Langdon knew the question was rhetorical. This bizarre communiqué
obviously did not fit
Langdon's scenario of goddess worship at all.
O, Draconian devil? Oh, lame saint?
Fache said, "This text appears to be an accusation of some sort. Wouldn't you agree?"
Langdon tried to imagine the curator's final minutes trapped alone in the Grand Gallery, knowing
he was about to die. It seemed logical. "An accusation against his murderer makes sense, I
suppose."
"My job, of course, is to put a name to that person. Let me ask you this, Mr. Langdon.
To your eye,
beyond the numbers, what about this message is most strange?"
Most strange? A dying man had barricaded himself in the gallery, drawn a pentacle on himself, and
scrawled a mysterious accusation on the floor.
What about the scenario wasn't strange?
"The word 'Draconian'?" he ventured, offering the first thing that came to mind. Langdon was
fairly certain that a reference to Draco—the ruthless seventh-century B.C. politician—was an
unlikely dying thought. " 'Draconian devil' seems an odd choice of vocabulary."
"Draconian?" Fache's tone came with a tinge of impatience now. "Saunière's choice of vocabulary
hardly seems the primary issue here."
Langdon wasn't sure
what issue Fache had in mind, but he was starting to suspect that Draco and
Fache would have gotten along well.
"Saunière was a Frenchman," Fache said flatly. "He lived in Paris. And yet he chose to write this
message..."
"In English," Langdon said, now realizing the captain's meaning.
Fache nodded.
"Précisément. Any idea why?"
Langdon knew Saunière
spoke impeccable English, and yet the reason he had chosen English as
the language in which to write his final words escaped Langdon. He shrugged.
Fache motioned back to the pentacle on Saunière's abdomen. "Nothing to do with devil worship?
Are you still certain?"
Langdon was certain of nothing anymore. "The symbology and text don't seem to coincide. I'm
sorry I can't be of more help."
"Perhaps this will clarify." Fache backed away from the body and raised the black light again,
letting the beam spread out in a wider angle. "And now?"
To Langdon's amazement, a rudimentary circle glowed around the curator's body. Saunière had
apparently lay down and swung the pen around
himself in several long arcs, essentially inscribing
himself inside a circle.
In a flash, the meaning became clear.
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