CHAPTER
35
THE SARCOPHAGUS IN THE MAUSOLEUM slid away. Oswyn stared into the darkness below. He motioned to the trussed Lord Ashcombe, slung over the Elephant’s shoulder. “Take him down first.”
“Just drop him,” Wat said.
Oswyn looked annoyed. “If I wanted him dead, would he not already be dead?”
The Elephant climbed down the ladder, Lord Ashcombe dripping blood across the back of the giant’s vest. Wat, sullen, took the torch from the wall bracket and followed them down the hole. I waited at the edge, holding the ripped ends of my shirt together. Underneath, my scarred chest still burned. Oswyn guided me toward the ladder, his hand on my back surprisingly gentle.
“I wish I’d chosen you instead,” he said.
• • •
Oswyn was amazed by the metal door behind the mural. He was even more amazed when I showed him how it opened. He stared at its glass back, peppering me with questions about its mechanism. For a while, it seemed like he’d forgotten what he’d really come here for. Soon enough, he pushed us forward, into the lab.
Wat led the way. The wooden door, shoved inward, thumped against the vinegar barrel I’d stacked to the right, partially blocking the entrance. The Elephant laid the half-conscious Lord Ashcombe down in the only place there was room, against the wall on the left, near the giant oven. I stepped sideways and stood next to him.
Oswyn stared at the equipment, the workbenches, the notes covering them all. He saw the parchment hanging from the nails on the board, the stacks of paper below them.
“All these years . . . ,” he whispered.
I inched closer to the oven.
Oswyn turned toward me. “Where is it?”
I froze. “It’s . . . on the workbench. Among the papers.”
He made as if to go. Then he stopped. He tapped his thumb against his chin.
“Go check,” he said to Wat.
Wat moved to the center of the lab, stubby fingers pushing aside glass beakers.
Oswyn kept his eyes on me. “Is it there?”
Wat shrugged. “There are a lot of notes here. I can barely make them out.” He scanned the papers, flipped them over, tossed them aside. “I don’t see it.”
I took another step back. My shoulder touched the oven.
Oswyn’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing? Don’t move.”
His voice brought the Elephant’s attention my way. Quickly, I bent into the mouth of the oven and grabbed the cylinder I’d hidden inside.
I wasn’t quick enough. Before I could do anything else, the Elephant drove his fist into my gut. Pain spread from my stomach, a new fire hotter than the burn on my chest. Every muscle in my body seized. I heaved, but I couldn’t breathe.
Wat rushed over and grabbed my wrist. He slammed it against the iron, once, twice. My fingers went numb. The cylinder slipped out and fell to the floor. It rolled away, wick bobbing around like a whip, a streak of grease trailing behind it on the stone.
Oswyn scooped it up and held it like a baby. Wat grabbed me by the hair and drew back his fist.
“No,” Oswyn said. “I’m not finished with him yet.”
Wat flung me to the ground, next to Lord Ashcombe. My lungs finally started to work again. I sucked in air, gasping. Wat kicked me in the side for good measure. I curled away from him, cradling my battered wrist.
The Elephant searched the oven for more traps. “Nothing else here.”
Oswyn stared at the cylinder, breath quickening. He pulled open the parchment that held the cylinder together and stuck his finger inside. It came out wet. He rubbed the oily substance over his fingers. He sniffed it, then the wick.
“Cannon fuse.” Oswyn waved his apprentices forward. “Clear that corner. Bring me the lantern.”
The Elephant moved to obey him.
“Don’t,” I said.
They looked at me.
“Don’t light it,” I pleaded. “We’ll die.”
“It’s just a big firecracker,” Wat scoffed.
“It’s not.”
Oswyn’s eyes narrowed again, but he looked around the lab. He saw the test chamber on the other side, its scarred, blackened walls, the broken door.
“You don’t understand,” I said. “It’s beyond anything you’ve ever imagined. We’re just men, mortal men. The Archangel’s Fire was never meant for us.”
Oswyn looked at me.
“Please, Master Colthurst,” I said. “If you set that off, you’ll destroy us all.”
Oswyn stayed still, thinking. For a moment, I thought he might actually listen.
Then he held the cylinder out to Wat. He motioned to the test chamber. “Light it in there.”
Wat grabbed the stick like it was nothing more than a candle. He took it to the test chamber and placed it on the dented iron table. With the flame from the lantern, he lit the wick.
The fuse crackled and sparked, dancing toward the grease.
Slowly, I slid backward on the stone. I gripped the front of Lord Ashcombe’s tabard. Underneath, I could feel the beating of his heart.
Wat stepped backward out of the test chamber, watching the stick. Oswyn and the Elephant moved closer.
I pulled on Lord Ashcombe’s vest. He looked at me.
“Get up,” I whispered.
The King’s Warden blinked, twice. Then he slid his legs beneath him and struggled to his feet. I helped him as he stood.
The fuse fell below the paper. For a second, there was nothing.
“Told you,” Wat said.
And then the world was flame.
The blast seemed to shatter the earth. The walls shook. A chunk of the test chamber blew outward, stones bouncing from the ceiling. The barrel of lamp oil—the one I’d dragged to the corner of the test chamber before I’d gone up to the garden—blew apart, sending blazing fuel screaming outward like hell’s wraiths released.
A burning torrent of air flung Wat into the workbench, scattering paper like fiery snow. The Elephant toppled backward to the floor. The press of hot air squeezed me against Lord Ashcombe, whose eyes went wide as he held his breath.
Oswyn remained in the center of the room. The iron table, ripped apart, sent a jagged shard of metal shrieking past his face. He barely flinched. He just stood there, like a statue, and stared into the face of God.
The air seemed to rumble forever, flames swirling on the ceiling in twisters. Then they vanished, and all that was left was hissing, like a chorus of snakes.
Wat scrambled backward, beating frantically against the flames that had ignited his sleeve. The Elephant stayed on the ground, mouth open.
Oswyn stepped forward, his eyes alight. “Magnificent,” he croaked. “Magnificent.”
Smoke burned my throat. I tugged on Lord Ashcombe’s tabard again. His eyes flicked toward me.
Oswyn spoke to the others, his voice shaking. “Search the room. Look everywhere. Find the recipe.” Then he turned to me, huddled against the oven with Lord Ashcombe. “Thank you,” he said. He actually seemed to mean it.
His apprentices stayed where they were. Wat panted in the corner, finally having put out the flames on his shirt. The Elephant stared in terror at the broken test room.
“Move,” Oswyn said to them.
Still the air buzzed. I tugged at Lord Ashcombe’s tabard again, then moved my eyes deliberately toward the open mouth of the oven. Lord Ashcombe followed my gaze, then looked back at me. I nodded, slightly. I couldn’t tell if he understood.
The Elephant frowned. “Master?”
“What is it?” Oswyn said, still shaking.
“The ceiling’s on fire.”
The Elephant pointed. Stuck to the stone overhead, a fuse raced, hissing, toward a cylinder, camouflaged gray with ash, glued to the ceiling with dried egg and flour.
Oswyn looked around the room. At four more places on the ceiling, cannon fuse crackled, ignited by the flames from the Archangel’s Fire. At the end of each, waiting, was another stick, glued fast.
Oswyn’s eyes went wide.
I grabbed Lord Ashcombe and pulled. With the last of his strength, he dived into the mouth of the oven. I clambered in beside him, pressed my head against his, and covered our ears.
The burning fuses reached the sticks.
“Dear God,” Oswyn said.
This time, God spoke back.