He needed to check the floor stones again. He must have missed a clue. Eirenaeus wouldn’t have left that mark unless there was a reason. He rubbed a hand over his mouth. He couldn’t remember anymore why he was so certain Eirenaeus had left the Scorpio mark, but he had nothing else to go on.
He crawled over the floor, searching every damp inch of stone. His heart raced when he found a hatch mark by the window, and then two more on nearby stones. The other sides of the room had a similar pattern. The smashed stone would have been the final marking in this circle.
He stood and spun in a circle, his hands joined behind his neck. Did Eirenaeus make these hatch marks? Or did I? There were twelve marks in all—twelve, like the signs of the zodiac. His breath rattled in his lungs, strained in the stale air. Eirenaeus was communicating through the zodiac somehow. I need to remember everything I know about the zodiac.
Seven points. Seven towers. Seven gods. His pulse raced. In the ancient geocentric model of the universe, there’d been seven planets that orbited the earth. Each had ruled a different metal. His own sign, Scorpio, was ruled by Mars. And Mars rules iron. The Iron Tower. Scorpio represents the Iron Tower. And Leo is the sun—gold. Leo is the Gold Tower.
He crossed the cell, dropping to his knees to stare at the zodiac wheel. At least two of the towers were named for metals. His chest fluttered as the pattern spoke to him. He ran his fingers over the chiseled lines.
Each of the seven towers was represented by one of the points and its corresponding star sign. The engraving told him the relationship of the towers to each other. If he was in the Iron Tower, then the Gold Tower—the Leo sign—was just to his left. The zodiac wheel is a coded map of the Fortress. He nearly whooped with joy. The lines weren’t latitudes and longitudes. They represented hidden connections between the towers.
He hugged himself, shivering. Seven and twelve. It’s the sevens, the sevens and twelves. Seventy-twelve. Selvin. “Focus, Thomas!” The mental static was rising again.
His throat had never been this sore before. It was like he’d swallowed a bag of nails. Rubbing his swollen glands, he tried to remember all the connections between the star signs, planets, and metals. Virgo goes with Mercury and quicksilver, and Pisces goes with Jupiter and—maybe tin. He couldn’t quite get them all, but it didn’t matter. He only needed a few.
He ran to the window, stumbling over a pewter cup of water. Despite its proximity, there wasn’t a direct path from the Iron Tower to the gold. At least not according to his map. He needed to get to the Pisces—the Tin Tower across the way, and then make a sharp left to double back.
His chest swelled, filling his lungs with musty air. He knew how to navigate the tunnels to the Gold Tower. But he had no idea how to get into the tunnels. His plan to smash through the Scorpio rock was an abject failure.
He balled his fists. Why is Eirenaeus making this difficult? Wanker.
“Eirenaeus!” he shouted, banging his hands against the iron window bars, so hard his palms throbbed. “Eirenaeus! You can just tell me in words! You don’t need to use signs and hatch marks and lines in the sodding wall, you seventeenth-century twat!” He pivoted, pacing the floor. He threw back his head and laughed. It felt good to hurl insults, even if no one was listening. “Eirenaeus!” His voice was hoarse. “You cryptic tosser! You gold-making leprechaun bell-end!” He doubled over with laughter. There was something inherently funny about leprechauns.
He straightened, his mirth fading. The sun was setting, and he was still here, locked in this cell. And in a few days, he’d be drowned in a vat of charmed liquid. Gold. Gold. Gold. This word alone demanded his attention now. He rubbed a hand over his hair. Eirenaeus had found a way to make gold from lead, the crowning achievement of any philosopher. “The Great Work,” he muttered. “Changing lead into gold.”
A smile crept over his face. Eirenaeus didn’t make his escape through the stone marked with the Scorpio sign. It would have been Leo—the gold sign. His pulse racing, Thomas stepped along the edges of the room, starting with the shattered Scorpio stone. He walked clockwise, counting the hatch marks until he found the one that corresponded with Leo. The gold stone.
Heart hammering, he picked up the iron bar, and once again bashed into the stone. This time, the stone gave way.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Fiona
Dr. Mellior finished a final slurping spoonful of his cucumber soup—a light lunch, as usual. He folded his long fingers in front of his chest and stared over the rims of his glasses. Fiona’s stomach rumbled. She could murder someone for a slice of pizza right now.
By the doctor’s side, Mrs. Ranulf scanned the students with a tight-lipped smile.