The Power of Five Oblivion

in a comfortable, cluttered office and guessed that this was where the priest worked.
    There was an antique desk with a chair and, behind it, two windows that might have looked out onto the garden but were closed off with shutters. One whole wall was given over to books … heavy volumes bound in red and gold leather and with titles mainly in Latin. On one side stood a table with a vase of flowers. The desk itself was groaning under the weight of papers and files, and there were more of them piled high all over the carpet. An ornate gold mirror with old, speckled glass hung between the windows. The remaining walls were covered with oil paintings. There was an image of the Virgin Mary, looking down with a great halo behind her head, another of the Three Wise Men on their way to Bethlehem. Pedro knew the stories. When he had lived in Lima, he had gone to church occasionally, if only to steal from the congregation.
    Silvio closed the door. The two of them were alone.
    “Is this your office?” Pedro asked.
    “Yes. No one will disturb us here.”
    “Why are we here? Where is the secret passage?”
    “It’s not in this building, Pedro. It leads from the Cortile Borgia… ”
    “What is that?”
    “It is a courtyard, part of the Vatican Museums. But we can’t go there until eight o’clock in the morning, just before it opens.”
    “I don’t understand.” The guards hadn’t stopped them. They had made it safely inside. But even so, Pedro was feeling uneasy. “Why have we come here?”
    “It would be too dangerous to come here in the day. It’s better for us to wait here until sunrise. When we cross the gardens tomorrow, nobody will stop us. I’m sure you’re tired, but trust me. It is safer this way. I will get us both something to drink…”
    Silvio walked over to an elaborate wooden sideboard inlaid with mother-of-pearl, opened it and took out a bottle of wine and two glasses. He stood with his back to Pedro, talking all the while. “You have made my mother very happy,” he said. “Maria was a very late arrival in her life but she has always adored her.”
    “What happened to her father?” Pedro asked.
    “Our father died.” Silvio turned round. He carried two glasses of wine over to the desk. “Please, sit down, Pedro. I want to talk to you.”
    Pedro did as he was asked. He was aware of the various saints in their gold frames, watching the two of them.
    Silvio passed him a glass and raised his own. “I want to drink to the miracle that you have performed. I want to thank you for giving me back my sister.”
    He raised his glass. Pedro did the same. There wasn’t a lot of wine in the glass and he drained it in one gulp. He felt its warmth immediately. It had a deep, heavy taste – not just of grapes but of every other summer fruit. He wondered if he was doing the right thing. He would need all his wits about him when the morning came and he made his way to the courtyard. The Cortile Borgia , that was what it was called. From there he would find the door that would take him just a few short steps to Antarctica. The thought would have made his head spin if it hadn’t been spinning already. He couldn’t believe how much the wine had affected him. He already wished he hadn’t drunk it.
    He lowered his glass. Silvio had also drunk his wine. He was looking at Pedro very strangely. His face was filled with sadness.
    “I must explain something to you,” Silvio said. “I want you to understand what I have done. I am a good man. At least, I try to be a good man. I have been a priest since I was twenty years old. I have given my entire life to the Church.”
    Pedro was sitting opposite him, the two of them facing each other across the desk. His arms and legs were feeling very heavy. It was almost as if they had become part of the chair on which he sat.
    “As I told you when you were in our house, I have read the diary of Joseph of Cordoba. For a long time I have known about the Old Ones, about the five Gatekeepers and the fight that will take place for the survival of the world. But I never believed it.” He gestured at the bookshelves. “The library here is full of the writings of prophets and visionaries across the ages. They have been visited by devils and demons and have given them many names. Some have claimed they have seen into the future. Many of these texts are ridiculous. Others are frankly blasphemous. We do not let the public read them because, in the wrong hands, they might even be