Necropolis Read Online Free PDF Page B

already thinking. If they took her out of here, maybe she would be able to break away. She would run back down the corridor and find the nearest exit.
    Whatever country she was in, there would have to be a police officer or someone else around. She would make herself understood, somehow find her way home.
    But right now, the two monks were watching her too closely. They led her out with one standing next to her and the other directly behind, so close that she could actually smell them. Neither man had washed, not for a long time. As they reached the corridor, Scarlett hesitated and felt a hand pushing her roughly forward. She turned left. The three of them set off together.
    Where was she? The place had the feel of an old palace or a monastery that had been abandoned long ago. Everything about it was broken down and neglected, from the peeling walls to the paved floor, which was slanting and uneven with some sort of mold growing through the cracks. Naked lightbulbs hung on single wires (so at least there was electricity), but they were dull and flickering, barely able to light the way. The air was damp and there was a faint smell of sewage.
    Scarlett noticed an oil painting in a gilt frame. It showed a crucifixion scene, but the colors were faded, the canvas torn. An antique cabinet with two iron candlesticks stood beneath it, one door open and papers scattered on the floor. Scarlett and the monks turned a corner, and for the first time she was able to see outside. A series of arches led onto a terrace with a garden beyond. Scarlett stopped dead. Her worst fears had been realized. She knew now that she definitely wasn't in England.
    The garden was covered in snow. There were trees with no leaves, their branches heavy with the stuff.
    The ground was also buried and, in the distance, barely visible in the darkness, she could see white-topped mountains. There were no other buildings, no lights showing anywhere. The monastery was in some sort of wilderness — but how had she gotten here? Had she been knocked out and put on a plane?
    Scarlett searched back in her memory, but there was nothing there…nothing to indicate a journey, leaving England or arriving anywhere else. Then one of the monks jabbed her in the back, and she was forced to start moving again.
    They came to a hallway lit by a huge chandelier, not electric but jammed with rows of candles, at least a hundred of them, the wax dripping slowly down and congealing into a series of growths that reminded Scarlett of the sort of shapes she had once seen in a cave. Some of the wax had splattered onto a round table beneath. An empty bottle lay on its side along with dirty plates and glasses, moldering pieces of bread. There had been a dinner here — days, maybe weeks before. There were no rats or cockroaches. It was too cold.
    Several doors led out of the hallway. As one monk led her to the nearest of them, the other pushed her inside. This hurt her, and Scarlett spun round and swore at him. The monk just smiled and backed away.
    The other man went with him. The door closed.
    Scarlett turned back and examined her new surroundings. This was the only halfway comfortable room she had seen so far. It was furnished with a rug on the floor, two armchairs, bookshelves, and a desk. It was warmer too. A coal fire was burning in a grate, and although the flames were low, she could feel the heat it was giving out and smell it in the air. More paintings hung on the walls, all with religious subjects. There was a window, but it had become too dark to see outside.
    A man was sitting behind the desk. He also wore a habit, but his was black. So far he had said nothing, but his eyes were fixed on Scarlett. With an uneasy feeling, she walked over to him. He was old — at least twenty years older than the others, with the same bald head and sunken eyes. There were tufts of white hair around his ears and he had thick white eyebrows that could have been glued in place. His nose was long and too