“There it is,” Victoria said, gesturing to the wall made of slim gray stones stacked atop one another as she and Ylito passed through the same gate that the vampires had used two nights before. Off to the right was the smooth white lintel framing a solid stone door.
“La Porta Alchemica,” said Ylito, stepping toward it.
Victoria’s sodden skirt brushed against him as she too moved toward the door. It was not a particularly large one, now that she saw it in full daylight. Just an average size, low enough that someone as tall as Max might have to duck to cross the threshold.
She watched as Ylito smoothed his dark hand over the white marble as though reading with his fingertips the symbols carved there. Above the door was a large circle carving, within which were two triangles superimposed on each other, one pointing up and the other pointing down, and a cross stamped on top of them.
“Jupiter…tin…diameter sphaerae thau…circli…non orbis prosunt… Venus…copper…” murmured Ylito, moving his hand down the right side of the doorway.
“What does it say?”
“Alchemical symbols—this is for the planet Jupiter,” he said, showing her the top carving that looked like a cross with an arrow pointing to the right, “and represents the metal tin. Below it, the symbol of feminity, or Venus, the circle with the cross below it. There is Mercury and Mars…” he added, gesturing to the other side.
“What does it all mean?”
Again Ylito flashed his white teeth. “I do not know, and apparently neither did Palombara. As the story goes, he found the papers of an alchemist who came to Rome searching for a mysterious herb. After the alchemist disappeared, Palombara studied his journals and had some of the content engraved on the door. For example, under the Jupiter symbol it says, ‘the sphere’s diameter, the circle’s tau, and the globe’s cross are of no use to the blind.’ It simply means one might have the tools, but if one doesn’t know how to put them to use, they’re worthless.”
Victoria, looking at the odd symbols, couldn’t agree more.
A large dial was set into the stone of the portal, covering about the center half of the entrance. The round disk, which was flush with its setting, was formed of a different color stone and had the shape of a triangle carved into its face. At each of the three corners was a small rectangular notch, no more than two fingers wide and one thumb-length long. Victoria could see that the dirt and moss had been scraped away from the bottom right-hand notch, as though someone had recently slipped something into the hole.
She pushed her fingers in, examining the stone around the opening of what must be one of the keyholes, though it looked nothing like any keyhole she’d ever seen. Which made her realize that the key was perhaps not a long metal one with notches carved on one side, but something different. More of a small tab that would slide into the small opening. “Ylito, look at this.”
He crouched next to her with a faint pop in one of his knees and thrust his fingers sideways into the notch. They disappeared up to his second knuckles, and his dark eyes lit up with interest. “The key. One of the keys has been found.” He looked up at her, more animation in his face than she’d seen yet today. Obviously this was a fascination to him. “Si, that slot has the key slid in, unable to be retrieved until the door is opened. It has been fitted into place, and there it will stay. Each key fits in its slot and lifts the insides of the lock, and thus allows the disk to turn. That will open the door.”
Victoria nodded, her heart filling her chest. Was the missing key the one that had been given to Augmentin Gardella and then passed down to Aunt Eustacia? How could they know? Had the others been found?
Then she noticed that the moss and dirt had been cleaned off just above the notch, and that there was a faint carving on it.
Ylito was already looking at the etched lettering, his quick, dark hands passing over it as if it would help him to read it. “That is the name of the key. ‘Deus et homo,’ God and man. And see, there: its symbol—a large circle with rays like the sun, with a smaller circle inside it, resting at the bottom. It will be carved on the key itself, so that the user knows where it fits.”
“And the other two?” Victoria crouched so she could look at the bottom left corner of the triangle, using her nails to scrape away the moss, feeling the grit of moist dirt. “They’re named as well?”
“They are all noted here, in this symbol above the door,” Ylito said, drawing her attention to the large circle above the door. “See, it names the keys—‘tri sunt mirabilia: Deus et homo, mater et virgo, trinus et unus,’ that means ‘three are the wonders: God and man, mother and virgin, the one and three.’ The wonders are represented by the three keys that will give access to this secret laboratory.”
Victoria saw the words carved around the circle, and bent back down to the lower left key slot, scraping the dirt away. She uncovered enough to see that it was the “mater et virgo”—mother and virgin—key, and then sat back on her heels, heedless of the wet grass bleeding into her thighs and rump, her heart thumping hard in her chest. “And this?” she asked, relief beginning to creep through her muscles.
“This is the slot for the ‘mater et virgo’ key,” he said easily, tracing the symbols. “A slender crescent moon to the left, representing the virgin, curving away from and touching the full, ripe circle of the mother.” He looked up. “It’s two parts of a common ancient symbol of the three goddesses: virgin, mother, crone.”
“Aunt Eustacia’s armband is marked with that very same symbol of mother and virgin. They haven’t found her key yet.”
Ylito’s face settled into a smooth mask. “But we see here evidence that someone is looking for it now.”
Four
In Which Victoria Develops an Acute Dislike of Sugarplums
“So how do you find your first Roman Carnivale?” asked Zavier, looking down at Victoria as he was jolted into her side by an overzealous celebrant.
Since it was at least the dozenth time he’d bumped into her, or she into him, Victoria hardly noticed the shove; she was concentrating on keeping her papier-mâché mask in place. “It is like nothing I’ve ever experienced,” she replied with abject honesty. “The people seem to have gone insane!” While she could fully understand why it was important for the Venators to be out in the streets during the eight nights of Carnivale, she wasn’t as convinced of the necessity of wearing a mask.
If the jostled eyeholes weren’t obstructing her view, the long beak of her bird-face was bumping into the person in front of her, or being knocked to the side by someone throwing a plaster sugarplum.
Or being hit by one, which had happened more than once, as evidenced by the white marks on her mask and clothing.
Zavier laughed easily, but she noticed his attention didn’t falter from the activity going on around them. With all of the revelry and masquerading on the wide street of Corso spilling into the smaller, darker side streets, the night was rife with the possibility of vampire attacks—or worse, kidnappings by members of the Tutela for their vampire masters. And now the new threat of being taken off and beheaded, for some inexplicable reason. So far neither of them had encountered any undead, but it was barely midnight, and dawn was a long way off on this February night.
Although Carnivale had been going on for almost a week, this was the first night Victoria and Zavier had gone out patrolling for undead together. It was also the first time she’d gone hunting since her mother arrived, and since she and Ylito had visited the Magic Door…other than the time she’d surreptitiously slipped a stake into the chest of a vampire who’d dared to sneak up on Lady Nilly when they were going home after a late Carnivale party.