lie to me → s.d.

.14 | death unto greed

          The catacombs beneath Avery's grave must have contained some of the darkness escaped Pandora's box, because even with the flashlights strapped to their backpacks, there was hardly any hope of knowing where they were going. The trio descended a few flights of steep, cobwebbed stairs that wrapped around themselves like apartment stairwells in some big city with shitty living arrangements. It was so quiet, so desolate of any sound save for their own heartbeats, their footsteps clicking against the cold floor sounded as loud as the wall-rattling booms that rained clouds of dust on their heads.

          "I guess Avery must've liked his privacy," said Sam when they at last reached the bottom-most floor. The stairs opened up into a long, narrow hallway, so tightly built they were forced to move single file - Nathan led the way, flashlight bouncing with his steps.

          Near the end of the stone corridor, their lights hit what looked like a door. "Well, wouldn't you?" said Theodora. Her words echoed both forward and back, being repeated back to them, as if the walls themselves were listening and trying to imitate her. "If you were sitting on four hundred thousand, I'm sure you'd want to keep it safe, too."

Nathan reached the door and angled his light up so that they could see it for what it truly was. It was a door, alright, two of them, carved so intricately it seemed a lie the etches marks could have been made by hand. Inscriptions of Latin accompanied pictures of old, masted ships at sea and angels watching, uninterested, from their kingdom in the clouds. In the middle of the carvings, sliced in half where the two doors met, a carving of a weight scale had been frozen in time in the ancient oak. One arm was extended upwards, bearing the lighter load; a single line and dot, a child's stick figure with just a touch more elegance adorning its edges and curves. The heavier weight depicted a cross. Beneath it was the inscription 'Qui mortem avaritia.'

Shoving the doors open on their rusted hinges and disturbing a cloud of smoke, the youngest brother called, "Hello, Avery's treasure."

He didn't get a reply. Mostly because there was no treasure inside.

Instead, they were greeted with a large, circular-shaped room with a ceiling that extended just high enough to allow a dull, golden chandelier to swing gently from the sudden movement. A few spills of natural light pooled down from some hidden crevices above. Their gazes were drawn to the center of the chamber, where, on a stone tablet pedestal, a weight scale was staring right back at them. The weights on either end were even, holding the crested arms level; in one plate was a small pile of copper-colored coins. In the other was a gold cross, the stem and branches inlaid with delicate gems and jewels that twinkled mischievously, almost as if daring them to come closer.

"What is this?" said Sam. The brothers circled the scale like they were going to do a dance-off. "Some kind of test?"

"Well, Avery did love his security measures," said Nathan.

Hefting her pack on her shoulder, Theodora glanced at the scale, then back to the doors, which had separated the two halves of the carving. She backtracked and touched the right door, running a shaking thumb over the little figure standing on the lighter plate. Her teeth chattered slightly; why couldn't Avery have put this somewhere more tropical? She glanced to the other door with the heavier load, back to the real thing, and down at the Latin phrase. She had never gotten a good grasp on the old language. But she had two people that did.

"Hey," she said, and they listened to her voice bounce across the room and back to her again. "What does this translate to? 'Qui mortem avaritia.'"

"Well, mortem is death," replied Nathan absentmindedly, preoccupied with running a finger along the dust-ridden pedestal. "And avaritia would be... greed. Death unto greed? Something like that."