The Golem's Eye

in crevices on either side of the stairs. From Mr. Pennyfeather's curses, it was evident that he was having to clear his path through a hundred years of choking cobwebs.
    The descent did not take long. Kitty counted thirty-three steps, and then she was stepping through a hinged metal grille and out into an open space, ill defined by lantern light. She stepped aside to allow Stanley to exit from the stairwell, too, then pulled her balaclava off. Mr. Pennyfeather had just done likewise. His face was faintly flushed, his ring of gray-white hair spiky and disheveled.
    "Welcome," he whispered, in a high, hoarse voice, "to Gladstone's tomb."
     
     
    Kitty's first sensation was of the sheer imagined weight of ground above her. The ceiling had been constructed from neatly carved stone blocks; with the passing years, the alignment of these stones had shifted. Now they bulged ominously in the center of the chamber, pressing down against the weak light as if they wished to snuff it out. The air was full of taint, and smoke twirled from the lanterns and wreathed thickly against the ceiling. Kitty found herself clutching instinctively at each breath.
    The crypt itself was fairly narrow, perhaps only four meters wide at its broadest point; its length was indeterminate, extending away into the shadow beyond the radiance of their lights. Its floor was flagged and bare, except for a thick carpeting of white mold that, in places, had extended halfway up the walls. The industrious spiders of the stairwell seemed not to have ventured through the grille: there were no cobwebs to be seen.
    Cut into the side wall of the chamber, directly opposite the entrance, was a long shelf, bare except for three glass hemispheres. Although the glass was dirty and cracked, Kitty could just make out the remnants of a circlet of dried flowers inside each one: ancient lilies, poppies, and sticks of rosemary, dotted with brackish lichen. The burial flowers of the great magician. Kitty shuddered and turned to the main focus of the company's attention—the marble sarcophagus directly below the shelf.
    It was eight feet long and five feet high, plainly carved without ornament or inscription of any kind, except for a bronze plaque that had been affixed to the center of one side. Its lid, also of marble, sat on top, though Kitty thought it looked slightly askew, as if it had been dropped into place hurriedly and left unadjusted.
    Mr. Pennyfeather and the others were crowding around the sarcophagus in great excitement.
    "It's in the Egyptian style," Anne was saying. "Typical grandiosity, wanting to follow the pharaohs. No hieroglyphs, though."
    "What's this say?" Stanley was peering at the plaque. "Can't make it out."
    Mr. Pennyfeather was squinting, too. "It's in some devilish tongue. Hopkins might have read it, but it's no good to us. Now—" He straightened and tapped his stick against the sarcophagus lid. "How can we get this thing open?"
    Kitty's brow furrowed with distaste and something approaching apprehension. "Do we need to? What makes you think the stuff's in there?"
    Mr. Pennyfeather's nervousness revealed itself in his brittle irritation. "Well, it's hardly going to be lying about on the floor—is it, girl? The old ghoul will have wanted it close by him, even in death. The rest of the room's empty."
    Kitty held her ground. "Have you checked?"
    "Ah! A waste of time! Anne—take a lantern and check the far end. Make sure there aren't any alcoves in the far side. Frederick, Nicholas, Stanley—we'll need all our strength to shift this. Can you get purchase on it, your side? We may need the rope."
    As the men gathered around, Kitty stood back to watch Anne's progress. It immediately became obvious that Mr. Pennyfeather was correct. After a few steps, Anne's lantern illuminated the far wall of the chamber, a smooth surface of clear stone blocks. She swept the light across it a few times, checking for niches or the outline of doors, but there was nothing to be seen. Shrugging at Kitty, she returned to the center of the room.
    Stanley had produced his rope and was assessing one end of the lid. "It's going to be hard to loop it," he said, scratching the back of his head. "Can't wind it around anything. And it's too heavy to lift...."
    "We might lug it sideways," Fred said. "I'm game."
    "Nah, it's too heavy. Solid stone."
    "There may not be much friction," Nick pointed out. "The marble's smooth enough."
    Mr. Pennyfeather wiped the sweat from his brow.