Chapter 67

           

           Thedescentwasslow.

           Langdondroppedrungbyrungdownthecreakingladder…deeperanddeeperbeneaththeflooroftheChigiChapel.IntotheDemon’shole,hethought.Hewasfacingthesidewall,hisbacktothechamber,andhewonderedhowmanymoredark,crampedspacesonedaycouldprovide.Theladdergroanedwitheverystep,andthepungentsmellofrottingfleshanddampnesswasalmostasphyxiating.LangdonwonderedwherethehellOlivettiwas.

           Vittoria’soutlinewasstillvisibleabove,holdingtheblowtorchinsidethehole,lightingLangdon’sway.Asheloweredhimselfdeeperintothedarkness,thebluishglowfromabovegotfainter.Theonlythingthatgotstrongerwasthestench.

           Twelverungsdown,ithappened.Langdon’sfoothitaspotthatwasslipperywithdecay,andhefaltered.Lungingforward,hecaughttheladderwithhisforearmstoavoidplummetingtothebottom.Cursingthebruisesnowthrobbingonhisarms,hedraggedhisbodybackontotheladderandbeganhisdescentagain.

           Threerungsdeeper,healmostfellagain,butthistimeitwasnotarungthatcausedthemishap.Itwasaboltoffear.Hehaddescendedpastahollowednicheinthewallbeforehimandsuddenlyfoundhimselffacetofacewithacollectionofskulls.Ashecaughthisbreathandlookedaroundhim,herealizedthewallatthislevelwashoneycombedwithshelflikeopenings—burialniches—allfilledwithskeletons.Inthephosphorescentlight,itmadeforaneeriecollageofemptysocketsanddecayingribcagesflickeringaroundhim.

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