The Da Vinci Code

CHAPTER 97
More than three thousand people are entombed or enshrined within Westminster Abbey. The 
colossal stone interior burgeons with the remains of kings, statesmen, scientists, poets, and 
musicians. Their tombs, packed into every last niche and alcove, range in grandeur from the most 
regal of mausoleums—that of Queen Elizabeth I, whose canopied sarcophagus inhabits its own 
private, apsidal chapel—down to the most modest etched floor tiles whose inscriptions have worn 
away with centuries of foot traffic, leaving it to one's imagination whose relics might lie below the 
tile in the undercroft.
Designed in the style of the great cathedrals of Amiens, Chartres, and Canterbury, Westminster 
Abbey is considered neither cathedral nor parish church. It bears the classification of royal 
peculiar, subject only to the Sovereign. Since hosting the coronation of William the Conqueror on 
Christmas Day in 1066, the dazzling sanctuary has witnessed an endless procession of royal 
ceremonies and affairs of state—from the canonization of Edward the Confessor, to the marriage of 
Prince Andrew and Sarah Ferguson, to the funerals of Henry V, Queen Elizabeth I, and Lady 
Diana.
Even so, Robert Langdon currently felt no interest in any of the abbey's ancient history, save one 
event—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 guards 
who politely ushered them through the abbey's newest addition—a large walk-through metal 
detector—now present in most historic buildings in London. They both passed through without 
setting off the alarm and continued to the abbey entrance.
Stepping across the threshold into Westminster Abbey, Langdon felt the outside world evaporate 
with a sudden hush. No rumble of traffic. No hiss of rain. Just a deafening silence, which seemed to 
reverberate 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 like 
redwoods into the shadows, arching gracefully over dizzying expanses, and then shooting back 
down to the stone floor. Before them, the wide alley of the north transept stretched out like a deep 
canyon, flanked by sheer cliffs of stained glass. On sunny days, the abbey floor was a prismatic 
patchwork of light. Today, the rain and darkness gave this massive hollow a wraithlike aura... more 
like that of the crypt it truly was.

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"It's practically empty," Sophie whispered.
Langdon felt disappointed. He had hoped for a lot more people. A more public place. Their earlier 
experience in the deserted Temple Church was not one Langdon wanted to repeat. He had been 
anticipating a certain feeling of security in the popular tourist destination, but Langdon's 
recollections of bustling throngs in a well-lit abbey had been formed during the peak summer 
tourist season. Today was a rainy April morning. Rather than crowds and shimmering stained 
glass, all Langdon saw was acres of desolate floor and shadowy, empty alcoves.
"We passed through metal detectors," Sophie reminded, apparently sensing Langdon's 
apprehension. "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. We 
need to recover the cryptex, Sophie had insisted. It is the key to everything.
She was right, of course.