Long Tom sluice box stood opposite with water trickling through it, making a sound like the roof was leaking. A collection of gold pans was arranged around it, beneath a sign saying Tools of the Treasure Hunterâs Trade. There were pickaxes too and fake sticks of dynamite and ore crushers and softly lit cabinets containing examples of copper ore and gold flake and silver seams in quartz. Another cabinet contained personal effectsâreading glasses, pens, glovesâall carefully labeled and arranged, and there was a scale model of the town on a table showing what Redemption had looked like a hundred years ago. And right in the center of the strange diorama a lectern stood, angled toward the door so that anyone entering the building was forced to gaze upon the battered Bible resting on it.Solomon walked forward, feeling the cold flagstones beneath his feet. He could see the remnant of a lost page sticking out from the binding, its edge rough, as if it had been violently torn from the book. The missing page was from Exodus, chapters twenty through twenty-one, where Moses brought Godâs ten holy laws down from the mountain on tablets of stone.
âThe Church of Lost Commandments,â Solomon muttered, then continued onward into the heart of the church, breathing in the smells of the place: dust, polish, candle wax, copper, mold.
The commandments were everywhere: carved into the stonework and the wooden backs of the pews, inscribed in the floor in copper letters, even depicted in the stained glass of the windows. It was as if whoever had lost the page from the Bible had built the church in some grand attempt to make up for it. The altar lay directly ahead of him, the large copper cross standing on a stone plinth. As he drew closer he studied it, his eager eyes tracing the twisted lines and spars identical to the cross he wore around his neck, hoping for some jolt of recognition. But if he had ever been here before or stood and gazed upon this cross and this altar he couldnât remember it and he felt frustration flood into the place where his hope had been.
The church seemed gloomier here, as if the walls around the altar were made of darker material, and as he drew closer he saw the reason for it. The stonework, bright white in the rest of the building, was covered in dark frescoes. They depicted a desert landscape at night, populated with nightmarish creatures: hunched men and skeletal women; children with black and hollow eyes, their clothes ragged and tattered. Some rode starved horses with ribs sticking out from sunken hides, their eyes as hollow as their ridersâ.
Beneath the ground, emerging from a vast, burning underworld, were demons with sharp, eager teeth and leathery wings that stirredthe dust and taloned hands that reached up through cracks in the dry land to grab at the wretched people above them. A few of the demons had snagged an arm or a leg and were gleefully dragging some poor soul down into the fire while their terrified eyes gazed up at the distant glow of a painted heaven. And there was something else, something moving in the shadowsâa figure, pale and ghostlyâwalking out of the painted landscape toward him. It was his reflection, captured in a large mirror that had been positioned so that anyone looking at the fresco became part of what they observed. On either side of the mirror were two painted figuresâan angel and a demonâgazing out of the picture, their eyes focused on whoever might stand and gaze in the mirror.
Solomon moved closer until his reflection filled the frame. He studied his face. It was the first time he had seen himself properly and it was like looking at a picture of someone else. Nothing about his features was familiar, not his pale gray eyes or his long, fine nose or the scoops of his cheeks beneath razored cheekbones. He did not recognize the person staring back at him.
âWho are you?â he asked, and a loud bang echoed through the
âThe Church of Lost Commandments,â Solomon muttered, then continued onward into the heart of the church, breathing in the smells of the place: dust, polish, candle wax, copper, mold.
The commandments were everywhere: carved into the stonework and the wooden backs of the pews, inscribed in the floor in copper letters, even depicted in the stained glass of the windows. It was as if whoever had lost the page from the Bible had built the church in some grand attempt to make up for it. The altar lay directly ahead of him, the large copper cross standing on a stone plinth. As he drew closer he studied it, his eager eyes tracing the twisted lines and spars identical to the cross he wore around his neck, hoping for some jolt of recognition. But if he had ever been here before or stood and gazed upon this cross and this altar he couldnât remember it and he felt frustration flood into the place where his hope had been.
The church seemed gloomier here, as if the walls around the altar were made of darker material, and as he drew closer he saw the reason for it. The stonework, bright white in the rest of the building, was covered in dark frescoes. They depicted a desert landscape at night, populated with nightmarish creatures: hunched men and skeletal women; children with black and hollow eyes, their clothes ragged and tattered. Some rode starved horses with ribs sticking out from sunken hides, their eyes as hollow as their ridersâ.
Beneath the ground, emerging from a vast, burning underworld, were demons with sharp, eager teeth and leathery wings that stirredthe dust and taloned hands that reached up through cracks in the dry land to grab at the wretched people above them. A few of the demons had snagged an arm or a leg and were gleefully dragging some poor soul down into the fire while their terrified eyes gazed up at the distant glow of a painted heaven. And there was something else, something moving in the shadowsâa figure, pale and ghostlyâwalking out of the painted landscape toward him. It was his reflection, captured in a large mirror that had been positioned so that anyone looking at the fresco became part of what they observed. On either side of the mirror were two painted figuresâan angel and a demonâgazing out of the picture, their eyes focused on whoever might stand and gaze in the mirror.
Solomon moved closer until his reflection filled the frame. He studied his face. It was the first time he had seen himself properly and it was like looking at a picture of someone else. Nothing about his features was familiar, not his pale gray eyes or his long, fine nose or the scoops of his cheeks beneath razored cheekbones. He did not recognize the person staring back at him.
âWho are you?â he asked, and a loud bang echoed through the
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