GEOVANNA REMEMBERED THEY would need a special tool to break down the bars. Greg dug into his backpack again, pulling out a hacksaw he'd packed at the last minute to cut through metal in case the bars proved too resistant. It wasn't very big, so he could carry it clipped to his belt, next to his digital camera.
Once ready for the descent, they put on their safety helmets. Greg entered the hole, assisted by Umbert, who lit the way to make his descent easier. He slowly loosened the carabiner while his other hand released the rope. When he reached the slope of the buttress a few meters below, he stopped to wait for Geovanna.
Firmly, the young woman braced her feet against the well wall and, without a second thought, let herself fall like lead after loosening her carabiner. She brushed past Gregory's back, who condemned her recklessness and incompetence, then threw himself to the side to avoid a collision.
— Holy shit...! — he didn't finish the sentence out of deference.
After that display of skill, he began to believe someone was mocking him. Suspended in midair, he illuminated the lower area with one of the flashlights he carried in his pocket. Geovanna was waiting for him, smiling, halfway up.
— You shouldn't have done that — he reproved her.
— Come on, don't be so grumpy — she said, and blew him a kiss that was summarily ignored by Greg.
Before descending, he grabbed his video camera and recorded the stonework markings on the walls. It seemed strange that Iacobus would waste time and risk his life carving indecipherable glyphs that no one would admire. It was as if this set of signs were part of a singular epitaph, dedicated to all those willing to die for the brotherhood's secrets.
Finally, he decided to go down. Geovanna waited until he reached her. From there, they descended together.
It wasn't long before they felt the sewage soaking into the canvas of their sneakers and inhaled the putrid miasma rising from the dark, sticky sludge as they walked, stirring up what had previously been stagnant. Geovanna felt nauseous from the pungent odor of decay wafting through the air.
— Pinch your nose and breathe through your mouth — Gregory advised, holding her arm as he shone his light on the walls around them.
She focused on the grate that closed the passage to the gallery, which must have been about three feet wide by a little over five feet high, and was situated a few feet above the water level— enough for them to access the corridor on the other side, even if they had to kneel. Geovanna approached, intending to see where the narrow stone passage led. Apparently, a little further on, the path veered off to the left.
— This is horrifying — he admitted, his voice breaking. Truly, they were living an incredible adventure. Gregory Evans admitted that the place gave him the creeps. Inside, everything was cold and filthy. Even the echo of their voices sounded different, as if they were inside a sealed coffin. And the stone gallery that loomed before them was no less despicable.
For a moment, he imagined he was standing before the door to a diabolical labyrinth and was horrified at the thought that they might get lost inside, trapped there forever.
Determined not to waste time with erratic thoughts, he dismissed that fanciful idea, carefully inspecting the rusted bars that blocked their passage. He was certain the machine's disc would cut through the iron like butter, as it looked fragile and decayed. This led him to think that perhaps Monroe was right when he suggested that nothing legible remained after five centuries of waiting. The diary paper, if they were ever going to find it, must have deteriorated just like the entire place.
Geovanna must have been thinking the same thing when she said:
— I just hope the text is in a safe place. — Speculation, however, wouldn't help them in any way, which is why Evans reserved the right to remain silent. His honest opinion could shatter both their illusions and their eagerness to move forward.
A few cuts at the ends were enough for the grate to collapse. Geovanna stepped forward to illuminate the hallway ahead, positioning herself ahead of Greg to enter first. Then she turned on the walkie-talkie. She needed to prove its effectiveness before heading into the unknown.
— Uncle... can you hear me?
— Loud and clear — they heard Monroe's voice, as if he were there with them.
Instinctively, Geovanna looked up. She saw the architect's silhouette and the beam of his flashlight, focusing on them from above.
— We're about to go in — he said again over the transmitter.
— Good luck! — Monroe wished them.
Due to the height of the corridor, they had to enter on their knees. The walls and floor were as slippery and moldy as the stones of the initial pit. The feeling of suffocation caused by the overlapping stones soon set in. Gregory Evans, who was behind, filming, had to make a great effort to control his galloping claustrophobia, something that seemed unaffected by Geovanna, who advanced courageously and fearlessly down the corridor, searching for a way out. She tried not to think about the stories of those buried alive that she had read as a child, or she would have screamed in sheer terror.
As soon as they reached the end of the gallery, they turned left. Then they crawled down the corridor. At first, they didn't realize it, but as they advanced, the ceiling grew closer and closer to their heads, strangling the passage like a funnel. The situation worsened when they realized it was too late to stop: the passage was so narrow that it trapped them, making it impossible to turn their bodies, altering their position.
Greg was on the verge of paroxysm. That stone cloister was enough to awe the bravest of heroes. He remembered the story of the Sancti Quattro Coronatti, which Umbert had told them, and how they were imprisoned in lead coffins and then thrown into the sea. And, unable to help but feel chills, imagining the agonizing torture they must have endured before their deaths.
It was then that he had a revelation, as an answer to his thoughts: within five hundred years, others would find their bones stuck in that trap for the naive.
— Do you think we should continue? — he asked, his voice wavering.
— Can you walk backwards, like crabs? — Geovanna, firm in her resolve, answered him with another question.
— I can try.
— Don't give me any nonsense! — She lowered her head to look at him from under her armpit, in a genuine contortionist gesture. — Do you really want to return without knowing what lurks at the end of the road? Or would you rather spend your entire life running from fanatics determined to rip your throat out?
— You convinced me... — he sighed, resigned, to add: — ...just tell me what you can see ahead.
Geovanna pointed the flashlight into the darkness spreading before her eyes. At the end of the corridor, she saw that the beam opened onto what appeared to be a room, beyond the extremely narrow passage they were supposed to cross. It was such a narrow passage that she would have to slide with her body and face practically glued to the ground. The truth is that she, too, was beginning to feel uneasy about being trapped in what felt like a death trap, one in which they might be trapped forever.
Placing themselves in the hands of the goddess of Luck, they slid across the slime-soaked surface, smearing their hair and cheeks. Geovanna prayed quietly for a happy ending, while her companion tried to convince himself that it was all just a nightmare and that he would soon wake up at home, wanting a nice bath. As they both remained with their faces turned to the side and in the dark— since, in this position, the light from their flashlights was trapped between their bodies and the walls— they only realized the gallery was behind them when they found themselves entering a room of colossal proportions.
Feeling the walls disappear, the young woman turned on her flashlight again to focus on the walls of that strange room. Evans, who was right behind her, looked over her shoulder.
What they saw at that moment surpassed the limits of their imagination.