Part 30 (1/2)
The stairs finally opened out on a maze of corridors, each lined with niches to hold the bodies of the early Christian dead. Most were filled only with piles of dust now or sometimes a clutter of bones. Occasionally a skeleton hand intact still clutched a crucifix, or some shred of rotted fabric fluttered in the air that circulated from somewhere.
Before she headed into the maze, she got her bearings. She must go southeast. That would take her back under the nave of the main building of the Duomo. She took a breath and started out. It took her several wrong turnings to make her way to the other edge of the maze, but she was rewarded by finding a long, straight corridor that led away from the main catacombs.
This was it. She knew it. Whatever Michelangelo Buonarroti thought would make her happy was at the end of this corridor. This was foolish. There was no doubt about that. He couldn't know what would make her happy, and if he did, he couldn't give it to her. Traipsing around in catacombs on a treasure hunt that would no doubt prove disappointing if it wasn't useless altogether was a sign of just how desperate she had become.
But she was desperate. She didn't know how much more she could take of the gnawing regret that had overwhelmed her in the last years. So, foolish as this was, however likely to end in disappointment, she couldn't turn and walk away. She started down the corridor.
It ended abruptly in a solid wall of plaster. She set down her lantern, her stomach fluttering no matter how she tried to tell it there was no cause for excitement. Hefting the sledgehammer, she hauled it back and slammed it into the wall with all her strength. The plaster crumbled, revealing carefully cut stone that fitted exactly together. Dust choked the air. This would take some doing.
Again and again she swung at the stones until she could pry at the ruined corners. Her fingertips were bloodied. No matter. They healed even as she glanced at them. But she was going about this the wrong way. Instead of trying to heave the stone out, she pushed on it. It toppled into the darkness beyond. She pushed on the neighboring stone, and then another until she was standing in a pile of stones, coughing.
She lifted her lantern and stepped through the cloud of dust into the darkness.
And gasped.What stood towering above her was a maze of a different kind. Giant gears and levers interlocked in some crazy pattern that was positively beautiful. The metal gleamed golden, still s.h.i.+ny with oil. At points in the mechanism were set what looked like jewels the size of her fist, red and green and blue and clear white. Those couldn't be diamonds, could they?
She stood dumbfounded, staring. What was this thing? A machine of some kind. But what was it for?
It was long minutes before she could tear her eyes away from the beautiful intricacy and look around the room. There was no dust, except for the puff that had wafted in from her exertions with the wall. The place must have been tightly sealed to have kept out even dust. How long had it been sealed like this? Probably since the note was written. Besides the machine the room contained only a simple metal chair, golden like the machine, and a table to match in a corner, un.o.btrusive. And on the table was a leather-covered book.
Emotions churned through her. Disappointment lurked at the edges of her mind. A machine could not give her back happiness, no matter what it pumped or measured. And yet, there was something almost otherworldly about this most human of creations.
She pulled out the chair, sat, and drew the book toward her. The cover had mold on it. Even a sealed room couldn't keep out mold. Carefully she opened it. The first page startled her. ”For Contessa Donnatella Margherita Luch.e.l.la di Poliziano, from her friend Leonardo da Vinci. I dedicate to you my greatest work.”
s.h.i.+vers ran down her spine. Twice in one night she had received notes from friends dead three hundred years. They must have expected her to open them long ago since they believed she would have been dead as long as they were. Whatever they wanted her to know or do with this machine, she was very late in accomplis.h.i.+ng.
She turned another page.
”When you read this, for I know you will, you will have found my machine. Magnificent, isn't it? And only I could have designed it.”
Leonardo, the dear, always had quite an ego. Still, the man was amazing. He was probably right about the machine.
”I could never find enough power to test it, and yet I know it works. Or at least in one possible reality, it works. But really it is all too complicated, even for one of my intellect. I must find a way to get you here. Something you will keep by you through all the years, something valuable. A piece of art? You love the arts. Buonarroti, that dwarf, will know something. But of course, whatever I do works, because you are here, reading this, and I know you are reading this because ... Or it doesn't work, and everything is changed, and I never built the machine, or wrote this explanation, and I am not who I am, and you are not who you are...
Well nevermind that. I have no choice but to fulfill my part in this epic, or this tragedy, whatever it turns out to be.
So here is all the truth I know.
What you see before you is a time machine.”
G.o.ds, do you jest? she thought, looking up at the machine filling the s.p.a.ce. It gleamed in flickering lamplight, towering above her. The jewels sparkled as the light caught them. The possibilities flickered through her in response. What if she could go back?
Undo the decision that took Jergan away from her, have the promise of happiness she had seen in Gian's and Kate's eyes this evening. This might be the one thing that could make her happy.