Still, as he pictured the painstaking notations and calculations done by Father Giovanni, he knew there was something he was still missing. The more he tried to pin it down, the more it slipped away.
Wallace shook his head. “Just think what we might have learned if we’d had more time with that cross…”
Gray heard the accusation behind his words. The man’s usual joviality had been worn away by exhaustion, terror, and not a small amount of disappointment. With one mistake, they’d destroyed a priceless illuminated treasure and lost access to whatever the cross had kept hidden.
“What if the key is still down there?” Wallace asked pointedly.
Gray had had enough. “You don’t believe that. And neither do I.” The words came out more harshly than he intended, but he was tired, too.
“How can you be so sure?” Wallace asked.
“Because Father Giovanni left. He continued his search. I think he solved the riddle of the cross, found an empty vault that once held the key, then moved on, taking the one object he needed to continue his search.”
“The relic from the grave,” Rachel said.
Gray stared out into the storm. “The key is still out there. I don’t think the cross offered Father Giovanni that much help. So he moved on, just as we must.”
“But where?” Wallace asked. “Where do we even begin to look? We’re right back where we started.”
“No, we’re not,” Gray said.
“How can you say that?”
He ignored the professor’s question and turned to Rachel. “How did you know so much about Saint Malachy?”
She shifted on the floorboards, clearly caught by surprise. “It was Uncle Vigor. The prophecies intrigued him. He could talk for hours about Saint Malachy.”
Gray had suspected as much. Monsignor Verona had always been passionate about the mysteries of the early Church, seeking truths behind miracles. Such a figure as Malachy would have captured both his attention and his imagination.
“That’s why Father Giovanni sought out your uncle,” Gray said. “He knew the key to solving this mystery lay in the life of that saint. So Giovanni went to the best source he knew.”
“Vigor Verona.” Wallace sat straighter, ignoring the wind and rain.
“Maybe Marco knew about the plot by Viatus, or maybe he just had an inkling. But I suspect that the further he delved into this matter of curses and miracles, the more he knew he was in over his head. That he needed the expertise and protection of the Church behind him.”
Seichan added her own bleak viewpoint from the back of the trailer. “But he sought them out too late. Someone knew of his plan.”
Gray nodded. “If we’re going to discover where the Doomsday key was hidden, we’re going to need an expert on Saint Malachy.”
“But Verona is still in a coma,” Wallace said.
“It doesn’t matter. We have someone who knows just as much.” He turned to Rachel.
“Me?”
“You’re going to have to help us from here.”
“How?”
“Because I know where the key is hidden.”
Wallace looked hard at him. “What?…Where?”
“Malachy’s Bible was left in that sarcophagus for a reason. More than just to sanctify a relic. It was left behind as a symbol, a bread crumb to lead to the key’s new resting place. Prior to the coming of the Romans, the key and the grave of this ancient royal were always kept together. They were bound together. And in the sarcophagus, we discovered Malachy’s Bible binding a relic of this ancient person, binding it to him.”
“So what are you saying?” Wallace pressed him.
“I think Saint Malachy has taken the place of this ancient. That he’s become the proverbial keeper of the key.”
Wallace’s eyes grew wide. “If you’re right, then the key…”
“It’s in Saint Malachy’s tomb.”
Kowalski groaned and picked at a fingernail with a piece of straw. “Of course it is. But I’m telling you flat out, I’m not going in there.”
Before they could discuss it further, the trailer jerked to a stop. Gray was surprised to see that they’d already reached the harbor.
Lyle hopped down and waved them out. “You can hole up in the old harbor house. Get yourselves out of the rain, right enough. I’ll fetch my da.”
As Gray hurried down the path toward the stone house, he stared out to sea. The waters rolled with frothing whitecaps. Closer at hand, the ferry rocked and teetered in its slip, even sheltered within the harbor’s breakwater. It was going to be a hellish ride back over to the mainland.
But for now, the windows of the harbor house glowed and flickered with the promise of a crackling fire. They all piled through the door, shutting out the storm behind them. The room was paneled in raw pine, with heavy exposed beams. The floor creaked underfoot. The place smelled of wood smoke and pipe tobacco. Candles lit a few tables. But it was the fire that drew them all deeper inside. They gladly shed their coats over a few chairs.
Gray stood with his back to the fire, appreciating the heat from his heels to the top of his head. The warmth and the cheery dance of flames went a long way to beat back the hopelessness that had begun to settle over them.
But now they had a course of action.
A place to look next.
The door slammed open as the wind ripped the knob from Owen Bryce’s fingers. He caught it again and forced it closed. Drenched, he stomped and shook off the worst of the rainwater.
“It’s parky weather out, that’s for sure,” the boatman said with a crooked grin at his understatement. “And I’m afraid I have some good news and some bad.”
Such a preamble never boded well.
Gray stepped away from the fire.
“The bad news is that we won’t be able to make the crossing today. The storm has blown the seas into a treacherous state. If’n you didn’t know, the Welsh name for the island is Ynys Enlli, which means ‘island of bad currents.’ And that’s on a sunny day.”
“So what’s the good news?” Kowalski asked.
“I’ve checked and I can get you rooms here for the night at half off. Good for the entire week.”
Gray felt his stomach sink. “How soon do you expect we can make it off the island?”
He shrugged. “Hard to say. Electricity and phones are down all over the island. We have to get the all-clear from the harbormaster in Aberdaron before we can even think of throwing off our ties here.”