by Daniel Diehl
“That’s sad…and really scary.”
“That is also why I couldn't allow you to go into her tower.”
“I didn’t see anything that looked like a house or a tower. What was that all about?”
“The tower sits in that open space at the center of the maze, my dear. She keeps it invisible from most people, or it’s in some other dimension or, at least, in some way not a part of the real world. Once we went inside, there is no telling how long it might have taken for us to find our way back out.”
“You don't mean she would have held us prisoners?”
“Oh, heavens no. But because she has no sense of time, she wouldn't know if we had been there for an hour or a century. And she likes to play games. Purely for fun she might hide from us and wander off for a few minutes or a hundred years. There’s just no way of telling. And without her we might never find the door. I couldn't risk it.”
“But you’ve been inside?”
“Yes.”
“And you could have stayed there, with her, and been safe from Morgana, couldn't you?”
Merlin looked at Beverley, his intense, hypnotic blue eyes glowing. “Yes.”
“Why didn't you. You loved her.”
“Yes, I did. And even after all these centuries I still do. But I would never have been able to work on a way of closing the gate if I were in there with her.”
“So you gave up your life and your love for her, to live in that ball and fight Morgana.” She squeezed his arm tight.
“And all the time, Vivian knew where the key was located.” He shook his head, weary with the weight of a thousand and a half years bearing down on his soul. “Jason” he said, bringing himself back to the present, “you’re an archaeologist. What do you know about the Ark of the Covenant?”
“Oh, Lord, Merlin. That's not an archaeology question. That thing has been lost for thousands of years.”
“And what do you know about where it might be?”
“Based on nothing more than a couple of documentaries I’ve seen on the History Channel, it’s either completely lost, maybe destroyed, maybe it never existed, or it’s right out in plain sight for everyone to see.”
“And if it happens to be the latter case, where might it be?”
“In a church somewhere in Ethiopia. At least that’s what all the conspiracy crazies say.”
“Where is this Ethiopia, place?”
“I don't know what they called it in your day, but in the Old Testament it is referred to as the land of Sheba.”
“Ahh, that would be the Kingdom of Aksumia, below Aegyuptus, south of the great cataract of the Nile. One of the very earliest Christian kingdoms, if I’m not mistaken. That might actually make a lot of sense, being as how King Solomon had a relationship with the Queen of Sheba, who ruled that land during Solomon’s reign.”
“Yeah, right, Ethiopia, south of Egypt. But that’s really pretty much all I know about it.”
“Who would know more?”
“Nobody I know, but I guess I can ask Professor Daniels when we get back to York. Maybe he knows somebody who knows something.”
“I'm sure he’d be glad to see you again, Jason.”
Turning at the sound of Beverley's voice, Jason asked, “How is he doing since his heart attack?”
“Much better. He’s back in his office, but he isn't teaching classes yet. I see him now and again at King's Manor and he always asks about you. You should go see him. I know he’ll help you if he can.”
“Would you like to come with me?”
She squeezed his hand and nodded. “Um hum. And thank you for finally including me in all this.”
He pulled his hand away and slipped it around her waist, pulling her close to him as though his physical proximity could protect her from whatever the future might throw at them.
Chapter Three
Three days after their return to York, Jason and Merlin had settled back into Jason's little flat on St. Mary's Terrace where they spent most of their time resting and regaining their strength after the two-month-long ordeal in Mongolia. While Jason made arrangements to visit the offices of Dr Carver Daniels and spent as much time as possible with Beverley, Merlin cloistered himself at Jason's computer table, staring for hours at a time into the remaining portion of the antique Venetian crystal mirror that served as his scrying glass. Even though they were now impervious to any attempt Morgana might make to scry on them, Merlin still needed to know what she was doing and find out if she had managed to make contact with the Dragon Lords. As long as Merlin remained alive she would be unable to open the gate through which the creatures would flood back to earth - and for the moment she probably believed that Merlin had died in the dragon attack on the Buddhist monastery - but the question remained: what would she do once she attempted to open the gate and found it was still locked? She was bound to react badly and for this inevitability Merlin had to be prepared.
“She managed to make her way back to Wales.” Merlin's voice floated through the bedroom door and into the living room where Jason was putting on his coat.
“Who, Morgana?”
“Yes. She’s been roaring in and out of her offices, terrorizing her employees.”
Jason suppressed a laugh. “Does she know yet?”
“That I’m alive? I don't think so. I'll keep an eye on her. For the moment, that’s all I can do.”
“Right. Well, I'm off. Beverley and I have an appointment to see Dr Daniels and I'm already late. I'll let you know what I find out when I get back.”
“Good luck.” Merlin's words were half muffled by the closing of the door as Jason stepped into the hallway.
After rushing through Museum Gardens, skirting the ruins of St Mary's Abbey and around the corner, past the front of the art museum and into the courtyard of King's Manor, Jason was puffing hard, his breath forming great clouds of steam in the cold, crisp February air.
King's Manor, the seat of the University of York's Archaeology department, looked the same as it had the last time Jason was here more than two months earlier. The venerable old building with its half ruined portico decorated with the remnants of once magnificent caryatids flanking the door had not changed, but there was no reason it should have. It had looked much like this when King Charles I stayed there in the 1640s and would probably look much the same two hundred years hence. Still, it felt comfortable to be back and it was certainly more familiar and welcoming than the wastes of the Mongolian steppe.
Once through the door, Jason hurried across the worn flagstone floor of the porter’s lodge and across the courtyard toward the refectory where he and Beverley had agreed to meet for lunch. Jason stole a glance at his watch. He was more than forty-five minutes late. Would she be mad at him? Dashing up the stairs toward the refectory door, he almost careened into Beverley as she stepped outside.
“Oh, there you are. You were late and I went ahead and had lunch without you. I'm sorry, but we need to go to Professor Daniels' office now.”
“Sorry I'm late. That’s ok, I can grab something later.”
Together, they made their way back across the courtyard and into the porter’s lodge, their damp shoe soles making sucking noises on the wet flagstone floor as they headed toward the massive old stone staircase leading up to the faculty offices. Together, they walked down the hallway, past the row of heavy oak doors, till they came to one bearing a tiny sign which read ‘Carver Daniels PhD’. Below the professor's name were the words ‘Departmental Head’. Silently, they pushed open the door and stepped into the tiny outer office. At the reception desk sat Miss Irene Littlemore, her mousy grey hair pulled severely back into a bun, her face nearly obliterated by a pair of large, thick glasses. As they stepped onto the carpet, she looked up.
Half rising from the chair, she nodded toward Beverley and said “Oh, Mr Carpenter. How nice to see you again. Dr Daniels is expecting you. You can go right in.”
“How is he?”
“Oh, much better, bless him. He hasn’t
resumed his lectures yet, but he is feeling ever so much better. Please go on in.”
Jason opened the door to the inner office, motioning Beverley ahead of him. Carver Daniels was busily sorting through a pile of papers scattered across his big desk, his half-glasses perched precariously near the end of his nose. Even before Daniels looked up, Jason could tell he had lost considerable weight since his heart attack. His once comfortably middle-aged body was thin and his clothes hung loose on his frame. His halo of sparse, milk-white hair still floated in all directions as thought trying to escape from his head, but it had now been joined by a neatly trimmed beard, obviously grown to hide the sagging flesh of his gaunt face.
“Ah, what have we here?” Daniels looked up, his voice cheery but formal as ever. “The prodigal returns to the fold. Nice to see you too, Miss McCullough, you are well, I trust.”
“Hello, Dr Daniels. I'm fine thank you.”
Jason extended his hand to the old man. “Nice to see you again, Dr Daniels. I hope you're feeling better.”
“Fit as a fiddle, Mr Carpenter, fit as a fiddle. I understand you and your grandfather have been adventuring in the Far East. Did you find anything interesting on your travels?”
In his mind, Jason said: You wouldn't believe a single word of it if I told you, and I wouldn't blame you one bit. Instead, he said “It certainly was exotic, but I'm glad to be back.”
“Good, good. And, one would hope, ready to resume your studies during the summer season.”
“Well, I hope so, but I still have some things to deal with and...um...that’s sort of why I'm here. I need some information and I was hoping you could help me.”
“Of course. Anything I can do. What is it you need?”
“Well...”
Waving a bony hand vaguely toward a pair of battered wooden chairs he mumbled “Please, do sit down.”
Jason and Beverley pulled the chairs so they faced Daniels' desk, but Jason couldn't make himself comfortable, shifting uneasily in his seat. Oh, God, he’s going to think I’ve gone completely Loony Tunes and Merry Melodies. Mustering every ounce of courage he could dredge up, he forged ahead. “Aaa...I don't know exactly how to put this, but what do you know about the Ark of the Covenant?”
Daniels knitted his brow and pushed his glasses up to rest on his shiny pate. “I'm not certain I heard you quite correctly, Mr Carpenter. Surely you didn’t say the Ark of the Covenant?”
“Yes, I’m afraid that’s exactly what I said.” Jason nodded in the affirmative, but his sickly smile showed the level of his embarrassment.
Peering hard at his former prize student, Daniels muttered “You haven't been reading anything by that strange Graham Hancock person by any chance, have you? People like that are scientific pariahs, you know. One simply doesn’t take things like the Ark, or the Holy Grail, or the treasures of the Knights Templar, or the legends of King Arthur, or any of that nonsense seriously.”
Jason winced at the Arthurian reference, but just shook his head knowingly. “No, no, nothing like that, it’s umm, just that...” think fast, Jason... “It's just that my grandfather is trying to track down some of the legends concerning the Ark. Not that he believes them...it’s just a scholarly investigation into the stories...purely as legend and myth.”
“Ah-ha, well, then, that’s perfectly acceptable. Any scholarly pursuit into dispelling popular myth and charlatanism passing for science is admirable, most admirable.”
“Right.”
“Unfortunately, as you know, neither ancient Hebraic history nor mythology are my field of study...”
“I know, I just thought...”
Daniels waved a hand, indicating that he had not finished what he was saying. “However, I do know someone who might be able to help you.”
“Really?” Jason's head snapped up, his eyes opening wide.
“Yes. His name is Father John Cunningham. Are either of you familiar with Fr Cunningham?” Both Jason and Beverley shook their heads. “No matter. He is a fairly renowned scholar in biblical history and legend and, as luck would have it, he is right here in York.”
“Oh, yeah?” Jason could hardly contain his excitement.
“Yes. Fr Cunningham is head librarian at the York Minster Library and archivist of the Archbishop's private collection at the ecclesiastical palace.”
“Wow.”
“Indeed ‘wow’. John Cunningham is an extremely learned man. If you like, I can try to arrange for you to meet with him. Would that be satisfactory?” Daniels’ offered a beatific smile. “I rather owe it to you since you took my place at the Liverpool museum opening while I was in hospital. Turn about being fair play and all.”
“I would really appreciate that, Doctor. I can leave you my phone number and Miss Littlemore can let me know.”
“If you like, but as it’s still early afternoon, Fr Cunningham is probably in his office. I could ring him up now.”
“I don't want to be any trouble.”
“Nonsense. No trouble at all, my boy.” Daniels was reaching for the telephone even before the words were out of his mouth.
The three of them sat in silence while the phone rang, Jason glancing across to Beverley, raising his eyebrows slightly.
“This is Carver Daniels at the University of York. Is Fr Cunningham in? Yes, please...I'll hold. John...Carver Daniels here...Indeed it has been too long...Oh, coming along quite well, thank you, and yourself? Good, good. Look, John, I have two of my students here and they would like to pick your brains...”
As the old professor explained the situation, Jason and Beverley leaned forward in anticipation, hanging on every word of the one-sided conversation. Finally, Daniels said his goodbyes and hung up the receiver, leaning back with a self-satisfied look.
“Ask and ye shall receive, Mr Carpenter.”
“He'll see us?”
“He will, indeed. He seems to have some free time right now if you care to walk over to the Minster Library.”
“Oh, that would be great.” Jason looked at Beverley before continuing. “Do you want to come along?”
“I'd love to, but I have a class in half an hour. You go ahead and you can tell me all about it later.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. I've waited this long to find out what you’re really up to, I suppose I can wait a few more hours.” She was obviously teasing Jason for being kept in the dark for two months, but there was no malice in her tone.
“Are you coming along, Dr Daniels?”
“I believe the department can survive without me for an hour or so, so if you don’t mind, I’ll take the liberty of joining you.” As the three of them rose and began putting on their coats, Daniels added, almost as an afterthought, “Fr Cunningham keeps an excellent cellar and my doctor says the occasional drink would be good for my heart.”
With that, he stepped toward the door and held it open for Beverley to pass, and the three of them walked out of King's Manor. Beverley left them on the corner near the ancient medieval city gate known as Bootham Bar, where Jason and Carver Daniels headed through the gate, into the old walled city and on toward the massive high-gothic structure that is York Minster Cathedral.
The exterior of the Minster loomed above them, its heavily decorated and carved stone walls glowing yellow-gold in the winter sun. From the towers, medieval gargoyles held their hideous mouths wide, dripping water down past hundreds of statues of saints, monks and long dead Archbishops that clustered up and down across the edifice. Passing the massive west front of the cathedral, Jason and Daniels skirted the south side of the building, its flying buttresses reaching skyward, casting twisted shadows across the lawn and over the life-sized bronze statue of the Roman Emperor Constantine. A few yards down Queen's Walk, hard by the medieval complex of King William's College, they turned in at the Georgian facade of the York Minster Library where they were escorted upstairs to the office of Fr John Cunningham.
The room looked more like a Victorian gentleman's study than the office of
a priest and librarian. The lower six feet of the walls were covered with dark oak wainscoting divided into heavily carved panels. Above this, gold high-lights on the dark green William Morris wallpaper reflected the light from a massive brass chandelier, steeping the room in a soft, warm glow. In the center of one wall a massively carved mantel piece was surrounded by a cluster of green leather club chairs, while in the hearth a log fire crackled and snapped, throwing its warmth into the room. In one corner, a dignified mahogany desk stood behind an intricately woven Persian rug.
Rising from one of the chairs near the fire, Fr Cunningham stepped briskly toward his guests, thanking the librarian who had shown them in before clasping Carver Daniels's hand in both of his own.
“Carver. I’m so glad to see you up and about again. You gave us all quite a scare with that heart attack. How do you feel?”
“I'm fine, John. Thank you for coming to see me while I was in hospital.”
“Not at all. Even if you weren't my friend, it is part of my job, after all.” The priest chuckled warmly, laying a hand on Carver Daniels' arm before turning his attention to Jason.
“So, this is the young man who wants to know about the Ark of the Covenant.” Their host extended a chubby hand toward Jason, who smiled and nodded, accepting the gesture of welcome.
John Cunningham did not fit the image of the room he inhabited. In his mid-thirties, with a short thatch of unruly blond hair, he looked like nothing so much as a renaissance cherub. He was short and everything about him was round. His face was round; his body was round; even his tiny glasses were round, and had the effect of giving his face the aura of a curious child. Talking without releasing Jason's hand, he pulled his guest toward the fire and gestured toward a comfortable looking chair.