Angelology(198)

“The sequence,” Vladimir said, “was twenty-eight, thirty, thirty-eight, and thirty-nine.”

Saitou-san turned each of the four dials to correspond with the numbers and pulled at the safe. It

didn’t open.

“This is the only sequence of numbers we have,” Saitou-san said. “They must work in some

combination.”

“Four numbers and four dials,” Vladimir said. “That makes twenty-four different possible

combinations. There is no way we can try all of them. There isn’t time.”

“Unless,” Saitou-san said, “there was a designated order to the numbers. Do you remember the

chronology in which they were given? Verlaine told us the sequence in which numbers appeared on

the cards.”

Vladimir thought for a moment. “Twenty-eight, thirty-eight, thirty, and finally thirty-nine.”

Saitou-san moved each dial, aligning the numbers carefully. Wrapping her finger around a metal

lever, she pulled the handle of the safe. It lifted without resistance, exhaling a soft gush of air.

Reaching into the cavity, she withdrew a heavy bundle of green velvet and unwrapped it. The sound

chest of the lyre threw waves of golden illumination over the stone labyrinth.

“It is lovely,” Saitou-san said, turning it to examine it from all angles. The base was round. Two

identical arms bowed out and then curled, like the horns of a bull. The golden surfaces were smooth

and polished to a gleam. “But there are no strings.”

“Nor is there a yoke,” Vladimir said. He knelt by Saitou-san’s side and looked at the instrument

cradled in her hands. “It is just one piece of the lyre. A most important piece, but alone it is useless.

This must be why we were sent to four locations. The pieces have been scattered.”

“We need to tell the others,” Saitou-san said, carefully returning the lyre’s body to the velvet bag.

“They need to know what they are looking for.”

Vladimir turned and faced Mr. Gray, who stood trembling between them. “You didn’t know the

combination. You’ve been waiting for us to come and give it to you. If you had known, you would

have taken it yourself.”

“There is no need to worry about what I know or do not know,” Mr. Gray said, his face growing

red from perspiration. “The treasure belongs to neither of us.”

“What do you mean?” Saitou-san asked, incredulous.

“His meaning,” said a voice at the far end of the apse, a familiar voice that sent chills of terror

through Vladimir, “is that the game has been over for many years. It is a game that the angelologists

have lost”

In his fright Mr. Gray’s monocle fell from his eye, and without a moment of hesitation, he scurried

from the apse and into a side aisle of the nave, the fabric of his gray suit appearing and disappearing

as he traversed puddles of light and shadow. Watching Mr. Gray flee, Vladimir made out bands of

Gibborish creatures along the aisles of the church, their white hair and red wings visible in the dull

light. The creatures turned to watch as Mr. Gray passed, avid as sunflowers to the movement of the

sun. Before he could escape, however, a Gibborim seized Mr. Gray. As Vladimir watched, all doubt

cleared about the nature of the meeting: The angelologists had fallen into a trap. Percival Grigori had

been waiting for them.

The last time Vladimir had met Grigori was many decades before, when Vladimir was a young

protégé of Raphael Valko. He had seen firsthand the atrocities the Grigori family had perpetrated

during the war. He had also witnessed the great pain they’d inflicted upon angelologists-Seraphina

Valko had lost her life because of Percival Grigori’s machinations, and Gabriella had come close to

dying as well. Back then Percival Grigori had cut a startling, fearsome figure. Now he was a sickly

mutant.

Grigori gestured and the Gibborim brought Mr. Gray forward.

Without warning, Grigori cracked the ivory head of his cane from the shaft, twisting the steel blade

of a dagger from its mooring. For a second the knife glinted in the weak light. Then, in one swift

movement, Grigori stepped forward and plunged the dagger into Mr. Gray’s body. Gray’s expression

changed from surprise to disbelief and then to wilting, disconsolate anguish. As Percival Grigori

withdrew the knife, Mr. Gray collapsed to the floor, whimpering softly, blood collecting about him.

In a matter of moments, his eyes held the watery gaze of death. As swiftly as he’d unsheathed the

knife, Percival wiped it clean on a white square of silk and inserted it back into the shaft of the cane.

Vladimir saw that Saitou-san had edged away from him with the sound chest in hand, slinking