"Could that be possible?" Rachel asked.

Gray stared through the stained glass. He remembered Father Rye's tale of Bardsey Island, of the claim that the wizard Merlin was buried there in a glass coffin. Was this the true source of that myth? Had word whispered out of the entombment here, confusing the name Meritaten with Merlin?

Gray ran the mythic history of the British Isles through his head. He remembered the priest's description of the war of the Celts against a tribe of black-skinned monsters, the Fomorians. To the Celts, a tribe of displaced Egyptians would have seemed foreign and strange. And according to those same stories, the Fomorians shared their abundant knowledge of agriculture, a skill well honed by the Egyptians along the Nile.

Wallace straightened, deep in thought. "Some historians claim the ancient stone builders of England might have been Egyptian. At a Neolithic burial site at Tara in Ireland, they found a body decorated with ceramic faience beads, a skill not known to such people-but the beads were almost identical to those found in the tomb of Tutankhamen. And in England, near the city of Hull, massive boats were discovered preserved in a peat marsh. They were distinctly Egyptian in design and dated to 1400 B.C., well before Vikings or any other seafaring people came to our shores. I myself viewed an ancient stone at the British Museum, unearthed by a farmer in Wales. It shows a figure in Egyptian garb with pyramids in the background."

Wallace shook his head, as if still struggling to believe it himself. "But here...here's true proof."

"And the key?" Seichan reminded them, coughing hoarsely, still holding a bloody cloth to her cheek.

Beyond the glass, a figure lay in the coffin. A bronze clasp closed the hinged lid. Gray knew they had to disturb the rest of this Egyptian princess. He reached and undid the clasp. He pulled the lid up and leaned it back.

A sweetly sick scent wafted out.

"My God!" Rachel exclaimed.

Though withered and desiccated, the body was still strangely preserved. Long black hair draped the reclining figure. Her dark skin was stretched smooth. Even her eyelashes were intact. Fine cloth wrapped her body from toe to neck. A gold crown topped her head, clearly Egyptian in design from the decorations in lapis lazuli.

The only other exposed parts of her body were her hands. They were folded over her chest, clutching a stone jug carved with more hieroglyphs. The jar was sealed on top with a gold lid in the shape of a hawk's head.

"Look at her right hand," Rachel said.

Gray noted the missing index finger.

Wallace's attention fixed on the stone-and-gold jug. "The design looks like a canopic jar. Used to hold the embalmed organs of a king or queen."

Gray knew they had to look inside. The Doomsday key had always been connected to the body of the dark queen. He reached into the casket and slipped the heavy container from the queen's withered fingers.

"I wouldn't do that," Kowalski mumbled and backed up a step. "No way, no how. Thing's got to be cursed."

Or it's the cure, Gray thought.

With their skill in agriculture, the Egyptians must have discovered some type of fungal parasite that could wreak havoc and lay waste to a village. A form of biowarfare. But did they also possess the counteragent?

Gray cradled the jar, gripped the hawk's head, and tugged the lid off. He cringed inwardly, not knowing what to expect.

Curse or cure?

Wallace held a flashlight steady as Gray tipped it over.

From inside, a snow-white powder spilled out, so fine it poured like water. He remembered the story of Bernard and the Lactation Miracle, how the Black Madonna wept milk and cured him.

Gray knew what pooled in his palm. "It's the cure," he said, knowing it to be true. "This is the key."

He poured the powder back into the canopic jar and sealed it tight.

"You might want to see this," Seichan coughed out. She had moved to another of the caskets and opened it.

They joined her.

She pointed her light into the glass casket. A body lay wrapped in cloths, wearing a simple white robe with a cowl. His hands were also folded, clutching a small leather-bound book.

But it was the body's face on which Seichan focused her light. The man looked as if he could have died yesterday. His skin, while slightly sunken, was unblemished, his lips red, his eyes closed as if in slumber. His brown hair looked freshly combed and trimmed straight across his brow.

"He's not decayed at all," Seichan said.

Rachel placed a hand to her throat. "The bodies of saints are said to be incorruptible. They don't decay. This has to be Saint Malachy"-she glanced at the third coffin where a vague outline of another body could be seen-"or Saint Bernard."

Wallace had another thought on the miraculous nature of the body's incorruptibility. He stared over at the jar in Gray's arms, then back to the remains.

"Canopic jars didn't always hold embalmed organs." He nodded toward the jug. "Sometimes they just stored embalming compounds. Oils, unguents, powders."

Gray understood. "If the key was a curative, specifically against the fungal scourge, the powder must possess strong antifungal properties...possibly antibacterial, too." He stared at the face of the saint. "And the main sources of bodily decay are fungi and bacteria. Embalm a corpse with such a compound, seal the coffin tight, and it would appear incorruptible."

He also remembered the unusual health and longevity attributed to the monks of Bardsey Island. Such a powerful curative would have protected the monks against the usual pathogens that swept through the Middle Ages. No wonder the island had a reputation for healing.

Wallace's eyes widened. "So the key..."

"It must originally have been an embalming compound. Perhaps one brought from Egypt or discovered in their new land. Either way, its medicinal use must have quickly been recognized. Back in those times, such a cure must have seemed miraculous."

Wallace nodded. "And when paired with a deadly pathogen, it was a powerful combination. A bioweapon and its counteragent."

"And the knowledge passed from the Egyptians, to the Celts, to the early Church. Where it was eventually bottled up and hidden here."

"But that wasn't the only knowledge passed along that historical line." Wallace turned to face the Celtic cross. "For the longest time, archaeologists have debated how the Egyptians built the pyramids with such precision, such alignment. They would have needed a powerful surveying tool."

Gray studied the cross with new eyes. Could this have been it?

Behind him, Rachel let out a small gasp of surprise. She had remained at the casket. She and Seichan were bent over the body. They had opened the book held in the saint's hand.

"The name inside," Seichan said grimly. "Mael Maedoc."

"Saint Malachy," Rachel concurred. She flipped pages of the book. "It's his journal. Look at these numbers and the scribbled bits of Latin..."

She glanced back at Gray. "This is Malachy's original prophecy of the popes. In his own handwriting." Her voice grew even sharper. "But there's more written! Pages and pages of it. I think the journal contains hundreds of additional prophecies. Divinations never reported by the Church."

And maybe rightly so, Gray thought. The Church must have been frightened enough by the prophecy of the popes, of predictions about the end of the world. No wonder the journal was hidden away.

Before Rachel could explore the writings in more depth, Seichan reached to the book and flipped back to the front page. A symbol was drawn there. It was Egyptian. She glanced over at Gray. He recognized it. They had all seen it before.