Their name was only spoken in hushed tones. They were cloaked in anonymity, a legend thought to belong to the distant past.
In the early twentieth century, Barcelona basks as the center of the high-spirited Modernist movement that has captivated Western thought, art, and architecture. Yet while the city's surface is aglow with creativity, its darker underworld hides a multitude of secret societies—those that support and those that seek to undermine the architects of the city's newfound splendor.
When the death of the Grand Master of an ancient religious brotherhood seems imminent, a decision must be made as to the fate of a sacred object whose existence has been a guarded secret since the early Christian era. The Grand Master passes on the relic to a prominent member of his order, a man named Antonio Gaudí—already a celebrity in his own right. The great architect thus inherits a dual mission: to do all he can to protect the artifact from the covetous hands of those who seek to do evil and to preserve its secrecy by passing it on to a worthy person of his choosing—in this case, his young apprentice.
In honoring his pledge to forever keep the secret from dangerous hands, Gaudí hides the relic in the heart of his most precious work, in a place he believes will never be discovered.
Almost a century later, María, the granddaughter of the apprentice to whom Gaudí passed along his secret, is charged with finding the relic. But after the mysterious death of her grandfather, María doesn't know what the relic is, where it is located, or what she needs to do with it after she finds it.
With the help of her mathematician boyfriend, she begins to trace the clues that Gaudí hid in the symbolism of his sculptures, designs, and, most important, his architecture—racing against time and the evil forces aligning against her to unravel the true meaning of Gaudí's monuments and their mysterious legacy. And to finally uncover the whereabouts and importance of the sacred relic Gaudí was dedicated to protect . . .
The Gaudi Key
A NovelBy Esteban MartinHarperCollins Publishers, Inc.
Copyright © 2008 Esteban Martin
All right reserved.ISBN: 9780061434914One
Barcelona
June 6, 1926
It has to look like an accident."
The masked man's voice was deep and ominous.
"It will," replied one of the two men standing before him. "Don't worry, Asmodeus."
They'd both arrived at the crypt at the exact time the man known as Asmodeus had commanded. Dressed in black, their heads bowed down respectfully, the pair approached the sculpted, black marble altar where Asmodeus stood, awaiting them.The crypt was located under an ornate mansion known in Catalan as Set Portes—Seven Doors—and was illuminated by small candles protruding from fixtures embedded in the walls, their bluish flames casting a dim light throughout the centuries-old stone chamber. Asmodeus's figure was lit by the two candelabra hanging on either side of the altar. The flickering candles cast shadows that exaggerated the leather folds of the mask he wore, which resembled a muted and ancient version of a Venetian carnival mask. Asmodeus's face was completely hidden. In fact, none of the disciples in the Corbel had ever seen his face. It was their way. The identity of Asmodeus must never be revealed, even to them.
He gestured vaguely with his right hand, signaling one of the two men to speak."We've been trailing him for quite some time now, just as you ordered. The old man takes the same route every day. He leaves his studio at about five thirty each afternoon and heads for the church in Plaza San Felip Neri," the taller of the two men reported.
"That's quite a walk.""He's old. He thinks it's good for his rheumatism," the other explained.He was burlier than his companion and had a soft voice that seemed out of sync with his hard features. Despite their obvious physical differences, the two actually resembled each other. Asmodeus always maintained that the faces of those meant to serve the Dark One were always cast from the same mold."He walks down Gran Vía and crosses at Calle Bailén, by Plaza Tetuán, then takes Urquinaona and continues down Fontanella until he finally gets to Puerta del Angel. And from there he takes Calle Arcs, Plaza Nova, Calle Bisbe, Calle San Sever, and ends up at San Felip Neri." He glanced at his companion standing next to him, who nodded encouragement, so he continued.
"The old man stays in the chapel until it closes. Then he retraces his steps—"The other one cut in. "But when he gets to Plaza Urquinaona, he stops at the kiosk to buy the evening paper, the Veu de Catalunya. Then he goes back to his studio."
"He doesn't get home until about ten," the other concluded.If Asmodeus's face had been visible, they'd have seen his satisfied smile. They worked well, these two. Of all the members of the Corbel, he was right to choose them.
"Does he visit anyone?"
"Father Agustín Mas, in the San Felip Neri Church."
"His spiritual adviser," the other explained.
"I chose you two because you're the best. There can be no mistakes," Asmodeus intoned.
"Don't worry," the taller one said.
The other hesitated for a moment. Asmodeus took note.
"Is there a problem?"
"There's a boy."
"A boy?"
He nodded. "For the past few days he's been accompanied by a boy. He lives with him, in his studio. We checked."
"How long has this boy lived there?"
"A few months."
"A few?"
"Well, almost a year . . . eleven months."
"What's a boy doing living with him? Who is he?" Asmodeus's voice conveyed the frustration he felt at not having immediately been told about the existence of this boy.
As he waited for an answer, other men began to file into the room with military precision. They lined up several feet behind the two men standing before Asmodeus. They began reciting their traditional incantation. Their words blended into a low murmur, a hollow sound that slowly gained volume by sheer force of its repetition. Their chanting grew louder and louder. The time to begin the ceremony had arrived.
"What's a boy doing living with him?" Asmodeus repeated, almost whispering the question to himself.
"Some mornings they just wander around aimlessly, and then in the afternoon the boy goes with him to mass. I don't think we need to worry about it. We can—"
"No." Asmodeus cut him off. "Two accidents would raise suspicion."
"We'll take care of him. He's just a kid."
"Is he a relative?"
"We don't think so. The old man has lived alone ever since his niece died several years ago. He's a very strange man."
"Yes, very strange. His life is over, but tomorrow afternoon, you will deliver his soul to his god. And then you'll bring me the secret."
"Does he always carry it?" the stockier man asked.
"Always," Asmodeus confirmed. "He even sleeps with it. Kill him and bring me his secret. You won't have much time before a crowd gathers. No mistakes on this."
"Have faith in us. There won't be any."
"There better not be."
They both knew Asmodeus meant what he said. He would never forgive a mistake."Dei Par. Dei Par."
The men who now filled the room chanted over and over. There were about twenty in all. The incantation intensified. What had begun with the solemnity of a prayer became a fervent mantra, invoking their worshipful phrase, "Dei Par."
Asmodeus held his hand out to the two men standing before him, who each kissed the ring on his finger. Its onyx stone symbolized Asmodeus's power. The chanting took on frenzied, almost inhuman tones.
The men swayed in unison, surging back and forth like a wave, anointing themselves worthy—a ceremony performed by the brotherhood for centuries.After speaking with Asmodeus, the two men left. Fueled by the importance of their mission, they moved quickly and with purpose. As they left the room, the dark figures closed in behind them. The celebrants cried out; some knelt, others lay prostrate on the floor.
Continues...Excerpted from The Gaudi Keyby Esteban Martin Copyright © 2008 by Esteban Martin. Excerpted by permission.
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