The Descent

'The others have  had the benefit of  several  weeks  to  examine  this  photo,'  de  l'Orme explained.  'It's  a  route  map  known  as  the  Peutinger  Table.  Twenty-one  feet  long  by one foot high  in  the  original.  It  details  a  medieval  network  of  roads  seventy  thousand miles  long  that  ran  from  the  British  Isles  to  India.  Along  the  road  were  stage  stops, spas, bridges, rivers,  and seas. Latitude and  longitude  were  irrelevant.  The  road  itself was everything.'

The  archaeologist  paused.  'I  had  asked  you  all  to  try  to  find  anything  out  of  the ordinary on the photo. I particularly directed your  attention to  the  Latin  phrase  'Here be  dragons,'  midcenter  on  the  map.  Did  anyone   notice  anything   unusual  in  that region?'

'It's  seven-thirty  in  the  morning,'  someone  said.  'Please  teach  us  our  lesson  so  we may  eat our breakfast.'

'If you please,' de l'Orme said to his aide.

Santos  lifted  a  wooden  box  onto  the  table,  brought  out  from  it  a  thick  scroll,  and began  to  unroll  it  delicately.  'Here  is  the  original  table,'  said  de  l'Orme.  'It  is  housed here in the museum.'

'This is why  we were  brought to New York?'  complained Parsifal.

'Please,   compare   for   yourselves,'   said   de   l'Orme.   'As   you   can   see,   the   photo duplicates  the  original  at  a  scale  of  one-to-one.  What  I  wish  to  demonstrate  is  that seeing is not believing. Santos?'

The  young man drew  on a pair of  latex  gloves,  produced  a  surgical  scalpel,  and  bent over  the original.

'What  are  you  doing?'  an  emaciated  man  squeaked  in  alarm.  His  name  was  Gault, and Ali would later learn that he was an encyclopedist  of  the  old  Diderot  school,  which believed  that  all  things  could  be  known  and  arranged  alphabetically.  'That  map  is irreplaceable,' he protested.

'It's all right,' de l'Orme said. 'He's simply exposing an incision we've  already  made.' The   excitement   of  an  act   of  vandalism   in  front   of  their   eyes   woke   them   up. Everyone  came  close  to  the  table.  'It  is  a  secret  the  cartographer  built  into  his  map,' de  l'Orme  said.  'A  well-kept  secret.  If  not  for  a  blind  man's  bare  fingertips,  it  might never  have  been discovered. There  is something quite wicked about our reverence  for antiquity. We've come to treat  the thing itself with such care that it has lost its  original truth.'

'But what's this?' someone gasped.

Santos  was  inserting  his  scalpel  into  the  parchment  where  the  cartographer  had painted a small forested  mountain with a river  issuing from its base.

'Because of my  blindness, I'm allowed certain dispensations,' de  l'Orme  said.  'I  touch things  most  other  people  may  not.  Several  months  ago,  I  felt  a  slight  bump  at  this place  on  the  map.  We  had  the  parchment  X-rayed,  and  there  seemed  to  be  a  ghost image underneath the pigment. At that point we performed surgery.'

Santos opened a tiny hidden door.  The  mountain  lifted  upon  hinges  made  of  thread. Underneath lay a crude but coherent dragon. Its  claws embraced the letter B.

'The  B stands  for Beliar,'  said  de  l'Orme.  'Latin  for  "Worthless."  Another  name  for Satan.  This   was   the   manifestation   of  Satan   concurrent   with   the   making   of   the Peutinger   Table.   In   the   Gospel   of  Bartholomew,   a  third-century   tract,   Beliar  is dragged up from the depths and interrogated. He  gives  an  autobiography  of  the  fallen angel.'

The  scholars  marveled  at  the  mapmaker's  ingenuity  and  craft.  They  congratulated de l'Orme on his detective  work.

'This is insignificant. Trivial. The  mountain on this  doorway  lies  in  the  karst  country of the former Yugoslavia. The  river  coming from its  base  is  probably  the  Pivka,  which emerges  from a Slovenian cave  known today  as Postojna Jama.'

'The Postojna Jama?' Gault barked  in recognition. 'But that was Dante's cave.'

'Yes,' said de l'Orme, and let Gault tell them himself.

'It's  a  large  cave,'  Gault  explained.  'It  became  a  famous  tourist  attraction  in  the thirteenth  century.  Nobles and landowners would tour with local  guides.  Dante  visited while researching –'

'My God,' said Mustafah. 'For a thousand years  the legend of Satan was located  right here. But how can you call this trivial?'

'Because it  leads  us  nowhere  we've  not  already  been,'  said  de  l'Orme.  'The  Postojna Jama is now a major portal for traffic going in and out of the abyss.  The  river  has  been dynamited.  An  asphalt  road  leads  into  the  mouth.  And  the  dragon  has  fled.  For  a thousand  years  this  map  told  us  where  he  once  resided,  or  possibly  where  one  of  his doorways into the subplanet lay. But now Satan has gone elsewhere.'

Thomas took over  again.