“Merle is ignorant to what has transpired in these Secret Archives.”
Pope Urban chuckled meanly. “I doubt that.”
“Now that you are here, this is a choice you must make,” Charles pointed out.
“And if I hadn’t been?” Urban said, lightning in his eyes. “No, don’t answer. You are mantled in your demon wizard’s wayward wishes. God is not so easily fooled. He put me here. I will make the choice. This is not your home after all.”
“Where is the spear?” Lazarus broke in.
“It is safe, protected,” the Pope said, eyes narrowing upon the vampire. “I will retrieve it. But first, creature of Hell, you will remove yourself from these archives. I will not tolerate your taint here, among such importance.” Urban turned to his Cardinal Archivist. “Cesare Farina, return the parchment page to its safe placement, please, and close the room.”
The Cardinal of the Secret Archives did just that and, once finished, nodded for the others to vacate the room.
Lazarus did not object but went willingly.
Once the room emptied, Cesare Farina spoke a few ancient words and the wall reformed, cloaking its priceless contents in secrecy again.
“I have ordered the Swiss Guards not of my retinue to return to the catacombs below, just in case this is a ruse,” Pope Urban notified, turning to leave. “Follow me. This should not take long.”
Cringing beneath the imprisoning grasp of Lazarus once more, the Cardinal followed his pontiff out of the Secret Archives, through several bookcases and doorways, and up flights of stairs. The Swiss Guards once outside the restoration room were indeed gone. The Pope led but he did so slowly, his personal Swiss Guard detail still protecting him, Beck Almgren a step behind. Even though he led, Urban kept an eye on the vampire almost as closely as Charles did from the rear of the retinue. All the while, the Dark Thorn was an assurance of warmth beneath his hand.
It did not take long for the odd group to leave the ancient building and enter the cool night air of Rome. Charles knew the area. The Cortile della Pigna surrounded them, the courtyard bounded by other Vatican buildings, the walls featuring alcoves filled with tall statues from antiquity and more modern artwork placed sporadically about the grass lawn. To the south through the library, the Borgia Tower stood, its heights a sentinel over the Cortile del Belvedere. The Sistine Chapel lay just on the other side with the dome of St. Peter’s Basilica lording over all. Charles could feel the portal thrumming nearby, deep in the catacombs, far from where they stood if one did not know the secret passageways that littered Vatican City.
With the high walls of the courtyard boxing them in, the Pope had brought the vampire to an area that was not easily fled.
“Wait here,” Pope Urban instructed.
“Where is the spear?” Lazarus asked again.
“That is none of your concern,” the pontiff chided. He looked at Charles and then at Beck Almgren. “If the vampire attempts to flee or cause other mischief, Heliwr, I trust you and the Bearer of Prydwen can subdue him until my return. The Thorn and the Shield should be enough, correct?”
“I would accompany you, Your Eminence,” Captain Almgren said.
“You will not. This I must do alone.”
Not waiting for a response, the Pope strode south toward St. Peter’s Basilica, his guards remaining a shield about him. Charles waited like the rest beneath the stars. None of them spoke. The Cardinal Archivist prayed in whispers, an act that clearly unnerved Lazarus. Captain Almgren scowled nearby and did not take his eyes from the vampire. Berrytrill sat upon Charles’s shoulder, arms folded, his leafy face scrunched up in barely contained irritation.
Charles felt as his guide did. No matter his desire to see Lazarus destroyed, he did not like that the vampire was near to getting what he wished. That wasn’t all though. The knight did not like the deadly sin of power craved in the eyes of the Pope. He did not like being effectively removed from decisions, Urban now in control. And was the Pope in control? A vampire as ancient as Lazarus undoubtedly had duplicitous tricks to use when it suited. Even though the Cardinal Archivist had corroborated the identity of the vampire, something felt missing, a truth that could haunt them for days yet come. The feeling they were being misled grew like an angry itch.
One Charles could not scratch.
He mulled on that, still trying to unravel the puzzle that was Lazarus. After long minutes, Pope Urban returned and strode toward them across the courtyard lawn, bearing a long item wrapped in white cloth. Without a word, he unwrapped it and brought free a spear from antiquity, its design clearly Roman, its long tip glinting in the weak starlight.
“The Holy Lance,” the Pope presented, letting the cloth fall to the ground.
“It looks new,” Berrytrill observed.