Climbing heavily to his feet, he straightened his clothes and went to stand by the iron grate that formed the door of their prison.
“Ah, Sir Henry, you are awake,” said Burleigh, his voice loud in the quiet of the tomb. He strode to the bars, holding a water skin and a tin cup. “Good. It saves me the trouble of trying to rouse you.”
“We need water,” replied Sir Henry, his eyes going to the water skin. “And medical attention-Cosimo has fallen ill.”
“I am sorry to hear it,” said Burleigh with mock sincerity. “Still, I feared this would happen. There is something down here, you see. I cannot say what it is-a plague miasma, a curse, who knows? Personally, I suspect that it is some compound or other the ancient Egyptians used to protect their tombs.”
“He requires immediate care,” insisted Sir Henry.
“No doubt. Without treatment his malady is fatal.” He raised the water skin, holding it just beyond reach of the bars. “Are you ready to see reason?”
“Please,” said Sir Henry, “help us.”
“Say the word, and you will have all the help you need,” Burleigh told him.
A low moan escaped Cosimo’s lips. Sir Henry glanced back at the body of his friend. “Very well, what do you want me to do?”
“Tell me where your piece of the map is hidden,” answered Burleigh. “Let’s start with that, shall we?”
“Then you will let us go?”
“Not so fast,” chided Burleigh. “First things first. If your information proves useful, then, yes, I will let you go.” He smiled. “Where is your map?”
“We don’t have it anymore. It was stolen.”
“Oh, dear. Oh, dear,” said Burleigh. “That will not do at all. You’re going to have to do much, much better.” His voice became hard. “Where is the map?”
“But that is the very truth,” maintained Sir Henry. “Cosimo kept the map locked away in the crypt at Christ Church in Oxford. We went there to consult it and discovered that it had been taken and a poor substitute put in its place. Truth be told, we suspected you had done it.”
“That part, at least, I do believe,” allowed Burleigh.
“Please,” said Sir Henry, holding out his hand for the water skin.
“Let’s try again,” suggested Burleigh brightly. “What do you know about the Well of Souls?”
“The Well of Souls,” repeated Lord Fayth, puzzled.
“You have heard of it, surely?”
The sound of their voices had succeeded in waking Cosimo. “Let us go, Burley,” he called, pushing himself up onto an elbow. “Keeping us here will get you nothing.”
“Cosimo!” said Sir Henry, stepping quickly to his friend’s side. “Here, allow me to help you.” He shouldered Cosimo’s weight and led him nearer the grated door.
“What have you told him?” demanded Cosimo.
“You are more than welcome to join the conversation,” invited Burleigh, forcing a smile. “I was enquiring about the Well of Souls. In exchange for information, I am willing to offer medical assistance-and more.” He waggled the water skin in his hand. “I want to learn what you know about the Well of Souls.”
“It’s a myth,” said Cosimo, pressing a hand to his head. “A traveller’s tale, nothing more.”
“And yet,” countered Burleigh smoothly, “myths generally form around a kernel of hard truth, do they not? I intend to get to the truth at the core of this particular myth.”
Cosimo glanced at Sir Henry, worked his cracked lips, and said, “All right, I’ll tell you what I know-but first you have to give us the water.”
“No,” stated Burleigh firmly. “Talk first, then the water.” He passed the tin cup through the grate.
“My throat is parched and I’m burning up with fever.” Cosimo reached through the grate for the water skin. “Give me a drink first.”
“When you’ve told me what you know.”
Cosimo, swaying on his feet, yielded. “The Well of Souls is a legend with various strains,” he began. “Jewish, Arab, Egyptian-they all have a version of it, but none of them agree on the precise nature of this supposed well, or even where it is located.”
“See? That wasn’t so hard,” said Burleigh encouragingly. “Continue.”
Cosimo swallowed. “A drink.”
“You are wasting time. Talk.”
“Some tales have it that the well is an earthly place, an underground region where the souls of the dead congregate to await the coming Judgement. Others hold it to be a heavenly place where the souls of those not yet born await their call to life in this world.” Breathing heavily at this mild exertion, Cosimo leaned over, resting his hands on his knees. “That’s all I know,” he concluded. “As I say, it is a myth, nothing more.”
“Oh, I am disappointed,” said Burleigh. “I had such high hopes for you. I really did.”
“What did you expect?” demanded Cosimo. “There is no such place. It’s just a story nomadic sheepherders told around the campfire.”
“You know very well it is much more than that!” charged Burleigh, suddenly angry. “What did I expect? Seeing that your life is on the line, I expected you to tell me the truth.”
“I told you everything,” snarled Cosimo. The outburst caused a coughing fit that seemed to diminish him. “I don’t know any more than that,” he concluded weakly.
Burleigh stared at him. “Why do I fail to believe you?”
“If you know more, then you have better information than I.” Cosimo, breathing hard, gulped down air like a drowning man. “I can add nothing more.”
“Can you not see the man is desperate?” Sir Henry intervened, pushing close to the iron grating. “He needs immediate help. In God’s name, I implore you to let us out.”
“Is this information so precious to you that you are willing to die for it?” asked Burleigh.
“We have told you what we know. What more do you want from us?”
“I want the location of the Well of Souls,” he said; then he amended, “Actually, I want a good deal more than that, but I will settle for that just now.”
“It isn’t a real place,” insisted Cosimo. “It is only a legend.”
“Only that? Are you certain?”
“I swear it.”
Burleigh regarded the two men for a moment, shaking his head slowly from side to side. “Look at you- adventurers, gentlemen explorers… dilettantes, dabblers! You still don’t know what this is all about, do you?”
Neither captive offered a reply.
“You poor deluded fools,” he said quietly, as if talking to himself. “You have no idea what is at stake.”
“You want the map,” said Sir Henry, his voice rising in desperation. “We would give it to you, but it is gone, stolen-as I have already made clear. If you did not steal it, then I have no idea who the thief might be, or where it now resides.”
“Pity.” Burleigh sniffed. “Then you and your friend are of no further use to me.” He turned on his heel and started away.
“For the love of God, Burleigh,” shouted Cosimo. “Let us go!”
Burleigh stopped in midstep and turned around. “There is no God,” he said, his voice flat and hard. “There is only chaos, chance, and the immutable laws of nature. As men of science, I had thought you would know that. In this world-as in all others-there is only the survival of the fittest. I am a survivor.” He turned again and began walking away. “You, apparently, are not.”
“You are wrong,” Cosimo called after him. “Utterly, fatally, and eternally wrong.”
“If so,” replied Burleigh, moving to the doorway, “then God will save you.”
“Have mercy!” pleaded Sir Henry. “Leave us the water.”
Burleigh shrugged. “It will only delay the inevitable, but-” He retraced his steps to the cell and placed the skin of water on the floor just within reach of the grate. “I leave it for you to decide.”
Stephen R. Lawhead
The Skin Map
CHAPTER 32In Which Turnabout Is Fair Play
