Nelson Demille - The Quest

“Quite right.”

Vivian reminded Gann, “You said Gallas stop here.”

“Yes, well, they’ve mostly gone east, and their horse droppings look rather old. Also, this is a large place, and we will pick a dark corner of it and be quiet during the night.” He added, “I have my Uzi, and Mr. Purcell has my service revolver.”

They found the bathhouse, which still had fresh spring water flowing into large sunken pools from the mouths of black stone faces embedded in the marble walls-similar to Miriam’s bathhouse, Purcell noted, except these faces were not of lions, but Roman gods and goddesses, one of which looked suspiciously like Benito Mussolini.

Gann again marveled at the engineering, saying, “Reminds me a bit of the Roman baths in Bath. Water’s still flowing there after two thousand years.”

And that, Purcell thought to himself, was the last decent plumbing installed in England.

They drank from the mouths of the gods and goddesses, hoping the water was potable, then filled their canteens. The spring water was cold, but they bathed privately, and washed their clothes.

Not a bad first day, Purcell thought, and in the morning they’d cross the road and strike out into terra incognita.

They reconnoitered the spa complex and found a wing off the main lobby where the guest rooms had been. Gann explained, “This is where the Italian soldiers, administrators, and men of business came from Gondar for the weekend after a long week of exploiting the Ethiopians.” He added, “Built mostly by slave labor-captured Ethiopian soldiers. And staffed by young Ethiopian women.”

Purcell commented, “Sounds very Roman Empire-ish.”

“Indeed. It’s in their blood, you know.”

Purcell resisted any comments about the British Empire, but Gann said, “At least we brought order, education, and law.”

“Thank God you didn’t bring your plumbing.”

Gann smiled.

They found a guest chamber that looked fairly clean, and went inside the whitewashed room. All the furniture had been carried off, of course, but a chair sat in the corner in an advanced state of rot.

The spa once had electricity, undoubtedly from a generator, and Purcell noticed electrical outlets, and a ceiling fan that hadn’t turned in forty years.

The room also had a large arched window that faced east and would let in the dawn sun. The window had never been glazed, but sagging louver shutters were still fixed to the stone arch. The view from the window was of a garden that had become a miniature jungle, which Gann pointed out as a place to go if anyone came through the door. Conversely, if anyone showed up at the window, they could exit through the door and retreat into the large hotel complex.

They sat on the red tile floor and Purcell broke out the maps. He told Gann, “We’ve flown over this area west of the road, on our way to and from Gondar, but as you know, we were not doing an aerial recon of this area. From what I remember, however, this is thick jungle, not much different from the area east of the road.” He added, “This map seems to confirm that.”

Gann glanced at the map. “Yes, this whole area south of Tana is carpeted with dense growth.”

Mercado asked him, “Do you remember any of that terrain from when you were here in ’41?”

“I’m afraid not. We pushed up from the road and avoided the jungle.” He explained, “The Italian Army, too, avoided the jungle and kept mostly to the roads and the towns. When we took Gondar from them, they retreated into the hills and mountains to the north, not to the jungle.” He asked Mercado, “Did you experience the pleasure of jungle warfare when you were here?”

Mercado replied, “I was an army war correspondent.” He confessed, “I fought mostly in the bars and brothels.”

Vivian laughed, Gann smiled, and Purcell was afraid that Henry and Edmund were on the verge of swapping Gondar 1941 war stories, trying to discover if they knew the same bartenders and prostitutes, so he changed the subject and said, “What I do recall from our flyovers was that there was some high terrain to the west of here-what looked like rocky ridgelines coming through the treetops.”

Gann nodded. “Two of the three obsidian quarries I’ve identified from speaking to the people in Shoan are west of here.” He informed them, “The villagers still visit the quarries for small pieces of obsidian to use for carvings or house ornamentation.”

Vivian asked, “Could you find the quarries?”

“I have a general idea where they are.”

Mercado asked, “And you think the black monastery could be in proximity to these quarries?”

Gann replied, “Perhaps.” He pointed out, “We don’t have much else to go on.”

Purcell looked at Gann and asked, “Is it possible that Miriam said something to you, which if you thought about it…?”

Gann considered the unfinished question, then replied, “The villagers who went out to meet the monks would always return with sacks of carved obsidian, which they would take to Gondar for sale.” He explained, “Crosses, saints, chalices… occasionally a Star of David, and now and then a carving of Saint George Cathedral in Addis.”

Purcell informed him, “Vivian almost bought one of those in Rome.”

Gann smiled and said to her, “You should have bought the one with the map etched on the bottom.”

“I wish I’d known.”

Mercado said, “So what you’re saying is that you think the monks carved these objects and gave them to the villagers in exchange for provisions.”

“It would seem so.” He asked rhetorically, “What else do monks have to do all day?”

Pray and drink, Purcell thought. He said to everyone, “Well, it seems that this quest has taken on some of the aspects of Arthur’s knights running around without a map or a clue looking for the Grail Castle.”

Gann replied, “They actually found it, you know.”

Purcell pointed out, “There are no jungles in England.”

Vivian glanced at Purcell and said, “If we are meant to find it, we will find it. If we are not, we will not.”

“Right.” Purcell asked, “If the monks’ sandals and candles have been cut off from Shoan, how long do you think these monks are going to last in the black monastery?”

“Good question,” Gann replied. “I believe the monks are fairly self-sufficient in regards to food, though the villagers of Shoan would always bring something that the monks didn’t have. Wine, of course, but also grain for bread.” He surmised, “I don’t think there would be a lot of grain grown in the monastery or surrounding rain forest. So they will soon be needing their daily bread.”

Purcell suggested, “I’d think a single loaf would do, and one fish.”

Gann smiled.

Mercado asked Gann, “Where do you think these monks come from? I assume they don’t reproduce there.”

Gann replied, “No, they don’t. All gentlemen, as far as I know.” He told them, “It’s my understanding that the monks are chosen from monasteries all over Ethiopia. They understand that if they go to the black monastery, they will never leave there.” He reminded them, “Like the Atang who guards the Ark of the Covenant in Axum.” He concluded, “It’s a job for life.”

Purcell said, “I have two observations about Ethiopia. One is that this place has been caught in a time warp, and the other is that with the emperor gone, they are free-falling into the twentieth century, and not ready for the landing.”

“Perhaps.”

He asked Gann, “What has drawn you to this place? I mean, aside from your princess.”

Gann smiled, then replied, “It gets into your blood.”

Purcell looked at Mercado, who said, “It is the most blessed and most cursed land I have ever been in.” He added, “It has biblical magnificence, complete with an apocalyptic sense of doom.” He concluded, “I hate the place. But I would come back.”