how unfair that is?" Amy demanded. "She never got the credit just because she was a girl."
"I agree," said Dan. "She got a raw deal. But now that she's been in this crypt for a couple hundred years, what difference does it make to her?"
"It makes a difference to me," she argued. "What if we were the Mozart siblings? How do you think I'd feel if you were considered this whiz kid prodigy and I was nobody when we were equally good at the same thing?"
Her brother was unperturbed. "That could never happen to us. We're not good at any
of the same things. Hey, what's that?"
He was peering quizzically out the crypt entrance. The abbey abutted a sheer rock face. Fifty feet off the ground, the rough outline of a building had been carved into the mountain. "Who puts a house halfway up a cliff?"
On closer inspection, they found a crude staircase hewn directly into the stone, leading to the cavelike portal.
Amy scoured the brochure. "Here it is. That's the entrance to the Salzburg Catacombs." "Catacombs?" Dan echoed in trepidation. They had come very close to being lost forever in the Catacombs of Paris. He wasn't anxious for a repeat performance. "Well, not the paved-with-bones kind," Amy explained. "But it says there are tunnels in that hill. If there's a clue at St. Peter's, I'll bet that's where it is." A tour group came into view, working its way to the entrance on the cliff. In the middle of the cluster was the tall figure of Alistair Oh. "And the competition just pulled ahead of us," Dan added.
As soon as Uncle Alistair's tour disappeared inside the rock face, the Cahills rushed up the uneven stone stairs. Amy felt a creepy unease as she stepped inside the mountain -- as if they were being swallowed by something ancient and immutable, an immense, silent creature as old as the earth itself. Amy and Dan exchanged a look of pure dread. The Paris Catacombs had been lined with human bones, grotesque skulls leering from all directions. This may have been lower on the i ck scale. But the sense of leaving the familiar for the freakish and threatening was even greater here.
The tunnel was clammy and easily twenty degrees colder than the outside. Dan reached down and felt the familiar shape of his inhaler. This had to be the worst spot on earth for his asthma to flare up.
Chill out,
he reminded himself. Attacks were brought on by extreme dust and pollen, not extreme creepiness.
To their left was a small cave chapel straight out of The Flintstones.
Uncle Alistair's group was crowded in there when the Cahills hurried by, covering their faces.
The further they got from the entrance, the darker it became. The passage was lit only by a series of weak electric bulbs strung so far apart that everything faded to utter blackness in between them.
As they forged ahead, another tour group was walking toward them in the tunnel. Pale, top-lit faces vanished into the gloom only to reappear suddenly thirty feet closer. It was otherworldly -- as if the laws of nature no longer applied in this alien place. "Stay to the right," the tour guide ordered, directing his sightseers around the Cahills in the close quarters.
They were jostled by elbows and shoulders as the group shuffled past. Someone stepped on Amy's toe, and she drew in a sharp breath -- or maybe her gasp was a reaction to the man she saw in the halo of the naked bulb.
He was old, older than Uncle Alistair, probably in his late sixties, with weathered, cratered skin. His clothing was all black, so his head appeared to be suspended in midair.
Amy's heart was thumping so hard that she was afraid it might punch clear through her ribcage. She grasped her brother's hand and began towing him along the passage. "Slow down!" Dan complained.
Amy didn't stop until she was positive the tour group was out of earshot. "Dan -- the m -- the m -- " Even whispering, she could not control her stammer. "Calm down," her brother soothed. "The man in black is here!"
CHAPTER 9
Dan was shocked. "Did he
"I agree," said Dan. "She got a raw deal. But now that she's been in this crypt for a couple hundred years, what difference does it make to her?"
"It makes a difference to me," she argued. "What if we were the Mozart siblings? How do you think I'd feel if you were considered this whiz kid prodigy and I was nobody when we were equally good at the same thing?"
Her brother was unperturbed. "That could never happen to us. We're not good at any
of the same things. Hey, what's that?"
He was peering quizzically out the crypt entrance. The abbey abutted a sheer rock face. Fifty feet off the ground, the rough outline of a building had been carved into the mountain. "Who puts a house halfway up a cliff?"
On closer inspection, they found a crude staircase hewn directly into the stone, leading to the cavelike portal.
Amy scoured the brochure. "Here it is. That's the entrance to the Salzburg Catacombs." "Catacombs?" Dan echoed in trepidation. They had come very close to being lost forever in the Catacombs of Paris. He wasn't anxious for a repeat performance. "Well, not the paved-with-bones kind," Amy explained. "But it says there are tunnels in that hill. If there's a clue at St. Peter's, I'll bet that's where it is." A tour group came into view, working its way to the entrance on the cliff. In the middle of the cluster was the tall figure of Alistair Oh. "And the competition just pulled ahead of us," Dan added.
As soon as Uncle Alistair's tour disappeared inside the rock face, the Cahills rushed up the uneven stone stairs. Amy felt a creepy unease as she stepped inside the mountain -- as if they were being swallowed by something ancient and immutable, an immense, silent creature as old as the earth itself. Amy and Dan exchanged a look of pure dread. The Paris Catacombs had been lined with human bones, grotesque skulls leering from all directions. This may have been lower on the i ck scale. But the sense of leaving the familiar for the freakish and threatening was even greater here.
The tunnel was clammy and easily twenty degrees colder than the outside. Dan reached down and felt the familiar shape of his inhaler. This had to be the worst spot on earth for his asthma to flare up.
Chill out,
he reminded himself. Attacks were brought on by extreme dust and pollen, not extreme creepiness.
To their left was a small cave chapel straight out of The Flintstones.
Uncle Alistair's group was crowded in there when the Cahills hurried by, covering their faces.
The further they got from the entrance, the darker it became. The passage was lit only by a series of weak electric bulbs strung so far apart that everything faded to utter blackness in between them.
As they forged ahead, another tour group was walking toward them in the tunnel. Pale, top-lit faces vanished into the gloom only to reappear suddenly thirty feet closer. It was otherworldly -- as if the laws of nature no longer applied in this alien place. "Stay to the right," the tour guide ordered, directing his sightseers around the Cahills in the close quarters.
They were jostled by elbows and shoulders as the group shuffled past. Someone stepped on Amy's toe, and she drew in a sharp breath -- or maybe her gasp was a reaction to the man she saw in the halo of the naked bulb.
He was old, older than Uncle Alistair, probably in his late sixties, with weathered, cratered skin. His clothing was all black, so his head appeared to be suspended in midair.
Amy's heart was thumping so hard that she was afraid it might punch clear through her ribcage. She grasped her brother's hand and began towing him along the passage. "Slow down!" Dan complained.
Amy didn't stop until she was positive the tour group was out of earshot. "Dan -- the m -- the m -- " Even whispering, she could not control her stammer. "Calm down," her brother soothed. "The man in black is here!"
CHAPTER 9
Dan was shocked. "Did he
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