‘It is our honour to provide for our guests,’ the abbot replied. ‘Now, if you are ready, I shall show you our monastery.’
‘I’m definitely ready.’ She stood, the men following suit.
Amaanat led them back through the rocky passages to the debate house, going through the door opposite the courtyard entrance. Beyond was a long hallway lit by hundreds of candles. The floor was old polished wood, a red carpet running down its centre between two ranks of prayer wheels: metal cylinders inscribed with Ranjana calligraphy. Tapestries depicting scenes and figures from Buddhist mythology hung from the walls behind them. ‘Are you a spiritual person, Dr Wilde?’ asked the abbot.
‘Not particularly,’ said Nina, slightly uncomfortable with the question. ‘I’m concerned with finding tangible truths. The intangible, the spiritual… it’s something I can’t really connect to. I guess I’m a rationalist.’
‘And there is nothing wrong with that,’ Amaanat said. ‘Without rationality, what are we but primal animals? But a mind that is not open to the possibility of there being more to the world than what we can see and touch seems… imprisoned, in a cell of its own making.’ He carefully rotated one of the wheels, whispering under his breath, then another as he walked along. ‘Perhaps you should try.’
She turned the same wheel as the abbot. It made a faint singing sound as the metal points of the hubs rubbed against their mounts, but the experience left her unchanged, and unmoved. ‘Sorry, but it didn’t do anything for me.’
Amaanat was not offended; rather, amused. ‘Then you should start with something smaller.’ He indicated a rack containing miniature prayer wheels on handles, each about the size of a tennis racquet.
‘Or you could try that one,’ Eddie suggested. At the passage’s far end was a prayer wheel far larger than any of its companions, almost as tall as the Yorkshireman. ‘Spinning that thing should put you in tune with the universe.’
‘Either that or exhaust me,’ she replied. They continued along the hallway, both monks turning more wheels as they went. Even Jayesh joined in, shooting Eddie a look as if daring him to comment. His friend merely grinned.
They passed a window. Eddie glanced through it, seeing that their yaks had been tethered to a ramshackle hitching post outside the monastery’s wall. ‘Will they be okay there?’
‘If the weather turns, we will bring them inside,’ said the abbot. ‘Do not worry, they will be fed.’
The exit at the hall’s far end led into a large building, a staircase ascending to a higher floor, but Amaanat instead indicated another flight going down. The level below was colder and darker. A stone passage used for storage ran back beneath the prayer wheel hall, countless boxes and sacks lining the walls. However, the abbot turned in the opposite direction, bringing them to a pair of doors. The one to the side was ajar. Nina glanced through, seeing metal cylinders in the shadows: gas canisters.
Amaanat stopped at the other, heavier door ahead and rapped on it. A muffled voice came from inside. The old monk replied, and a hefty bolt was drawn back. ‘In here, Dr Wilde,’ he said, ‘you will find your answers.’ He opened the door.
A wave of heat hit Nina as she stepped through. The large stone-walled chamber contained a roaring furnace, seething blue flames being fed by propane tanks. Molten metal glowed in a ceramic crucible sitting above the fire. The sweating monk who had let them in bowed, then quickly returned to it. He used a set of iron tongs to lift the crucible and carefully pour its contents into a mould. Sparks spat as the glutinous liquid filled the rectangular space.
Eddie and Nina exchanged surprised looks. Neither needed to be a metallurgist to realise what he was making.
A gold bar.
Shelves on the rear wall bore more bricks of the precious metal. ‘What’s all this?’ Eddie asked. ‘I’m guessing you haven’t taken a vow of poverty.’
‘We pay for the upkeep of the monastery by crafting jewellery and sculptures,’ Amaanat explained, crossing the room. He drew a key on a chain around his neck from his robes and unlocked another, smaller door. ‘Until they are taken by yak train to be sold, they are kept in here. Along with… other valuable items. Please, enter.’
Nina went in. The room was dark, until the monk switched on a light and she saw what he meant. ‘Oh, wow.’
More shelves lined the walls. The smaller items upon them were carefully wrapped in soft cloth, but the larger ones were on proud display.
Serene faces gazed back at her, figures of the Buddha ranging from six inches to almost three feet tall. All were made from exquisitely worked metal, some inset with precious stones. Even under the glare of the single overhead bulb, they gleamed warmly as if illuminated from within. ‘These are beautiful,’ she said.
‘Thank you,’ Amaanat replied. ‘All are made by hand. I do not wish to boast, but our monks are very skilled.’
‘You’re not kidding.’ She examined one more closely. ‘Are they all made of gold?’
‘They are. Our work is highly regarded. It is how we are able to keep the monastery alive.’ He smiled. ‘We do not receive many visitors in such a remote place, so donations are rare. But you have not come here to see what we make.’ The humour disappeared from his face, replaced by earnest respect. ‘You have come to see this.’
The abbot went to a squat metal chest in the furthest corner of the room. He used a second key to open a padlock, then Rudra helped him raise the heavy lid.
Inside was something tightly shrouded in red velvet, a shape resembling a book. Amaanat stood back as Rudra lifted it out and placed it on a table. Nina moved closer, watching as he gently peeled open the cloth.
She knew the item’s origin immediately. The distinctive colour of the metal, tinged a deeper red than the golden Buddhas, was proof enough. ‘It’s from Atlantis,’ she gasped. ‘That’s orichalcum.’
Amaanat fully removed the velvet. ‘This is our oldest relic — older even than the Buddha himself. It was left many thousands of years ago by an explorer and general.’
‘Talonor,’ said Nina.
‘Yes.’
‘May I take a closer look?’
‘Please do.’
Nina took out her phone, drawing a suspicious look from Rudra, and switched on its flashlight to get a clearer view. Like the Secret Codex, the book’s pages were sheets of metal, Atlantean text inscribed upon them.
‘Can you read it?’ asked Eddie.
‘Some of it,’ she said. ‘It’s… a marker, I suppose, Talonor’s equivalent of leaving a plaque on the moon. It says that he and— Midas!’ she gasped on picking out a name. ‘This says Midas! He really did travel with Talonor.’ She read on. Some parts of the text were beyond even her ability to translate, while others were mere statistics: the number of men on the expedition, distances travelled, supplies consumed and other minutiae. That was not what interested her, though, and she reached to turn the page before hesitating. ‘Can I touch it?’
‘It is metal. You will not hurt it,’ Amaanat replied.
All the same, she did so gingerly, trying to leave as few marks from her fingertips as possible. The next page turned out to be more of the same, a dry account of how Talonor’s expedition had reached this place. But even here she picked out nuggets of interest. The Atlantean had definitely been searching for something specific; there were references to his dealing with local tribes, questioning them for knowledge of… ‘A furnace?’ she muttered.
Eddie glanced back into the hot room. ‘What about it?’
‘No, not here. Talonor was looking for what he calls a furnace, but it was obviously something very special.’ She became aware that neither of the two monks had responded to her words; while Amaanat’s expression was studiously neutral, there was a hint of what she thought might be worry behind Rudra’s attempt to match it. ‘You know what it is, don’t you?’ she asked the abbot. ‘You know why Talonor came here — and what he found.’