The Da Vinci Code

CHAPTER 64
Teabing sat on the divan, cradling the wooden box on his lap and admiring the lid's intricate inlaid 
Rose. Tonight has become the strangest and most magical night of my life.

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"Lift the lid," Sophie whispered, standing over him, beside Langdon.
Teabing smiled. Do not rush me. Having spent over a decade searching for this keystone, he 
wanted to savor every millisecond of this moment. He ran a palm across the wooden lid, feeling the 
texture of the inlaid flower.
"The Rose," he whispered. The Rose is Magdalene is the Holy Grail. The Rose is the compass that 
guides the way. Teabing felt foolish. For years he had traveled to cathedrals and churches all over 
France, paying for special access, examining hundreds of archways beneath rose windows, 
searching for an encrypted keystone. La clef de voûte—a stone key beneath the sign of the Rose.
Teabing slowly unlatched the lid and raised it.
As his eyes finally gazed upon the contents, he knew in an instant it could only be the keystone. He 
was staring at a stone cylinder, crafted of interconnecting lettered dials. The device seemed 
surprisingly familiar to him.
"Designed from Da Vinci's diaries," Sophie said. "My grandfather made them as a hobby."
Of course, Teabing realized. He had seen the sketches and blueprints. The key to finding the Holy 
Grail lies inside this stone. Teabing lifted the heavy cryptex from the box, holding it gently. 
Although he had no idea how to open the cylinder, he sensed his own destiny lay inside. In 
moments of failure, Teabing had questioned whether his life's quest would ever be rewarded. Now 
those doubts were gone forever. He could hear the ancient words... the foundation of the Grail 
legend:
Vous ne trouvez pas le Saint-Graal, c'est le Saint-Graal qui vous trouve.
You do not find the Grail, the Grail finds you.
And tonight, incredibly, the key to finding the Holy Grail had walked right through his front door.
While Sophie and Teabing sat with the cryptex and talked about the vinegar, the dials, and what the 
password might be, Langdon carried the rosewood box across the room to a well-lit table to get a 
better look at it. Something Teabing had just said was now running through Langdon's mind.
The key to the Grail is hidden beneath the sign of the Rose.
Langdon held the wooden box up to the light and examined the inlaid symbol of the Rose. 
Although his familiarity with art did not include woodworking or inlaid furniture, he had just 
recalled the famous tiled ceiling of the Spanish monastery outside of Madrid, where, three 

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centuries after its construction, the ceiling tiles began to fall out, revealing sacred texts scrawled by 
monks on the plaster beneath.
Langdon looked again at the Rose.
Beneath the Rose.
Sub Rosa.
Secret.
A bump in the hallway behind him made Langdon turn. He saw nothing but shadows. Teabing's 
manservant most likely had passed through. Langdon turned back to the box. He ran his finger over 
the smooth edge of the inlay, wondering if he could pry the Rose out, but the craftsmanship was 
perfect. He doubted even a razor blade could fit in between the inlaid Rose and the carefully carved 
depression into which it was seated.
Opening the box, he examined the inside of the lid. It was smooth. As he shifted its position, 
though, the light caught what appeared to be a small hole on the underside of the lid, positioned in 
the exact center. Langdon closed the lid and examined the inlaid symbol from the top. No hole.
It doesn't pass through.
Setting the box on the table, he looked around the room and spied a stack of papers with a paper 
clip on it. Borrowing the clip, he returned to the box, opened it, and studied the hole again. 
Carefully, he unbent the paper clip and inserted one end into the hole. He gave a gentle push. It 
took almost no effort. He heard something clatter quietly onto the table. Langdon closed the lid to 
look. It was a small piece of wood, like a puzzle piece. The wooden Rose had popped out of the lid 
and fallen onto the desk.
Speechless, Langdon stared at the bare spot on the lid where the Rose had been. There, engraved in 
the wood, written in an immaculate hand, were four lines of text in a language he had never seen.
The characters look vaguely Semitic, Langdon thought to himself, and yet I don't recognize the 
language!
A sudden movement behind him caught his attention. Out of nowhere, a crushing blow to the head 
knocked Langdon to his knees.
As he fell, he thought for a moment he saw a pale ghost hovering over him, clutching a gun. Then 
everything went black.

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