Officially, they are called
but they are commonly called the catacombs, and they are one of the wonders
of the city. The sights the twins encounter in the catacombs the walls of
bones, the spectacular arrangements of skulls are open to the public. They
date to the eighteenth century, when all the bodies and bones in the
overflowing Cimeti re des Innocents were exhumed and transported to the
limestone tunnels and caverns. More bodies from other cemeteries followed,
and it is now estimated that there are as many as seven million bodies in
this bizarre graveyard. No one knows who created the extraordinary and
artistic arrangements of bones; perhaps a workman wanted to fashion a
monument to the dead who would no longer have tombstones to mark their
graves. The walls, made entirely of human bones, many inset with a pattern of
skulls, are suitably eerie and, in some cases, have been lit for dramatic
effect.
The Romans were probably the first to quarry limestone from the ground to
build what would become Lutetia, the earliest Roman settlement on the Ile de
la Cit . Where Notre Dame Cathedral now stands, there was once a monument to
the Roman god Jupiter. From about the tenth century onward, limestone was
extensively mined from the quarries to create the city walls and to build
Notre Dame and the original Louvre palace. The catacombs have long been used
for storage by smugglers and have provided shelter for many homeless. More
recently, both the German army and the French Resistance had bases in the
tunnels during World War II. In this century, illegal art galleries and even
a movie theater have been found deep underground by the cataflics, the police
unit who patrol underground.
Officially, the catacombs are called the Ossuary of Denfert Rochereau, and
the entrance is directly across from the Denfert Rochereau Metro station.
Only a small section is open to the public; the tunnels are treacherous,
narrow, and prone to flooding and are riddled with potholes and wells.
And are the ideal hiding place for a Sleeping God.
A special preview of
THE
SORCERESS
Book Three of
Excerpt copyright 2008 by Michael Scott
Published by Delacorte Press
I am tired now, so tired.
And I am aging fast. There is a stiffness in my joints, my sight is no longer
sharp and I find I have to strain to hear. Over the past five days I have
been forced to use my powers, and that has speeded the aging process. I
estimate that I have aged by at least a decade perhaps more since last
Thursday. If I am to live, I have to retrieve the Book of Abraham, and I
cannot I
But Dee has the Codex, and I know that I will be forced yet again to use my
waning aura.
We are about to enter London. I fear this city above all others, for it is at
the very heart of Dee s power. London has attracted Elders from across the
globe: there are more of them in this city than in any other on earth. Elders
and Next Generation move freely and unnoticed through the streets, and I know
of at least a dozen Shadowrealms scattered across the British Isles. The last
time Perenelle and I were in this city, in September 1666, the Magician
almost burned it to the ground trying to capture us. We ve never been back.
However, a great number of ley lines meet and converge over these Celtic
lands, and I pray that with the twins Awakened powers, we can use those
lines to return to San Francisco and my Perenelle.
And here too is Gilgamesh the King, the oldest immortal human in the world.
His knowledge is incalculable and encyclopedic. It is said that he was once
the guardian of the Codex, that he even knew the mythical Abraham who created
the Book. Gilgamesh also knows all the elemental magics, though strangely, he
never possessed the power to use them. The King has no aura. I ve often
wondered what that must be like: to be aware of so many incredible things, to
have access to the wisdom of the ancients and yet be unable to use it.
I have told Sophie and Josh that I need Gilgamesh to train them in the Magic
of Water and find us a ley line that will take us home. What they do not know
is that it is a desperate gamble: if the King refuses, then we will be
trapped in the very heart of Dee s domain, with no possibility of escape.
Nor have I told them that Gilgamesh is quite, quite insane.
MONDAY,
CHAPTER ONE
I think I see them.
The young man in the green parka standing directly beneath the huge circular
clock in St. Pancras station took the phone away from his ear and checked a
blurred image on the screen. The English Magician had sent the image: the
picture was grainy, the colors washed and faded, and it looked liked it had
been taken from an overhead security camera. It showed an older man with
short gray hair, accompanied by two blond-haired teens, climbing onto a
train.
Rising up on his toes, the young man swiveled his head, looking for the trio
he d glimpsed. For a moment, he thought he d lost them in the milling crowd,
but even if he had, they wouldn't get far: one of his sisters was downstairs;
another was in the street outside, watching the entrance.
Now, where had the old man and the teenagers gone?
Narrow, pinched nostrils opened wide as the young man sorted through the
countless scents in the station. He identified and dismissed the mixed stink
of too many humani, the myriad perfumes and deodorants, the gels and pastes,
the greasy odor of fried food from the station s restaurants, the richer
aroma of coffee and the metallic oily tang of the train engines and
carriages. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. The odors he was
seeking were older, wilder, unnatural .
