Chapter three
SOPHIE'S POV
As I walk through the silent halls of the Vatican, heading to the Camerlengo's chambers, I'm struck by how eerily silent the halls are. Normally, there's a soft murmur of voices, the distant sounds of Catholic Mass, of priest praying, and of psalms for the Lord. But today, I can barely hear the wind chimes that dangle in several of the windows, as though the wind itself has deemed that it's unable to pass through this building like normal. It scares me. I don't like, how, this gilded golden building, so bright and lovely and-happy- on the outside, can turn into a monastery so dark and silent and scary on the inside, a side of this sacred place that you never see.
So I'm left with the feeling that something horrible has happened. No, I tell myself. Sophie, stop being stupid. The priests are in Mass, that's all, in another wing, on another floor. But I can't stop the fear that's trickling down my spine, and, in a sudden urge to be with someone, anyone, I burst into a sprint, despite the strict NO RUNNING rule that is enforced here. Panting, I tear through the hallways, taking turns with skids, and barely managing to stop every time I think I hear footsteps. My heart is racing, pounding like my feet on these smooth, shiny floors. And at last, at last! I can see the Camerlengo's door, and I put on a burst of speed, gasping to get there before the shadows that are chasing me in my head can. In a sudden act of gracefulness, I manage to trip over something lying in the hallway, and land in a heap just a mere few feet from the door. There's a moment of shock, and then several parts of my body begin to hurt all at once. Ow. I pick myself up, examine myself. My elbow is bruised, I can already tell, and there may or may not be a lump the size of an egg on my head tomorrow morning. Several strands of my hair hang limply from its braid, and my face feels flushed. So much for looking nice for the Vatican, I inwardly grouse to myself, and tuck some of the strands back into the weave, away from my face. If I hadn't tripped, I'd probably- wait a second. Swinging my head from side to side, I sweep the floor for any signs of what I may have slipped on. There! Lying on the ground is a sheet of white paper. Emblazoned on the other side is some sort of black print in large, bold letters. Crouching, I pick it up. Flipping it over, it only takes a second for my brain to process the single, very large word printed on the paper in some sort of strange calligraphy. Illuminati? What the heck? For a moment, I ponder the word. To illuminate means to bring light. So illuminati… some sort of light bringers? Initial fear of the halls forgotten, I sit on the ground and stare at the paper in my hands. What does it mean? And to be honest, I probably would have sat there forever, if it hadn't been for the soft groan that came from the room in front of me. Patrick? Rising, I pad softly towards the door, holding my breath to erase sound and therefore to listen harder. There's small sounds, they sound like hiccups, almost. There's a voice, too, one that I recognize, speaking in quiet French even though the listener probably understands nothing. But I do. "It's going to be alright, Father." I hear in my native language. "He had a good, long life, full of service to the Lord. And he will be remembered, as well. He was a good father of the Church. No one can doubt that." What are they talking about? They sound like someone died.
The last two words hit me like a truck.
SOMEONE. DIED.
Oh my God.
Deciding to not lean against the door anymore like the newly become stalker I am, I knock, once, twice, three times. Inside, the hiccupping sound stops, and I can hear a murmur of low voices. Then, louder , "just a minute, please." It's the Camerlengo's voice, and I find myself relaxing already, though I can't hide the fear in my mind. The door swings open- just a crack. "Sophie?" A rushed, cracked whisper makes its way to my ears and I reply likewise. "Oui." With no other words, the door swings open, and I step inside, the illuminati paper clenched tight in my fist.
"Silas? Father? What's going on?"
