers, a few could be sacrificed, to save the many, they surmised. They were wrong—on all counts. Devils do not reason, barter, or take just tokens.