Chapter 83: The Palace of the Popes

 

Avignon, France. The Palais des Papes (Palace of the Popes). 11:00 AM.

The mistral wind blew through the ancient stone arches, carrying the scent of lavender and dry earth. Tourists swarmed the massive Gothic fortress, taking selfies and listening to audio guides in a dozen languages.

Among them walked a strange family, blending into the crowd. An old woman in a wheelchair (Catherine), humming quietly under a sun hat. A young couple pushing her (Sebastian and Harper). Sebastian wore a long trench coat to hide his bandages; Harper wore a simple sundress but scanned the perimeter like a hawk. A rough-looking man in a flannel shirt who looked like he wanted to punch a mime (Jack). And a nervous man reading a guidebook upside down (Dr. Braun).

"This place is a fortress," Sebastian whispered, scanning the high walls. "Fourteenth-century security. Thick walls. Narrow arrow slits. Designed to keep armies out."

"And to keep secrets in," Harper looked up at the towering spires. She felt a strange vibration in her chest. Like a tuning fork being struck. She had never been here before. But she knew this place. The smell of the limestone. The angle of the shadows. It was in her blood.

---

[The Nursery Rhyme]

They reached the Grand Tinel (The Great Banqueting Hall). The room was vast, the ceiling looking like the hull of an overturned ship. Catherine stopped humming. Her trembling hand pointed to a massive, faded tapestry on the wall. It depicted a bridge over a river. Under the bridge, angels were dancing.

"Sous le pont," Catherine whispered, her eyes lucid for a moment. "Not the bridge of stone. The bridge of... Souls."

Harper walked closer to the tapestry, ignoring the "Do Not Touch" signs. Her eyes traced the pattern of the angels' wings. "It's not a picture," Harper realized. "It's a schematic." "Look at the feet. They aren't dancing. They are pointing."

She followed the line of sight of the angels. They all pointed to a single flagstone in the corner of the room, hidden behind a velvet rope and a display case. The stone had a faint carving, worn down by centuries of feet: A Key.

"The Wine Cellar," Harper said with certainty. "The ventilation shaft for the cellar is directly below this stone. The entrance must be in the Pope's private reserve."

"The cellar is restricted," Braun read from his guide, sweating. "Access is only for VIP tours and staff. There are cameras everywhere."

"Then we become VIPs," Sebastian adjusted his collar. "Jack, create a distraction. Braun, find a uniform."

---

[The Distraction]

Five minutes later. Jack stood in the middle of the crowded courtyard. He took a deep breath. "HEY!" he bellowed in a terrible, comical French accent. "SOMEONE STOLE MY BAGUETTE! HE IS RUNNING AWAY!"

He started a fake brawl with a confused street performer painted like a statue. Tourists gathered, laughing and filming. Guards ran over. "Monsieur! Arrêtez! Please!"

While the chaos unfolded, Sebastian slipped a keycard from a distracted guard’s belt with the skill of a pickpocket. He signaled Harper. They slipped through the "Staff Only" door, pushing Catherine’s wheelchair into the shadows.

---

[The Wine Cellar]

Down. Down. Down. The air grew cold and damp. The smell of old oak barrels and vinegar filled the winding stone corridor. They reached the Bouteillerie (The Bottle Room). It was dark, lit only by flickering emergency lights. Massive barrels of wine lined the walls, some dating back to the 19th century, covered in cobwebs.

"Okay, Mom," Harper knelt beside Catherine. "Where is the door?"

Catherine looked at the barrels. She started to shake. "The Red Knight... he guards the way. Don't look at him, Arthur. He bites."

"Red Knight?" Sebastian scanned the room. There were no statues. Only barrels and stone.

Harper walked to the far wall. She ran her fingers over the cold masonry. She saw a mural painted on the stone. It was faded, almost invisible, but she could make out a figure in armor. Not red paint. Rust. Iron oxide pigment. A Knight Templar, holding a sword pointing down.

"Here," Harper touched the sword tip on the wall. "It's a pressure plate."

She pressed it. CLICK. GRIND. The wall didn't open. Instead, the floor beneath a massive wine barrel slid away silently. Revealing a spiral staircase going down into pitch blackness.

"The Crypt," Sebastian lit a red road flare. The eerie light illuminated the stairs. "Ladies first," he gestured.

---

[The Interruption]

"Hold it right there." A voice echoed from the shadows of the wine racks.

Sebastian froze. He didn't turn around. Three men stepped out. They wore the uniforms of the Gendarmerie Nationale (French Police). But they held silenced pistols. Police don't use silencers.

"Trespassing is a serious crime," the leader said in perfect English. "Especially in a historic site. Dr. Thorne sends his regards."

"I assume the Professor prefers not to get his hands dirty," Sebastian said calmly.

"He is a scholar," the leader aimed at Sebastian’s head. "We are the janitors." "Step away from the stairs. The girl comes with us. The rest of you... disappear."

Sebastian looked at Harper. She was terrified, clutching the wheelchair. He looked at the stairs. He looked at the wine rack next to him. 1945 Châteauneuf-du-Pape. Heavy, thick glass bottles. Dust-covered.

"I have a counter-offer," Sebastian said.

"And what is that?"

"I'm going to open a bottle."

Sebastian didn't grab a gun (he didn't have one). He grabbed the wine bottle by the neck. He threw it. Not at the leader. At the Fire Alarm Box on the wall behind them. SMASH.

The alarm blared. WHEEP-WHEEP-WHEEP. Halon gas (fire suppressant) sprayed from the ceiling nozzles instantly. Thick white fog filled the room, blinding the gunmen.

"Now!" Sebastian moved.

He dove low, under the gunmen's line of fire. He swept the leader’s legs. THUD. He grabbed the falling man's pistol and pistol-whipped him unconscious.

The second gunman fired blindly into the fog. PFFT. PFFT. Sebastian used the sound to triangulate. He threw a second wine bottle. It hit the gunman in the face. CRUNCH.

The third gunman turned to run. Harper was there. She swung a heavy oak cask lid she had picked up from the floor. WHAM. She hit him square in the chest. He went down wheezing.

"Nice swing," Sebastian nodded, impressed, wiping dust from his coat.

"I played softball in high school," Harper panted, dropping the lid. "Varsity team."

---

[The Descent]

The alarm was still blaring. Real police would be here in minutes. "We have to go down," Sebastian grabbed the wheelchair handles. "Jack! Braun! Get in here!"

Jack and Braun ran in from the hallway, just ahead of the closing blast doors (triggered by the alarm). They all scrambled down the spiral staircase. Sebastian hit the control panel on the inside wall. GRIND. The stone floor above them slid shut, sealing them in.

Silence returned. The alarm was muffled now, a distant hum. They were standing in a narrow stone tunnel, carved directly into the bedrock of the palace. The air was stale. It hadn't been breathed in 700 years.

Catherine looked at the darkness ahead. She smiled, a haunting, childlike smile. "Home," she whispered.

Sebastian raised the flare high. The tunnel stretched out before them, lined with statues of weeping angels. And at the end of the tunnel, a massive door made of bronze and Obsidian. There was no keyhole. There was no handle. Only a small, needle-like depression in the center, stained with something dark and ancient. A DNA lock. Ancient style.

"Harper," Sebastian said softly, stepping back. "It's waiting for you."

(End of Chapter 83)