14

AFTER TRADING THE EUROS for rubles, it was a simple matter to find lodging in a Russian city of nearly five million people. That didn’t mean, though, that the accommodations were going to be comfortable. Jack’s back let him know it disagreed with the choice to bunk down in a place near the water, a small hotel in the Petrogradsky district, in a line of like establishments there to serve the tourists who came for the White Nights festival in June.

Jack had grumbled a bit about what the bed with the metal bar down its center had done to his back, while Espy, who’d slept next to him, seemed unbothered by it, awaking fresh the next morning. It wasn’t long, however, and Jack found his sour mood giving ground as they headed out to visit the Peter and Paul Fortress.

He’d not had occasion to visit the city before this and so he’d never seen the Fortress in person. As he and Espy approached it, he found himself having a dichotomous reaction. On one hand, the bell tower that rose four hundred feet was the kind of structure that could stop a person where he stood, evoking wonder and awe at the vision of the builders. But there was also a part of him that thought the Fortress looked like a college campus.

Peter and Paul Cathedral stood as the center point for the grounds, while several much smaller buildings of tan stone and red brick did a passable job of imitating the residence halls and classroom buildings of Evanston University. The sight caused Jack to feel a pang of nostalgia for the increasingly large number of classes he’d missed over the last few weeks. Nearing the entrance, they bypassed a tour group and crossed over Saint John’s Bridge. They then paid the fee to spend as long as they wanted within the Fortress’s walls.

Once stepping through the gate, their next challenge showed itself right away. With the Fortress being so vast, with the large number of buildings and rooms, a century of construction and three centuries of occupancy and abandonment, Jack had no idea what he was supposed to do. The only thing he had to go on was what Henry Chambers had written in his book, and Jack’s study of it had shown Henry to have been quite circumspect when it came to divulging any information that could be considered useful.

Espy studied the map they’d picked up at the gate. It was in Russian, which made her the map reader. While she read up on the Fortress, Jack’s attention went to the thing that had drawn the eyes of every visitor for the last three hundred years. The Peter and Paul Cathedral towered over the Fortress’s interior, its construction showing off features reminiscent of Arabic architecture. The exterior was pale gold—the color of a desert. That, as well as the domed cupolas and faux minarets, signified without a doubt that the building was of the Eastern Orthodox tradition. His eyes followed the spire up to the very top, where an angel stood, wings spread as if about to take flight.

Jack glanced over at his wife, whose head hadn’t lifted from the map. He reached over, took her hand, and pulled her toward him while pointing up at the cathedral. He watched as her eyes found it.

She stood in silence for a moment, gazing at its magnificence. When next she looked at him, she smiled. “Thanks,” she said.

“Don’t mention it.”

Five minutes later, they started off across the cobblestone, intent on getting a look at the cathedral’s interior from a tourist’s perspective before being forced to shift gears and regard the Fortress as a riddle.

A stream of people entered and exited the cathedral, and Jack and Espy stepped in among them, heading toward the entrance, a portico ringed by eight massive columns. Moments later they were inside. From the outside, the cathedral possessed an elegance and stark beauty, despite a plainness common in the Eastern motif. Inside, though, Jack and Espy were treated to something entirely different. They looked up and were awestruck by the giant chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, lights ablaze to illuminate the mosaic tile above as well as the marble columns and gilding details.

He and Espy took in the stained glass, the royal tombs, and the iconic imagery. It was a lot to absorb, and after a while they found seats so they could rest their feet and gather their thoughts—and turn their attentions back to what had brought them to Russia.

From where Jack sat, he had a good view of the unusual iconostasis, the tower rising high over the altar. He was certain he’d never seen one quite like it. Remembering the map in his pocket, he pulled it out and opened it, curious as to the reason for the strange design. But he’d forgotten the text was in Russian. He was about to ask Espy if she could find anything relevant to the iconostasis when something caught his eye, something he could read.

He brought the map closer, looking at the notes beneath the cathedral drawing. Most of the characters were Cyrillic; there was no chance of him reading even a single word. It wasn’t the Russian, though, that had attracted his attention. Rather, it was a line of numbers.

“What does this say?” he asked, handing the map to Espy, a finger on the line in question.

“It says, ‘The cathedral’s spire is 123 meters tall and is topped by the iconic image of the Fortress, the angel.’ Why?” When finished, she looked at Jack, who was smiling back at her.

“One second.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small notebook where he’d jotted what he believed were the relevant bits from Chambers’s notebook. The piece of information he was looking for was on the first page. He handed the notebook to Espy. “See there,” he said, showing her where it was written. “Each of the three priestly couplets is separated by a total of 123 words.”

“So Chambers was referencing the bell tower.”

“That’s one number down,” he said.

Espy frowned and looked back at the paper, trying to decipher his notes. “‘Each of the sentences dealing with organizational leadership is ten words long,’” she read. “‘Each dealing with the Fortress is seven.’”

Jack considered the only other repeating number he’d found—the seventeen sentences of varying lengths totaling 123 words. He didn’t have a good feel for that one, unsure if it was a number they needed to factor in or if it was just coincidence. “And the 123 words between each sentence in a couplet is made up of seventeen sentences,” he added.

Espy absorbed the numbers. Jack could see her moving them around in her mind like Scrabble tiles, looking for the proverbial seven-letter word.

“A ten, a seven, and a seventeen,” she said, “with the tens and sevens probably tied together somehow.”

“That’s possible,” Jack said. “But I don’t want to exclude the possibility that they’re supposed to remain separate.”

Espy nodded. “We have three numbers that may end up being two numbers—where does that leave us?”

“I think it leaves us taking a tour,” Jack answered. At Espy’s puzzled look, he continued, “I don’t see any of our numbers on your map. I suppose we could just walk around the cathedral and hope we spot something, if what we’re looking for is even in the cathedral. Or we can find someone who knows the history.”

Espy had to concede the logic, so when the next tour started fifteen minutes later, they were in the party. One problem was that the tour guide spoke only Russian, which meant Espy was forced to provide a running commentary in order for Jack to keep up. This earned them a few sour looks from other members of the group, but Espy did her best to keep her voice low. Over the next half hour they gathered much information, including the background on the iconostasis that had piqued Jack’s interest earlier. But neither of them heard anything that might relate to the numbers.

As the tour neared its end, it became apparent the tour guide had saved the best for last: the bell tower. The stairs to the tower’s carillon were located next to the main entrance of the cathedral, which had enthralled Peter the Great enough to commission its creation and installation.

The guide led the way up the stairs, tossing facts over his shoulder as the group followed. Jack was perhaps halfway up the narrow staircase when he saw Espy stiffen. A moment later, her hand was on his arm, gripping it tightly as she stared at the back of the guide’s head. She interrupted the man, saying something in Russian. He gave a short reply, and Espy asked an immediate follow-up question. The guide responded again, this time speaking longer. When he’d finished, Espy seemed satisfied, but when they reached the top of the stairs, she pulled Jack aside.

“It’s up here,” she said, her voice an excited whisper.

“What is?”

“Whatever we’re looking for. I think it’s in this room. The carillon was installed in 1720. Apparently, Peter the Great traveled to the Netherlands and heard ones like them and commissioned a set for the cathedral.”

Jack nodded. “Go on. What else?”

Espy gestured to the guide. “He tells an interesting story about Peter, who first heard the bells in Amsterdam in the late seventeenth century and the experience stayed with him. So much so that he made a return visit in disguise, climbing the bell tower of a cathedral there to get a better look.”

She stopped and shifted her eyes to the carillon. Jack followed her gaze, studying the tower’s bells.

“He climbed the tower in 1717,” Espy said.

When she said it, Jack looked on the carillon in a new light. Chambers had pointed them to the height of the tower. Now the number seventeen. There were no coincidences.

The carillon above them was made up of perhaps two hundred bells, all arranged in rows and levels. And Henry Chambers’s notes implied there was something here to find.

Jack glanced around the small space, searching for an access to the bells. He spotted one beyond the tour guide. It was a ladder—rungs built into a recess in the wall. Jack’s eyes followed the ladder up until it reached a circular platform surrounding them. He looked at the guide again, then at the crowd in the room, then back to Espy.

“I think we may need some privacy,” he said.