The Devil's Labyrinth

CHAPTER 20

RYAN SAT IN the darkened classroom the next morning, gazing mutely at the image on the screen. It was a woman, bound to a thick stake with thick ropes, her breasts bare, flames licking at her feet. The image was of an ancient woodcut, and its stark black and white seemed only to accentuate the expression of terror and agony that twisted the woman’s face. In his mind, Ryan heard an echo of the scream from last night, but now it was coming from the mouth of the woman at the stake.

Father Sebastian clicked the remote control and the woodblock was replaced by a vividly painted image of a man tied to a post in a harbor, gray seas behind him, howling in terror as the tide came in to drown him.

Ryan’s gaze shifted to the empty notebook on his desk. He’d heard at breakfast that since Father Sebastian had started teaching it, Catholic History was one of the most popular courses at the school, and now he knew why. The images of the Inquisition that he’d just seen had seared Father Sebastian’s accompanying words in his memory with no need for any notes at all.

“Historians have said that the Inquisition was about persecuting Jews and Muslims,” Father Sebastian said. “But that is not the case at all. The Jews and Muslims had already been exiled by the secular Spanish government. What made the Inquisition necessary was that not all of them left. Some stayed, pretending to have converted to Christianity.” The image on the screen changed again. Now Ryan was looking at a highly realistic picture of a man in a tall red hat decorated with an ornately embroidered cross, who was sitting on some kind of throne while an executioner ran a sword through a peasant’s throat.

Ryan felt his throat constrict as he gazed at the dying man.

“The purpose of the Inquisition was not to persecute Jews and Muslims, but rather to root out and expel those who found it suddenly convenient to become Catholic. The subjects of the Inquisition were the hypocrites who professed our faith only to protect their worldly assets.” He paused, his eyes sweeping the small classroom as the screen went blank. “Questions?”

Almost to his own surprise, Ryan found his hand going up.

“Ryan?”

“I–I was just wondering—” he stammered.

Father Sebastian cut off his words with an uplifted arm. “This is St. Isaac’s,” he said, smiling almost ruefully. “I’m afraid we’re not like public school. Here we stand when we speak.”

Ryan felt his face burn. He wasn’t even quite sure how to ask his question, but he got to his feet and cleared his throat. “I guess I was just wondering how they thought they could tell if a person was lying about converting? I mean, won’t people say anything at all if you torture them enough?”

“Of course they will,” Father Sebastian said, as Ryan sank back to his seat. “As many of the inquisitors quickly came to understand. But we’re not talking about the efficacy of the methods here; merely the purity of the motivation.”

Another hand went up. Father Sebastian nodded at a stocky red-haired boy. “Sam?”

The boy stood as Ryan sank back into his chair. “But it doesn’t matter what the motivations were, does it? In the end, didn’t the Inquisition make the Muslims and Jews think that the Christians were out to exterminate them? Isn’t that one of the reasons they still think that?”

Father Sebastian nodded. “Absolutely right. It’s unfortunate that the Church is still feeling the fallout of the Inquisition, especially considering how long ago it ended. Even worse, its true purpose has been all but lost to secular historians, who always seem to unfairly ascribe the darkest motives to any actions motivated by religion.” As the bell signaled the end of class, Father Sebastian stepped back behind his desk. “Read pages 147 to 176 and remember the test on Friday.”

Ryan stared at the priest. A test on Friday? Even if he could read the whole textbook by then — which he was pretty sure he couldn’t — he still wouldn’t be ready for a test on Friday. It wouldn’t be fair — he’d only started the class this very day. Then he remembered Father Sebastian’s words about historian’s “unfairly” ascribing the worst motives to the Inquisition. The hollowness in his belly was suddenly replaced by hope. He closed his notebook, waited for most of the class to file out, then approached the priest as he was starting to put the projector away.

“Father Sebastian?”

The priest looked up, and Ryan instantly remembered the night Father Sebastian had come to see him in the hospital. There was a kindness in the priest’s eyes that Ryan had experienced from only one other person.

His father.

“Hey, Ryan,” Father Sebastian said. “What can I do for you?”

“I — well, I was wondering if I have to take the test on Friday? I mean, I haven’t even opened the textbook yet.”

The priest seemed to think for a moment, but then shook his head. “Everyone takes the test, Ryan. If you study, you’ll do fine. It’s not going to be that hard.” Father Sebastian scanned the emptying room, and he suddenly smiled. “How about if I give you a little extra edge?” Before Ryan could say anything, the priest raised his voice slightly. “Melody?”

A pretty blond girl looked up from the book bag she was packing, and Father Sebastian crooked his finger at her. She glanced quickly behind her as if to make sure it was really she the priest wanted, then picked up her books and purse, and walked up to the front.

“Melody Hunt, meet Ryan McIntyre. He’s a transfer student, and this is his first day of classes here. How about if you tutor him for this Friday’s test, and then maybe for another week or two, at least until he gets up to speed. Okay?” He turned back to Ryan. “Melody’s a fanatic note-taker. I have a feeling she knows more about this stuff than the guy who wrote the textbook.”

Melody blushed slightly, then smiled uncertainly at Ryan. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all any of us can do,” Father Sebastian said as he went back to the projector.

† † †

As soon as they were out of the classroom, Melody’s smile faded, and she shuddered. “Those pictures were just horrible,” she said. “Why did he even show them to us?”

Ryan barely heard her words. Instead he was focusing on the tiny pearl earrings and faint lip gloss that were just enough to make Melody look completely different from any of the other girls he’d seen so far. It was hard to look different from everybody else when everyone wore a uniform, but Melody had pulled it off. Suddenly he realized he was staring at her, and she knew he was staring at her, and he mentally scrambled to remember what she’d just said. “They were gross,” he agreed, feeling a flush rising in his cheeks. “They’d never show us anything like that in public school.”

“Lucky you,” Melody sighed. “I’ve been stuck here since ninth grade. And my parents aren’t even very religious. They just think this is safer than public school. Want to go get lunch?”

As Melody started down the corridor in exactly the opposite direction Ryan would have gone, he fell in beside her. “What about that guy Kip? Kip Adamson?”

Melody stopped short and looked at Ryan. “What do you know about him?”

“Not much,” Ryan replied. “Even though everyone in my dorm is talking about him, nobody knows what happened. And I’m in his room.”

Melody’s face paled. “I don’t think I could do that,” she breathed. “I mean, how could you even sleep?”

“I almost didn’t,” Ryan admitted. “So, did you know him?”

Melody started down the hallway again. “Not really,” she began. “I mean, I sort of thought I knew him until he started getting weird. It was like he turned into some kind of lost soul. You know what I mean?”

Ryan nodded, even though he wasn’t sure he did know what she meant, and once more fell in beside her. “So what happened to him?”

“I don’t know, and I think I must have asked everybody in school,” Melody replied, her voice hollow. “In fact, my roommate’s getting really tired of me talking about him all the time.”

Ryan offered her a lopsided grin. “So talk to me about him. I promise I won’t get tired of hearing you.”

Melody flushed slightly, but didn’t turn away. “At first I thought he’d just left school, like Jeffrey Holmes.”

Now it was Ryan who stopped short. “Jeffrey Holmes?” he repeated. “Who’s he?”

“A guy who left in November. But he wasn’t like Kip. He hated it here, and after Thanksgiving he never came back.” Her eyes clouded, and Ryan wondered exactly what it was she was remembering, but the moment passed before he could ask. “Anyway, we all thought that was what happened to Kip, too. We all figured he’d just taken off. Even Clay thought so.”

They walked along in silence for a moment, and suddenly Ryan found himself asking Melody the same question he’d asked Clay late last night. “Did you hear anything last night? Like around midnight?”

Melody glanced at him. “Hear what?”

Ryan hesitated, but then blurted it out. “A scream.” He waited for her to laugh, but she didn’t.

Instead, she rolled her eyes. “That’s just a stupid stunt,” she said. “Someone does it to every new student. They sneak far enough away from the dorm so they can barely be heard, then scream. The new person wants to know what it is, and is told that we have ghosts. Dumb, hunh?” Ryan nodded, glad he’d asked Melody instead of giving Clay and his friends an opportunity to elaborate on the joke at lunchtime. But then Melody’s expression turned serious. “But the weird thing is,” she went on, “every now and then you hear something like that and there aren’t any new students. And some of these buildings are hundreds of years old, and there are all kinds of stories about what they used to be used for.”

The images from the Inquisition lecture immediately rose out of Ryan’s memory.

Melody laughed. “There’s also supposed to be the ghost of some old nun that wanders around the school at night.”

“Have you ever seen it?”

Melody shook her head. “Of course not! Nobody I know has actually seen it themselves — everyone just knows someone who knows someone who saw it. Personally, I don’t think it’s a ghost at all. I think it’s Sister Mary David — God knows she’s old enough that she should be a ghost by now.” She giggled for a second, but then her expression clouded over again. “But who knows? Who really knows anything? I mean, we don’t even really know what happened to Jeffrey Holmes, do we?”

“Or Kip,” Ryan added softly.

Melody looked up at him, and he had the uncanny feeling he could fall right into the depths of her blue eyes. She nodded slowly. “Or Kip,” she agreed. “Who really knows what happened to either one of them?”