The Crypt Trilogy Bundle

by Bill Thompson

  Arthur will be furious. How could he not? What loving, caring husband would not be angry, embarrassed, ashamed at the blatant, public betrayal of his love and trust by his young passionate wife? Because of his steadfast refusal to stop loving me, Arthur’s anger will likely be manifest against Lamorak, his loyal servant who would give his very life if my husband required it. Lamorak is not at fault in this matter. It is I who enticed him to my bed, promised him a night of incredible pleasure, and opened my passion and my body to his for nothing more than a moment of climax and yet another conquest. But Lamorak will pay. I fear he will pay with his life for a crime he did not commit. He will pay for giving in to me, his Queen, who demanded his sexual prowess in her bedroom last night. This time Arthur will demand the life of the man who slept with his wife. But in truth if he took the lives of all my lovers, his beloved Round Table would have many empty seats.

  My life feels unfulfilled, yet I have everything a woman could want. I am the most powerful woman in Britain, the wife of its monarch, Arthur Pendragon. Why, dear God, why do I want that which I cannot, nay, that which I should not have? Because I can have it. I should not, but I can. Men bow to me. Even the mighty Lancelot, the man who caught me last night in my tent with Lamorak. He saw me with Lamorak’s penis still inside of me. Did he harken back to when his own was there, not long ago? Was he furious with me? Enough to risk his own life? I have kept that one on my string for longer than any of the others. Now he knows he is not the only one.

  He will tell my husband about my infidelity because he wants to hurt Lamorak, not me.

  Merlin warned me. That meddling old sorcerer knows things no man could possibly know – I fear he can see inside my mind – he warned me to be careful of my thoughts and desires. His words burn in my head. Gwenhwyfar, you are the property of your husband the King. You belong to him and him alone. Your body, your very life are his, not your own. Betray him only at great risk.

  I did not heed Merlin’s words. I laughed at the strange old man who mutters things as he walks the halls of Camelot. He is harmless, I told myself. He would not betray his Queen. But even as I assured myself I was safe, even as I continued to lure brave servants of my husband to my bed, I knew better. I knew Merlin was watching. But I ignored what I knew. Now he will testify against me.

  It would grieve me if Lancelot were to tell the entire truth to my husband, the men I’ve had, my indiscretion with Lancelot himself, my expressions of undying love to Arthur that meant little outside the throes of passion. It is not my desire to strike the soul, the very heart of my beloved husband.

  Of all the knights, my husband loves Lancelot most. And that is why I wanted Lancelot most. Oh God. Why am I like this? Why have I done this? And why, if my husband should spare me, will I keep doing it? What is wrong with me?

  I have sinned. Over and over I have sinned.

  And as much as my husband loves me, now I fear I too must pay.

  I am afraid.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  At six a.m. Roberto left the hotel in jogging clothes. He ran for blocks, keeping an eye out for company. Just before dawn he turned into dark, quiet St. Mary Axe, jogged its entire length then doubled back. No one else was in the area. He ran past the dark bookstore and stopped at the vacant building. Glancing both ways to be sure he was alone, he pulled out a key and stepped inside.

  He thought about what happened last evening. Was Edward simply curious and decided to follow him? Had he seen Roberto enter or exit the building next door? Had he heard noise from the adjoining basement as Roberto moved the heavy stones? It could even be simpler – Edward may have merely been walking the same direction as Roberto. He may have been heading towards Liverpool Street Station to catch a homebound train and not following Roberto at all. He might have noticed Roberto slip into the alley, stopped and looked to see what was up, then continued on.

  In Roberto’s business one considered worst-case scenarios first. This morning he’d left early enough that, all things being equal, he’d arrive in St. Mary Axe Street before Edward Russell. And he’d leave mid-afternoon when things were busy at the bookstore next door.

  Before donning the jumpsuit, he unhooked a water bottle from his belt and took lunch, a sandwich he’d ordered last night from room service, from the pocket of his shorts. He set them aside for later.

  Roberto had a single goal today. Using the entrenching tool, he removed one small shovelful of dirt at a time in the two-foot-square area where the floor stones had been. When he’d dug down three feet, he put his foot down in the hole, hung on to the sides of the existing floor and stomped down hard on the soil that remained. The dirt gave way slightly, but there was resistance. That was encouraging. If my theory’s correct, I’m right on top of a support beam. He moved to the left and stomped again. This time more dirt fell and a small hole opened up.

  He patiently removed more stones and cleared more dirt with the shovel. After several hours he stopped for lunch, then resumed the dig. Rather than stamping down with his foot and risking a fall into what he hoped was a chamber below, he used one of the floor stones he’d removed. He lifted it over his head and slammed it down into the dirt as hard as he could. After a few tries, he got the hang of it; finally he created a series of holes between which were straight narrow rows running the length of the room. Those would be the ceiling beams in the chamber below.

  He took a rope from his suitcase, tied the lantern securely and lowered it. In the dim light he saw a room like the one he knew was under Edward’s store next door. From the description he’d been given by Curtis Pemberly, this one seemed identical, yet another room in the crypt of the ancient church. As the light swung back and forth on the end of the rope, he noticed that the room was large – he could see a couple of walls, but the other two were hidden in the darkness. He glimpsed a wooden door – from its location it had to be the opposite side of the one Gordon Foxworth saw next door. As his eyes grew accustomed to the half-light, he could see faces grinning up at him. Skulls, actually. This was a burial chamber.

  Three p.m. came quickly – he needed more time, but he stuck to the plan. He stopped for the day. He glanced through the dirty front window at the sidewalk. There were a half dozen tourists taking in the sights and several odd people who were likely going to The Necromancer’s Bookshop to pick up a spell or two. It was a good time to move. He took one more look, stepped outside and locked the door.

  As he turned, he was startled to see Edward Russell standing on the sidewalk ten feet away. How the hell did he do that? He wasn’t here ten seconds ago.

  “Fancy meeting you here. Some sightseeing in the area you didn’t get done yesterday?”

  This man’s going into territory where he doesn’t belong. He’s certainly brimming with self-assurance – I’ll give him that.

  Roberto didn’t know if Edward had seen him leave the building. “I’m out for a run. I enjoyed this area yesterday and my hotel’s in the neighborhood.”

  “Which hotel would that be, Mr. …?”

  Roberto’s words were terse. “With all respect, I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

  “If I were a gambling man, I’d wager I could guess your name.”

  This guy’s brash. Strange as hell too.

  “And what would that be?”

  “I’d guess your name is Juan Carlos Sebastian.”

  Roberto blanched. What the hell – how did this guy know that name?

  “You’d be wrong, then.” He turned and started to walk away.

  “I know what you’re up to,” Edward called out. “And I’ve got my eye on you.”

  You have no idea who you’re up against, you bastard.

  At precisely the same time, Edward Russell was thinking precisely the same thing.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  There’s a simple answer to all this. There was only one logical way Edward Russell could have heard the name Juan Carlos Sebastian – from Curtis Pemberly. Gordon Foxworth, who knew nothing about
him, in turn would have told Curtis.

  Roberto faced a dilemma. There were consequences in introducing himself as Roberto Maas. For the first time, someone who had called him Juan Carlos would know he was Roberto – the two names would be linked to one person. That was dangerous.

  But he had to be Roberto Maas. Philippe had told Edward his wealthy partner, Roberto Maas, held an option on the vacant building next door. If Edward had seen Roberto entering or exiting the building, the reasonable explanation was that he was the option-holder, doing fieldwork on the building’s suitability for ownership. At some point, now or in the future, Edward Russell actually would meet Roberto Maas, presuming he agreed to sell his building. He had to be Roberto, as risky as that might be.

  ——

  The next morning at six, Roberto did exactly the same thing as the day before. He jogged around the neighborhood, then into St. Mary Axe Street. He ran from one end to the other then back, looking closely at the sides and tops of the buildings that were on either side of the vacant one. He examined The Necromancer’s Bookshop particularly closely.

  Before entering his building, he took a close look at its decrepit front doors. Last evening after his second sidewalk encounter with Edward Russell, he had thought this all through. He was missing something. How did this guy always know exactly when I left the building? Roberto was a trained operative, skilled in surveillance and counterespionage. But after years with no danger, he was getting sloppy. Once again he’d let down his guard. He hadn’t expected anyone to be watching. That was a bad call and he knew it. He had to always be on alert. And he had to pick up his game.

  He ran his fingers up and down the place where the front doors fit into the frame. He felt years of caked dirt and finally found what he was looking for. A tiny motion sensor had been tucked in a corner and daubed with mud. It was virtually invisible, but it activated every time the door opened or closed.

  He’d already caught the other half of Edward’s spy equipment. On the awning above the bookstore’s entrance was a tiny camera that would be unnoticed by anyone not looking for it. It was aimed directly at the place where Roberto now stood.

  He’d lingered here only a minute. He resumed jogging and gathered his thoughts. The camera would have caught him turning into the doorway of the vacant building, but from its angle Edward couldn’t see that he’d searched the doorframe for a motion device. All Edward would know about this morning was that Roberto paused for a moment at the doorway to the empty building next door.

  It was time to stop the charade. Edward was aware of his comings and goings. Edward knew when to step outside because of the motion detector and the camera.

  Roberto decided to change his plan for today. He jogged back along Bishopsgate to his hotel and went inside. It was 6:45 a.m.

  After a leisurely shower, he ate breakfast in the lobby café, read a newspaper and responded to a couple of emails from the office. Around 8:30 he walked to a hardware store nearby and bought a lightweight collapsible ladder.

  He carried the bag and ladder the few blocks to St. Mary Axe Street. He noticed lights inside the bookshop as he passed. Someone was already there. When he reached the door of his building, he made no attempt at subterfuge. He reached up, ripped off the motion sensor and stuck it in his pocket. Inside, he went straight to the basement.

  He widened one of the holes he’d made in the basement floor. Soon it was large enough to accommodate both him and the ladder, which he extended to full length and lowered through the hole to the stone floor six feet below. Headlamp on and lantern in hand, Roberto descended. He needed more light down here – later today he’d arrange for electricity to be turned on so he could use high-powered lights. For now this would suffice.

  The room was actually a long hallway ten feet wide. To the north there was a large wooden door with iron hasps, exactly as Gordon described Edward’s to Curtis Pemberly. Edward’s building was also directly north of Roberto’s. This door was definitely the same one Gordon had seen.

  On the south side there was no wall. Instead there was a tunnel extending into the darkness. He shined his light but couldn’t see its end.

  He started with the large wooden door that would open into Edward’s crypt. A heavy bar slid into a metal loop that kept the door shut. It would take a key to open the door unless he could somehow remove the loop that was anchored solidly into stone. The door would have to wait.

  Roberto walked down the corridor nearly a hundred feet, his light barely penetrating the murky blackness. The walls and floor were made of the same large stones he’d seen in the first room but with vaulted ceilings. It was very similar to a crypt he’d seen below the Sistine Chapel in the Vatican. It was Roman.

  Ledges were randomly cut into the walls on both sides in no apparent sense of order. There were words etched into the stone below some, presumably names or dates. Words on the first one he saw were too faded to read. Rotting wooden caskets lay in pieces on a few ledges, simple piles of bones on most. Sometimes skulls were there, other times they’d rolled onto the floor. He could see maybe thirty feet down the hallway; there were four ledges within his scope of vision.

  After fifty feet he stopped and aimed the beam of light down the corridor. It went on much further than the light’s beam. He was going roughly south; if this passage continued, he’d get to the Thames River eventually because St. Mary Axe was less than a half mile away from it.

  As he walked, his light reflected dimly off something to his side. In one of the cutouts on the wall he saw a body with a detached arm lying beside its torso. The hand gripped a metal staff about five feet long. Below the ledge were the first legible words he’d come across.

  AVILIUS CASTOR

  CIVIS ROMANUS A LONDINIUM

  MORTUUS

  CCCLXXXVI

  Latin was easy for Roberto. It took ten seconds to find out who was lying in front of him.

  Avilius Castor. A Roman citizen of Londinium. Died 386.

  Interesting!

  He kept walking south, passing several faded inscriptions. He paused at the next clear one. He was beginning to figure out what this place was. He hoped this inscription would confirm his thinking.

  Lucius Accius. Orator and husband of Aemilia. Died 384.

  This was exactly what Roberto thought. Here was confirmation of another Roman burial. He wasn’t in the crypt of the Church of St. Mary Axe; this passage was centuries older. These weren’t Christian burials. These were citizens of Rome who lived in Londinium, the settlement that had been abandoned around 450 AD and thereafter became the Anglo-Saxon City of London.

  From his history classes Roberto knew Constantine had been Emperor of Rome during the fourth century AD. He died maybe a half century before these two Roman citizens of London. Constantine was widely believed to have been the first Christian Emperor, but as Roberto recalled, his legacy was more due to his toleration of Christianity than his personal acceptance of the religion. In the decades after his death, the religion of Jesus became more and more accepted by Romans. But the people buried on the ledges in this passageway showed no evidence of being Christians. No crosses, no religious symbols etched into the walls, nothing that would indicate they had embraced the new religion.

  He spent hours exploring the tunnel. He saw a few more inscriptions with legible dates. He’d bring paper and pencil tomorrow to try rubbing the illegible first etchings closest to the heavy wooden door where he’d dropped through the ceiling. Most of those ledges still contained decayed wood – remnants of caskets – so they might be later burials. The further he walked down the dark hallway, the earlier the dates, and all were Roman. It was a fact that St. Mary Axe Church was built on this site. But the church was constructed on top of a far older Roman burial chamber. That had long since been forgotten.

  That afternoon Roberto wrapped up early. He’d made great progress and he had to call the electric company. He wanted power restored to the building. He also wanted to do some research on Londinium. He locked the
front door and looked around, expecting to see Edward on the sidewalk. But he wasn’t there. Roberto went into the bookstore and up to the counter, where a female assistant greeted him.

  Roberto asked if Edward was around.

  “He’s due back in an hour or so. Is there something I can do for you?”

  He pulled the small motion detector from his pocket and handed it to her. “Tell him I’m the man who has the building next door. I found this and I’m sure he’d like it back.”

  “What is it?” she asked, turning it over in her hand.

  “It doesn’t matter; it’s his, so please tell him Roberto brought it back.”

  Two hours later Edward Russell sat alone in his back room, staring at the small device on the table.

  You arrogant son of a bitch. Roberto, eh? Roberto Maas, the partner of the guy who wanted to buy the building? I’ll bet that’s not your name. I’d wager you’re Juan Carlos Sebastian and you’re after the things in my chamber. Get ready, whatever your name is. You have no idea what you’re in for.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Philippe was finishing up the fifty-page report that was emailed to Roberto every Friday. Even in Greece on vacation, his partner would dig through the numbers closely, getting a snapshot update of his far-flung investments and holdings. It was the same every week; this was how Roberto stayed involved.

  His assistant rang. “There are two men downstairs in the lobby who’d like to see you. They’re from Russia and want to discuss a proposal.”

  She told him the men had originally wanted Roberto. Learning he was away, they asked to meet with his partner. Philippe clicked on his computer and saw images from the security cameras in the lobby. There were two men in suits, fifty years old or so. One held a briefcase in his lap.