copies of the same Iraqi military intelligence documents Washington had shown him. But none of this was what he was looking for.
The Starmap lay in a drawer of its own, nestled in a solid block of foam rubber cut to fit its irregular shape. It was black granite, cracked and chipped at the edges, but the symbols on it were still solid and clear. Dr Anata had been right. At the centre of it was the same T shape he had seen on the Imago Mundi from the British Museum. The central reference point was the same: the ancient city of Babylon near modern day Al-Hillah. Everything else was relative to it. He studied the markings, recognizing the dots that outlined the constellation of Draco. They pointed the way to a simple cluster of symbols denoting where the garden stood: a tree, some markings he assumed must relate to distance, and a simple stick figure of a human.
Gabriel lifted the stone, feeling its weight. It was no wonder his grandfather had been unwilling to jump into the moat with it. He could also feel more symbols on the back and turned it over. The reverse of the stone was filled with dense text in what looked to be two distinct languages, neither of which he recognized. It was surrounded by clusters of dots showing other constellations.
He produced his phone from his pocket and took photographs of both sides. He also took pictures of the room, the maps and the documents on the table. Finally he took a picture of the Dragonfields logo, then bundled the whole lot into a file and attached it to an email. Then he stepped outside where the signal was strongest and waited until the message had been sent.
Over by the lagoon a horse dipped its head to drink from a pool that had started the day as a pit full of oil. It was a scene he could have witnessed on any given day since the dawn of time. In the sky the moon was now gone, wiped away by the brightness of the coming day. He breathed deep, filling his lungs with the moist air. It didn’t even smell like an oil drilling platform any more. It smelled natural and fresh, like oranges.
… within the phase of a moon — the prophecy had said. And by God they had done it — but only just. No one knew what had just been averted… or almost no one.
He shielded the phone from the misting rain and dialled a number.
113
Athanasius was in the Prelate’s quarters, rinsing out a fouled dressing, when he felt the phone vibrate in his pocket. He looked over at the figure strapped to the bed. Dragan had been delirious since the Lamentation overtook him. Even so, the Sanctus still had moments of clarity, when all his hate came bubbling forth. He would have to be careful.
He set aside the cloth and moved quickly across the room towards a window that overlooked the walled gardens. The gardens remained out of bounds so there was no one there to see him. The inhabitants of the Citadel were either attending to the numerous sick wards that had been set up throughout the mountain, or lying strapped to a bed, trying to break free so they could scratch themselves to death. Even so, Athanasius scanned the orchard for any sign of movement before taking the phone from his pocket and finally answering it.
‘Hello?’
‘She’s home,’ Gabriel said.
Athanasius closed his eyes in relief. It was over. ‘Thank God,’ he said. ‘I feared when I failed to find the map all might be lost. Tell me. What does Eden look like?’
‘Nothing like you would imagine.’
‘But you’re sure it’s the right place?’
‘I’m positive.’
A wail echoed through the room as Dragan strained against his bindings.
‘What was that?’ Gabriel asked.
‘A poor soul struck down by the blight.’
There was a pause on the end of the line. ‘What blight?’
‘It’s some kind of… infection. The first case was reported about forty-eight hours ago. There have been new ones almost every hour since. So far, no one has survived it. We have attempted to contain it through quarantine. We now know that an infected subject only becomes infectious themselves after the first symptoms have manifested. By this method we have managed to isolate those who have become infected and slowed the spread of it. But now the Sacrament has been returned. So, according to the words of the prophecy, the blight shalt no longer prosper. It will stay here, locked in the Citadel.’
‘What are the symptoms?’
‘Every victim reported a strong smell of oranges followed by a sudden and violent nosebleed.’
Silence stretched out on the other end of the line.
‘Hello?’ There was no answer.
Athanasius looked at the phone. The screen was blank. The battery had died. He slipped it into the pocket of his cassock as another moan drew him back to the bed.
Dragan was dreaming, his eyes moving beneath the blackened lids. He seemed to be whimpering, saying something in his sleep. Athanasius leaned down to try to catch what it was. He recognized snatches from the Lord’s Prayer, repeated endlessly in a pitiful chant.
… forgive us our trespasses… as we forgive those…
… forgive us our trespasses… as we forgive those…
Athanasius took a damp cloth from a bowl by the bed and laid it across Dragan’s hot forehead. ‘I forgive you,’ he said.
The red eyes sprang open and focused at the sound of his voice. ‘You,’ Dragan said, ‘always you. The Sacrament will return — then we will see.’
Athanasius shook his head. ‘The Sacrament has returned to its rightful home,’ he said. ‘It will never again return to the Citadel.’
Dragan stared up at him, then his face crumpled. ‘In that case it’s over,’ he groaned. ‘You have done for us all. The end of days is upon us.’
114
Gabriel stared out through the drifting rain, running through the details of his phone conversation.
First case reported forty-eight hours ago.
He had been inside the Citadel much more recently than that, after the blight had already taken hold.
He remembered the chilling cry that had risen up from the depths of the mountain and how Athanasius had hurried away to tend to it.
He wondered now if his bone-deep tiredness and aching body might be the result of something more sinister than fatigue, and all that he touched might be tainted too.
He looked back at the main building and pictured Liv inside, lying on the examination table: fragile and vulnerable.
Was he infected? Had he infected her?
Every part of him wanted to go back in there and sit by her bed, hold her hand until she woke, but he knew he could not. He had to put her safety first — he had to put everyone else’s safety before his own.
We have attempted to contain it through quarantine, Athanasius had said, an infected subject only becomes infectious after the first symptoms have manifested… a strong smell of oranges followed by a sudden and violent nosebleed.
He wiped the back of his hand across his nose. There was no blood, but the smell of oranges was almost overwhelming. But he had only just started smelling them. The symptom was fresh, so there was still a chance of containment.
Without pause for thought, Gabriel walked directly to the transport shed, giving everyone he saw a wide clearance. He grabbed a couple of canteens of water and a ration pack from the cab of a truck, and headed back out
