how her brother was feeling right at that moment. She knew that Josh was
terrified.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
B ones, Josh said numbly, looking up and down the tunnel.
The wall directly before him was created from hundreds of stained-yellow and
bleached-white skulls. Dee strode down the corridor and his sphere of light
sent shadows dancing and twitching, making it appear as if the empty eye
sockets were moving, following him.
Josh had grown up with bones; he knew they were nothing to be frightened of.
His father s study was full of skeletons. As children, both he and Sophie had
played in museum storerooms full of skeletal remains, but they had all been
animal and dinosaur bones. Josh had even helped piece together the tailbone
of a raptor that had gone on display in the American Museum of Natural
History. But these bones these were these were
Are these all human bones? he whispered.
Yes, Machiavelli said softly, his voice now touched with a trace of his
Italian accent. There are the remains of at least six million bodies down
here. Maybe more. The catacombs were originally huge limestone quarries. He
jerked his thumb upward. The same limestone used to build the city. Paris is
built over a warren of tunnels.
How did they get down here? Josh s voice trembled. He coughed, wrapped his
arms tightly around his body and tried to look nonchalant, as if he weren t
completely terrified. They look ancient; how long have they been here?
A couple of hundred years only, Machiavelli said, surprising him. By the
end of the eighteenth century, the graveyards of Paris were overflowing. I
was in the city then, he added, mouth twisting in disgust. I d never seen
anything like it. There were so many dead in the city that the graveyards
were often just huge mounds of piled earth with bones visible in them. Paris
might have been one of the most beautiful cities in the world, but it was
also the foulest. Worse than London and that s saying something! He laughed,
and the sound echoed and reechoed off the bone walls and was distorted into
something hideous. The stink was indescribable, and there truly were rats as
big as dogs. Disease was rife and outbreaks of plague were common. Finally,
it was recognized that the overflowing graveyards must have something to do
with the contagion. So it was decided to empty the graveyards and move the
remains down into the empty quarries.
Trying not to think about the fact that he was surrounded by the bones of
people who had most likely died from some terrible disease, Josh focused on
the walls. Who made the patterns? he asked, pointing to a particularly
ornate sunburst design that had been created using human bones of various
length to represent the sunbeams.
Machiavelli shrugged. Who knows? Someone who wished to honor the dead,
perhaps; someone trying to make sense out of what must have been incredible
chaos. Humans are always looking to make order out of chaos, he added
softly.
Josh looked at him. You call them us, humans. He turned to look for Dee,
but the Magician had almost reached the end of the corridor and was out of
earshot. Dee calls us humani.
don't confuse me with Dee, Machiavelli said with an icy smile.
Josh was confused. Who was the more powerful here Dee or Machiavelli? He d
thought it was the Magician, but he was beginning to suspect that the Italian
was much more in control. Scathach told us you were more dangerous and more
cunning than Dee, he said, thinking aloud.
Machiavelli s smile turned to a delighted grin. That s the nicest thing
she's ever said about me.
Is it true? Are you more dangerous than Dee?
Machiavelli took a moment to consider. Then he smiled and the faintest hint
of serpent filled the tunnel. Absolutely.
Hurry; this way, Dr. Dee called back, voice flattened by the narrow walls
and low ceiling. He turned and headed off down the bone-lined tunnel, taking
the light with him. Josh was tempted to run after him, unwilling to be alone
in the utter darkness, but then Machiavelli snapped his fingers and an
elegant candle-thin flame of gray-white light appeared in the palm of his
hand.
Not all the tunnels are like this, Machiavelli continued, indicating the
neatly set bones in the walls, the regular shapes and patterns. Some of the
small tunnels are simply piled high with assorted bits and pieces.
They rounded a curve in the tunnel and found Dee waiting for them, tapping
his foot impatiently. He turned and marched away without saying a word.
Josh concentrated on Dee s back and the globe of light bobbing over his
shoulder as they wound deeper and deeper into the catacombs; doing that
helped him to ignore the walls that seemed to be closing in with every step.
He noticed as he walked along that some of the bones lining the tunnel had
dates scratched on them, centuries-old graffiti, and he was conscious too
that the only footsteps in the thick layer of dust on the floor were the
imprints of Dee s small feet. These tunnels had not been used in a very long
time.
Do people ever come down here? he asked Machiavelli, making conversation
just for the sake of hearing a sound in the oppressive silence.
Yes. Portions of the catacombs are open to the public, Machiavelli said,
holding his hand high, the thin flame picking out the ornate patterns of
bones set in the walls, dancing shadows bringing them to flickering life.
But there are many kilometers of catacombs beneath the city, and vast tracts
of it have not been mapped. Exploring those tunnels is dangerous and illegal,
of course, but people still do it. Those people are called cataphiles.
There s even a special police unit, the cataflics, that patrols these
tunnels. Machiavelli waved an arm at the surrounding walls, the flame
dancing wildly but not extinguishing. But we ll run into neither group down
here. This area is completely unknown. We are deep below the city now, in one
of the very first quarries excavated many centuries ago.
Deep below the city, Josh repeated slowly. He hunched his shoulders,
imagining he could actually feel the weight of Paris over his head, the many
tons of earth, concrete and steel pressing down on him. Claustrophobia
threatened to overwhelm him, and he felt as if the walls were throbbing,
pulsing. His throat was dry, his lips cracked, and his tongue felt too big in
his mouth. I think, he whispered to Machiavelli, I think I d like to head
back up to the surface now, if that s OK.
The Italian blinked in genuine surprise. No, Josh, no, it s not OK.
Machiavelli reached out and squeezed Josh s shoulder and the boy felt a rush
of warmth flow through his body. His aura crackled, and the close air in the
tunnel was touched with the scent of orange and the rank odor of snake. It s
too late for that, Machiavelli said gently. He lowered his voice to a
whisper. We ve gone too deep there s no turning back. You will leave these
catacombs Awakened or
Or what? Josh asked, when he realized, with a growing sense of horror, how
the Italian was going to finish the sentence.
Or you will not leave them at all, Machiavelli said simply.
They rounded a curve and started down a long arrow-straight tunnel. The walls