“Go talk to him,” Simon said to Malcolm. “Buy us another few minutes of solitude.”
The Scotsman went toward the door, jingling coins his pocket.
Kate turned away from the body. “Let’s have a look around while we have time.”
Kate and Simon, with candles in hand, began to comb the premises for anything odd. The church was in good order; certainly no sign of a struggle of any sort. No overturned chairs or broken objects. There was nothing unusual in the church at all except the mutilated body.
“Simon!” Kate’s voice called out finally.
Simon spotted her in the northern end of the building, crouched on the floor by the altar. He walked across the church with his steps ringing in the silence. Her fingers were tracing something on the stone flooring. He looked past her long, curling, auburn hair to what she studied.
A word carved into the stone.
“What is this?” Kate asked.
“I don’t know. I’m not familiar with that word either.”
“Luvah,” Kate whispered, only to feel Simon squeeze her shoulder hard.
“Don’t,” he warned gently. “It’s always best not to say strange words aloud. Speaking names gives them power.”
“Right,” Kate said. “Sorry, but this is probably the name of one of the mason’s dogs.”
“Perhaps. Still. Let’s have a look at the other apses.”
Kate went toward the west side and Simon returned to the murdered woman. He made his way around her and knelt. He felt a slight jolt of excitement to see a word carved in the stone floor. Tharmas.
Kate shouted from across the church, “There is one here!”
They met in the center and she wrote Urizon in the pocket book. Then they walked quickly to the door where Malcolm stood chatting with the sexton. The men were surprised to see the couple drop to their knees and begin to scour the floor.
“Here,” Kate cried. “A fourth word.”
Urthona.
“Yes, miss,” the sexton said. “Those words have always been here. There are all sorts of odd words and symbols about. We prefer not to talk about it in case it has something to do with the black arts. Wouldn’t do in a house of God.”
“Why do you think there might be dark arts involved?” Simon asked.
“Hawksmoor, sir,” the man replied cautiously. “The architect who built the church last century. He was always rumored to dabble in such things.”
Simon and Kate exchanged glances, and she said with excited realization, “Of course. This is one of Nicholas Hawksmoor’s churches. I’m so stupid. I should’ve known by the design. He was a master of sacred geometry.”
The sexton looked disturbed. “That’s the very thing we’d like to keep quiet. Pagan symbols and the like don’t play well when you’re asking the parish to contribute to the building fund. Naturally, we don’t like to dwell on the elements that don’t seem strictly Church of England, if you understand.” He pointed toward the ceiling in the center. “Such as those strange marks up there that no one has ever figured.”
Simon turned but the center archway was lost in darkness. “What marks?”
“It’s sort of a … line with a … cross. Here, let me see that.” He reached for Simon’s pad and pencil. He flipped it open and said, “Oh. You already saw it then, sir.”
“What do you mean?”
“You drew it right here.” The sexton held up the pad to the page with Malcolm’s symbol from the dead girl’s heart.
Malcolm looked into the dark rafters. “Those marks are on the archway above?”
“Oh, yes, sir. No one knows what they mean.” The sexton handed the pad back to Simon. “But who knows what anything means when it comes down to it.”
“Wise words.” Simon slipped the pocket book into his coat. “One last thing, sir, then you may summon the police and let them do their duty for this poor woman.” He walked back to the center of the church and knelt on the floor. He removed a piece of chalk from his pocket and began to write on the floor.
“What’s he about?” Malcolm asked Kate.
“I’m not sure. I can’t always tell what a scribe is doing.”
Simon wrote a series of runes on the floor, then placed his hand over them and whispered. The runes glowed green. Simon stood and stared around looking for something. “Kate, would you join me?”
They walked together back to the east apse where the covered body lay. A faint green glow came from under the murdered woman. Simon dropped to one knee and slowly rolled the bloody form onto her side. Kate looked over his shoulder at a strange aura on the paving stone under the dead woman.
“What is it?” she asked.
“It is a scribe’s mark. Every scribe has a unique rune to mark his spells. I have one as well.”
“Do you recognize that mark?”
“Yes.” Simon took a deep shuddering breath. “Byron Pendragon.”