More than three thousand people are entombed or enshrined within Westminster Abbey. Thecolossal stone interior burgeons with the remains of kings, statesmen, scientists, poets, andmusicians. Their tombs, packed into every last niche and alcove, range in grandeur from the mostregal of mausoleums—that of Queen Elizabeth I, whose canopied sarcophagus inhabits its ownprivate, apsidal chapel—down to the most modest etched floor tiles whose inscriptions have wornaway with centuries of foot traffic, leaving it to one's imagination whose relics might lie below thetile in the undercroft.
Designed in the style of the great cathedrals of Amiens, Chartres, and Canterbury, WestminsterAbbey is considered neither cathedral nor parish church. It bears the classification of royalpeculiar, subject only to the Sovereign. Since hosting the coronation of William the Conqueror onChristmas Day in 1066, the dazzling sanctuary has witnessed an endless procession of royalceremonies and affairs of state—from the canonization of Edward the Confessor, to the marriage ofPrince Andrew and Sarah Ferguson, to the funerals of Henry V, Queen Elizabeth I, and LadyDiana.
Even so, Robert Langdon currently felt no interest in any of the abbey's ancient history, save oneevent—the funeral of the British knight Sir Isaac Newton.
In London lies a knight a Pope interred.
Hurrying through the grand portico on the north transept, Langdon and Sophie were met by guardswho politely ushered them through the abbey's newest addition—a large walk-through metaldetector—now present in most historic buildings in London. They both passed through withoutsetting off the alarm and continued to the abbey entrance.
Stepping across the threshold into Westminster Abbey, Langdon felt the outside world evaporatewith a sudden hush. No rumble of traffic. No hiss of rain. Just a deafening silence, which seemed toreverberate back and forth as if the building were whispering to itself.
Langdon's and Sophie's eyes, like those of almost every visitor, shifted immediately skyward,where the abbey's great abyss seemed to explode overhead. Gray stone columns ascended likeredwoods into the shadows, arching gracefully over dizzying expanses, and then shooting backdown to the stone floor. Before them, the wide alley of the north transept stretched out like a deepcanyon, flanked by sheer cliffs of stained glass. On sunny days, the abbey floor was a prismaticpatchwork of light. Today, the rain and darkness gave this massive hollow a wraithlike aura... morelike that of the crypt it truly was.
"It's practically empty," Sophie whispered.
Langdon felt disappointed. He had hoped for a lot more people. A more public place. Their earlierexperience in the deserted Temple Church was not one Langdon wanted to repeat. He had beenanticipating a certain feeling of security in the popular tourist destination, but Langdon'srecollections of bustling throngs in a well-lit abbey had been formed during the peak summertourist season. Today was a rainy April morning. Rather than crowds and shimmering stainedglass, all Langdon saw was acres of desolate floor and shadowy, empty alcoves.
"We passed through metal detectors," Sophie reminded, apparently sensing Langdon'sapprehension. "If anyone is in here, they can't be armed."Langdon nodded but still felt circumspect. He had wanted to bring the London police with them,but Sophie's fears of who might be involved put a damper on any contact with the authorities. Weneed to recover the cryptex, Sophie had insisted. It is the key to everything.
She was right, of course.
The key to getting Leigh back alive.
The key to finding the Holy Grail.
The key to learning who is behind this.
Unfortunately, their only chance to recover the keystone seemed to be here and now... at the tombof Isaac Newton. Whoever held the cryptex would have to pay a visit to the tomb to decipher thefinal clue, and if they had not already come and gone, Sophie and Langdon intended to interceptthem.
Striding toward the left wall to get out of the open, they moved into an obscure side aisle behind arow of pilasters. Langdon couldn't shake the image of Leigh Teabing being held captive, probablytied up in the back of his own limousine. Whoever had ordered the top Priory members killedwould not hesitate to eliminate others who stood in the way. It seemed a cruel irony thatTeabing—a modern British knight—was a hostage in the search for his own countryman, Sir IsaacNewton.
"Which way is it?" Sophie asked, looking around.
The tomb. Langdon had no idea. "We should find a docent and ask."Langdon knew better than to wander aimlessly in here. Westminster Abbey was a tangled warrenof mausoleums, perimeter chambers, and walk-in burial niches. Like the Louvre's Grand Gallery, ithad a lone point of entry—the door through which they had just passed—easy to find your way in,but impossible to find your way out. A literal tourist trap, one of Langdon's befuddled colleagueshad called it. Keeping architectural tradition, the abbey was laid out in the shape of a giant crucifix.
Unlike most churches, however, it had its entrance on the side, rather than the standard rear of thechurch via the narthex at the bottom of the nave. Moreover, the abbey had a series of sprawlingcloisters attached. One false step through the wrong archway, and a visitor was lost in a labyrinthof outdoor passageways surrounded by high ............