Panacea

by F. Paul Wilson

  The flash beam—don’t fail me now—reflected against something ahead. The end of the passage? He stroked on, wondering at the purpose of the passage, when he suddenly broke the surface into air.

  Air?

  Yeah. No light, but air—stale and musty. He pulled himself out of the water. Not exactly warm here, but positively balmy compared to the lake. He spent a moment shaking off the water and rubbing his skin to warm it. He figured he was under the abbey. Which would put him ’Twixt the house of the fallen godmen … And the tomb of the fallen star … That slew summer.

  He flashed his Mag beam around. So where was Auburon sleeping?

  He had barely begun his search when he heard a deep scraping sound above him.

  4

  As he stared at the monitor, Nelson willed his blurred vision to clear, but with only minimal success. He sat in a darkened room—the low light helped his headache—in the rear of the Ballainvilliers farmhouse with Bradsher and two of the local field agents.

  “What am I looking at?”

  “Per Agent Bradsher’s instructions,” said an operative he knew only as Henry, “the drone team drove into the hills this morning and set up near the designated coordinates. The hover drone reached those coordinates just as you walked in.”

  “Ah, yes,” Nelson said, recognizing the Abbey in the center of the wide view of the lake.

  He felt a twinge of vertigo as the camera panned around.

  “There’s the helicopter they arrived in,” Henry said. “I’m going to follow the shoreline.”

  Nelson was pleased to note that none of the Serpent’s plants grew along the shore. The Brotherhood had been efficient and effective in eradicating them from the locale.

  “There’s some sort of ruin on the island. It looks religious, what with the crosses and all. Are you two familiar with the location?”

  “Vaguely,” said Bradsher.

  Henry was not of the Brotherhood and the less he knew the better.

  “Tell me again why we’re watching these two?”

  Nelson didn’t feel up to it so he nodded to Bradsher.

  “That’s on a need-to-know basis,” Bradsher said. “But I can tell you that she’s a medical doctor who has been hired by a very rich man with an anti-American agenda.”

  “We talking Soros-type money here?” Henry said.

  Bradsher kept his eyes on the monitor screen. “You didn’t hear that from me.”

  “Well, as long as this is budgeted through your account and not mine, I don’t need to know. The two Interpol guys running the drone won’t even ask. They love playing with it.”

  “There’s the doctor,” Bradsher said as the view swung around to the rear of the Abbey. “But where’s…?”

  Henry said, “She’s staring at the water and appears to be standing beside a pile of clothes. Could her companion have gone for a swim?”

  “It certainly appears so,” Nelson said.

  He glanced at Bradsher who looked equally baffled.

  “Oh, wait,” said Henry. “Here comes someone.”

  Nelson leaned closer. A bearded old man was walking up behind Dr. Fanning. That certainly wasn’t Hayden. Nelson had never seen him before.

  “Who in God’s name is he?”

  5

  “Where is your friend?”

  Laura jumped at the sound of Leander’s squeaky voice. She’d been so intent on watching the surface of the lake for Rick’s return that she’d forgotten about him.

  She pointed to the water. “He’s looking for Auburon’s tomb.”

  The old man’s already high-pitched voice jumped an octave. “In the lake?”

  “Well, we figured that particular spot is ‘midmoon from the godmen gate,’ so he dove in to see.”

  “But the water is so cold. Such impulsive behavior. He should have spoken to me first.”

  “There’s nothing there?”

  Leander stepped to the edge and stroked his scraggly beard as he peered at the water. “How long has he been down?”

  Laura wished she’d looked at her watch before he dove in. “Two minutes, maybe?”

  “Well, then, let us hope he has found it.”

  Laura grabbed his arm, thin and bony through the fabric of his shirt. “Found what?”

  “The passage to Auburon’s tomb.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He turned and motioned to her to follow. “Come. And you should bring his clothes. If he is alive, he will be cold.”

  “If he’s alive?” she said around a stab of panic. “What do you mean?” Laura picked up Rick’s clothes and hurried after Leander as he began walking toward the front of the abbey. “Wait-wait-wait! What do you mean?”

  “The water is cold and the passage is narrow. He is your lover?”

  “No. No way. He’s just helping me search.”

  “You care for him.” Leander was not asking a question.

  Laura thought about that. She guessed she did care about him. Else why this anxious squeezing in her chest? He’d started out aloof and annoying, but he’d proved reliable and good company, despite his weird take on the world.

  “It’s a professional relationship but he’s become a … a friend.”

  “He is a good swimmer?”

  “I don’t know.” She couldn’t resist. “He says he swims like a SEAL.”

  “‘Like a seal.’ An odd choice. Most people would say ‘fish.’”

  “Nope. Like a SEAL.”

  She prayed he’d been telling the truth about that.

  She followed Leander through the front door of the abbey. Just across the threshold he stopped and picked up a very modern oil lamp.

  “You’ve come prepared,” she said.

  “I have explored this place many times.”

  As he pulled out a little butane lighter to fire up the lantern, Laura considered her position of being alone in a dark, deserted abbey in the middle of a lake with a strange old man who just happened to be waiting on shore when they arrived. In a sci-fi movie he’d turn out to be Auburon himself, resurrected by the panacea. Or in a B-grade thriller he’d turn out to be the leader of 536 and would either attack her or imprison her.

  She looked at Leander’s bony limbs and bent back and figured she could handle him. And anyway, this wasn’t a movie.

  Still, she’d be careful not to let him get behind her.

  Then she had another thought. “Can I see your back?”

  “You are looking at it now, I believe.”

  “No, I meant the skin on your back.”

  He glanced at her. “You think I carry the panacean tattoo?”

  “I don’t know what I think right now.”

  “The tattoo … is that how you found the abbey?”

  “We were looking for the Wound. Can I see?”

  He turned his back to her. “Suit yourself.”

  Laura lifted the back of his sweater to reveal unmarred skin, as smooth and white as a baby’s behind.

  “Satisfied?” Leander said.

  “I’m satisfied you’re not with the panaceans. Can you roll up your sleeves?”

  He complied: no tattoos.

  But who was he with, if anybody? He was like a tour guide. He came on like a local codger who liked to fish and tell stories about the history of the area’s private landmark, and maybe that was all he was. But Rick had said something about Leander was “off kilter” and Laura was getting a feeling too that maybe he was more than he pretended to be.

  Which meant she was starting to think like Rick, and maybe that was not such a good thing.

  Which was why she made him lead the way down the abbey’s central hallway. Open doorways, their doors long gone, lined the passage, leading into small rooms—cubicles really. Each had a single window that opened through the right or left flank of the building. Daylight filtering from the rooms lit the hallway, but still left it gloomy.

  “Here,” Leander said, stopping before the only darkened doorway. “You are strong
?”

  “I guess so … relatively.”

  She worked out, did the weight circuit at the local gym when she could get there. She didn’t carry a lot of muscle, but what she had was toned.

  “Good,” he said. “I am not.”

  The door opened onto a narrow stone stairway. He held the lamp high with one hand and steadied himself against the wall with the other. No handrail here.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Down. To find your friend.”

  The steps ended in a small, stone-walled room.

  “This used to be their larder,” he said. “Cool all year-round.”

  “But—”

  “See this tilted stone?” he said, moving to the corner. “We must lift it.”

  The square stone ran about two feet on each side and did not lie flush. One edge angled up an inch or so above the floor line. Leander stood the lantern next to it as he knelt.

  “Help me. I cannot do it myself.”

  “Where is my friend?”

  “If all is well, he waits below in the subcellar.”

  That was enough for Laura. She dropped Rick’s clothes, knelt beside Leander, and hooked her fingers against the edge. Together they pulled upward. The stone began to move, scraping against the sides of its neighbors. The damn thing was heavy and Laura feared she was losing her grip when the stone suddenly began rising on its own.

  “I hope you’re who I’m hoping you are,” said a familiar voice from below.

  Laura’s throat tightened at the sound.

  Oh, come on. I couldn’t have been that worried.

  “Rick! You’re all right!” He helped push the stone the rest of the way aside, then raised his head into the light. “I also hope you brought my clothes.”

  “I did.” She shoved them through the opening. “What’s down there?”

  “I haven’t had time to find out.” He looked at Leander. “You could have told us about this hole in the floor.”

  “You did not give me a chance. And besides, you did not tell me you were hunting for Auburon.”

  “Yeah, well … let me get something dry on and I’ll help you down. We could use that lantern.” Less than a minute later he was back. “That’s better. Who wants to be first?”

  “I’ll help you through,” Laura told Leander.

  He shook his head. “I was down there many times in my younger days. I do not—”

  “Uh-uh,” Rick said. “I’m not leaving you up there with that stone. No offense, and sorry to sound untrusting, but uh-uh.”

  Laura could have said that the stone was too heavy for the old guy to move, but maybe he’d been only feigning feeble.

  The old man sighed. “Very well. There is no trust left in this world, is there.”

  Laura helped him slide through the opening.

  “You’re a light one,” she heard Rick say from below.

  Okay, maybe he was just as feeble as he looked.

  Laura handed the lamp down, then slipped her legs into the hole and began lowering herself. Rick’s hands clamped on her hips, guiding her down, and she liked the feeling.

  Far too long since you’ve been with a man, Laura.

  “He is over here,” Leander said, once they were all settled.

  He lifted the lamp and led the way over the broken, uneven rocky floor. The light didn’t penetrate far into the gloom.

  “From what you told us,” Rick said, “it doesn’t sound like much was left of him.”

  “His flesh had been cooked and his skeleton torn asunder, but all the parts were there. His friends and family gathered them up and buried them.”

  “Then how’d they get here?”

  “Paschal’s work. He found this hollow in the stone of the upwelling and decided to play a trick on the friars. When the foundation of the abbey was complete, they exhumed Auburon’s remains and sneaked them in through the same passage you used. And thus the odd sequence in the poem: martyred before imprisoned.” He lifted the lamp higher. “Here we are.”

  Laura stepped forward and looked at the skeleton. It had been laid out on a raised flat expanse of stone. She hadn’t expected any flesh and found none. Nothing left but bone. Obviously the poor man’s pieces had been laid out in anatomical fashion and that was how they had remained … except for one of his legs.

  “Where’s his right femur?” she said.

  “His thigh bone?” Leander stepped around the head to the far side of the body. “That was moved over here.”

  Laura followed but stopped short, stunned. The femur stood upright in a niche in the rock. It looked just like the staff in …

  “The tattoo!” And then she remembered what had been wrapped around the staff/femur in those tattoos. “Are … are there snakes here?”

  She hated snakes but she would not—not go all girly and leap into Rick’s arms.

  “Snakes?” Leander said. “No. Why would there be? There is no light here. Nothing for them to eat.”

  “Then why is there one on the panacean tattoo?”

  “You told me you used the tattoo to find this place. Have you not asked?”

  “We’d have loved to,” Rick said, “but pretty much everyone we met with except one was no more able to tell us than your friend Auburon here.”

  Laura remembered asking Ix’chel, but she hadn’t had any idea.

  Leander looked puzzled. “What? I do not—oh, I see. That is too bad. The work of the 536 Brotherhood, I presume?”

  “You presume right.”

  Laura still couldn’t fit all the parts of the tattoo into a coherent whole.

  “Okay, I get the bone acting as a staff—that represents their martyr. And the shooting star is obvious now that we know what we know. But the snake?”

  Rick said, “Didn’t Stahlman tell us that snakes go with Asparagus or whatever his name, the god of healing and all that?”

  “Asclepius—yes. But that’s from another culture. It could be Asclepius, but I find it jarring.”

  “Maybe it is a symbol for something else,” Leander said.

  “Well, what else have we got?” Rick sounded disgusted. “We have the tattoos and we have the poem. We’re missing something. We need another piece or we’re stuck. We’re sure as hell not going to find a dose of the panacea here in this dump.”

  “That is what you are after?” Leander said. “The panacea?”

  “Just one dose.”

  “Do you believe in such a thing?”

  Rick’s reply faded out as Laura cudgeled her brain. One more piece … Rick was right … one last piece and the puzzle would be complete. She could feel it … so close …

  “I am such an idiot!” She began tugging at her waist. “The belt … Chaim’s belt!”

  She pulled it off and held it up to the lamplight. “Does this mean anything to you? Anything at all?”

  The old man leaned closer and peered at the string of letters. Finally he shook his head. “Nothing I see here makes sense.”

  Rick took it from her. “Could it be a scytale?”

  “Italy?” Laura said.

  “No. Scytale.” He spelled it for her. “Part of the you-know-what training was codes, and a scytale is just about the oldest cipher there is. Before you say anything: Yes, we did classroom stuff too. The ancient Greeks used it. You wrap a piece of cloth around a cylinder and write the lines of the message along the length of the cylinder. When you uncoil the cloth from the cylinder, it looks like gibberish.”

  Laura felt a tingle of excitement. “Which is exactly what we have here.”

  “To decode, you wrap it back around a cylinder—but unless you use the same-size cylinder, it’s still gibberish.” He looked past her. “And I think I know just the cylinder we’re supposed to use.”

  Laura followed his gaze … to the femur. Of course. It made sense. That was why the snake was coiled around it. As Leander had said, Maybe it is a symbol for something else. And then she remembered the closing line of the poem.

  “‘Hi
s guardian leg shall bear you to new life.’ Look at it standing there, like it’s on guard. That has to be what the last line means.”

  Rick looked at Leander and pointed to the bone. “Do you mind?”

  Leander shrugged. “It is not mine. However, it does belong to local history, so please be careful.”

  “I will.”

  Rick squatted next to the bone, removed it from its niche, and began wrapping Chaim’s belt around it.

  “Look at the way they’re lining up. Got your trusty notebook, Doc? We’ll need to write this down.”

  Laura pulled her pad and pen from her shoulder bag and knelt beside him. Leander stepped closer and held the lamp over them.

  “This L here looks like it starts things off. Copy that line.”

  Laura transcribed the first three letters, then …

  Rick turned the bone and Laura copied the letters that rotated into view. Then the third line—containing a single letter—and then the fourth, fifth, and sixth.

  “Okay,” Rick said. “What’ve we got?”

  “Roman numerals.”

  “Okay,” Rick said. “L-I-X is—”

  “Fifty-nine.” Laura scribbled it in her notepad as she deciphered the Roman numerals. She showed the result to Rick. “This is what it says. I kept the line over the numbers, though I don’t know what it means.”

  “That was an old-old way of indicating a decimal point,” Leander said.

  “Really?” Laura quickly reworked the figures. “I’ll be damned.”

  59.03

  A

  2.44

  O

  Rick laughed. “They’re coordinates. But it needs north, south, east, west to make sense.”

  “If that’s the case, and if I remember my Latin correctly, A would stand for aquilo which means north, and O for occasus—west.”

  “Two-plus degrees west,” Rick said, squinting. “That’s somewhere in England.”

  She wrote again: 59.03 N, 2.44 W.