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GNO Chapter Excerpts Page ~ B1C7 Quick-Browse
Chapter Quick-Browse For Graven's Grotesque: A Gothic Epic
Chapter 7 Excerpt Teaser
Description: Captain Bourne's Soldiers Expose the Gatestone ~ 5 Paragraphs
Abruptly, the outer, double doors of the oratory wing flung open as Captain Bourne led two columns of his strongest soldiers into the church—and up the centre aisle that divided long rows of terraced seats. The drumming steps of a hundred marching boots thundered through the cathedral's oratorium. At length, the Captain shouted for them to halt and the soldiers froze into position. And as his voice carried off, echoing through the vast enclosures of the church wings, a new silence fell over the cathedral.
Cardinal Blasi and the three Abbey friars watched as Captain Bourne approached. The Captain stopped short of them, scratched his cheek, and threw his hands on his hips. He passed a pair of green, probing eyes over the cathedral, mostly inspecting the altar with its attached ropes. Then, he exchanged glances with each of the friars before turning to Blasi. “Shall we begin?”
Blasi turned his attention back to the Naramsin pages as he replied, “Soon enough, Captain. However, there are several pertinent and quite significant details regarding the altar. Friar Clodius shall now make you aware of them.”
Clodius took his cue and stepped forth. “Ah, yes, Captain,” he said. The monk explained to Bourne of the importance of pulling the altar slab evenly, such that it did not lock itself into place. Together they paced around the altar for nearly three minutes as Clodius informed Bourne of what was required of him. The monk continued, “Thus, the positioning of your men is of utmost importance, as they shall be opposed for space once we begin.” Bourne eyed the eight long tethers lying on the floor, in a precise dovetailed arrangement, extending outward from the slab. “As you now know,” Clodius added, “The task of moving the altar is somewhat involved—truly, more than one might gather from mere appearances. Nevertheless, I require ninety-eight of your men—no more and no less. Now, how many do you have at your ready?”
“Enough.” Bourne stated.
“Indeed.” Clodius frowned and raised a high chin. “I see.” He scrutinized the disfiguring scar on Bourne’s cheek.
Bourne leaned forth and whispered, “Careful with your righteous eye, friar; lest you force me to save face in front of my men.” Clodius glanced over Bourne’s shoulder to discover two steadfast columns of the Royal Guard staring at him.
“Well, then.” The monk huffed and turned away, deflated. “Shall we arrange—your men?”
“Position them as you see fit, priest,” Captain Bourne stated, pointing toward his soldiers with a slow swing of his extended hand.
Clodius looked to Cardinal Blasi, who approved with only a confirming nod.
Thus, Clodius busied himself, positioning eight rows of soldiers on the leather ropes. Altogether, forty men secured the two outermost tethers, twenty-four gripped next outermost pair, twenty grasped the next innermost, and fourteen held the very, innermost tethers. Bourne posted the last of his men—those not assigned positions on the tethers—outside the cathedral, to guard each of its three entrances. All were in position; all were ready. And in the ensuing silence that enveloped the church, Clodius stepped behind the eight rows of soldiers, inspecting the alignment of each rank with respect to the position of the altar. Finally, he stepped away, looked to Friar Grate from afar, and nodded. Grate whispered to Cardinal Blasi, who looked up from his papers and signalled Bourne with a gesturing of his hand. In response, Bourne turned back to his men and bellowed commands as he circled their ranks. “Every man pulls! Every row heaves as one! All rows keep pace together—a three-count pull; a three-count rest!” He stopped behind them and clasped his hands in the small of his back. “On my mark!” Taut ropes tensed. “Heave!”
Ninety-eight soldiers strained. Eight tethers creaked. Yet, the altar held its hallowed ground. Blasi scowled at Clodius. Greville squirmed.
“Heave!” Again, the soldiers leaned back on the ropes as the grinding noise of six tons of sliding rock reverberated through the cathedral floor.
“Heave!”—and a few inches more.
“Heave!”—and still more.
“Heave!”—more.
“Heave!”
Primed, and like a ship’s drummer over heaving oarsmen, Bourne held his rhythm. His soldiers were a choir of hisses and groans. And with Bourne’s every new call, the slab surrendered more of a dirty floor. On the opposite side of the altar from Bourne, Blasi saw a rectangular hole gradually fall into view, exhaling decades of vented mustiness. At length, with a deep pit thoroughly exposed, a resounding thump echoed through the church.
“’Tis done,” Clodius informed Blasi, “The slab goes no further.” Blasi motioned to Bourne as he stepped toward the opened pit.
“Release!” Bourne shouted. Soldiers dropped tethers; sweat glistened over drained arms; several men collapsed to the floor whilst others bent over, panting heavily. Yet, most of the men stood tall, with heads thrown back and mouth agape, wheezing at a ceiling of painted Angels...
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