At the same time, she tried to erase from her mind the grotesque image of Malchus leering over her. Her arms were aching from their unnatural position, and every movement sent bolts of pain shooting through her stretched shoulders. Looking around the dimly lit crypt, she could see that the second Malchus had left the ancient chamber and headed up the stairs to the grand basilica above, Ferguson and the gasmen had also begun trying to tear themselves free of the great piers. She knew she had to get loose quickly. If Malchus was still close by, then there remained a chance the Menorah was not completely lost. All she had to do was get free of the constricting ropes. Gritting her teeth, she scrunched up her hands to make them narrow enough to slip through the knots. Pulling hard, she felt the bones and cartilage crunching together as she struggled to drag her hands free.
