Siren's Secret

by Trish Albright

  Hugh helped Olivia to the ground. She thanked him absently, already absorbed in the sights, sounds, and mysteries around her. A worker passed by carrying a red and turquoise bowl. She followed after it, unaware of Stafford until he put her down on the other side of a narrow ditch she’d nearly fallen into.

  “Oh.” Olivia blinked to clear her vision, confused and surprised to suddenly see him. The elaborate bowl seemed familiar. It was used to give food offerings to the gods. She swallowed with surprise at her certainty and shook off the sudden goose bumps. She must have automatically deciphered the glyphs on the outside of the bowl. Her skills had sharpened.

  “What is it?” Stafford asked.

  Olivia bit her lip. Uncertain. The duchess stared at her as well. As if she knew something already and waited for Olivia to catch up.

  Olivia smiled and shrugged. “Nothing. Just overwhelmed. This is a dream.”

  Hugh called them to stop when some guards came to greet them. “We have a policy,” Hugh said, looking toward the men and indicating their weapons. “If you don’t mind, this is a place of exploration and study.”

  Olivia smiled approvingly as Stafford and Worthington were disarmed, including the weapons on their animals.

  “Your Grace … ?” Hugh questioned with a smile.

  Samuel’s sister smiled back—brilliantly. “Of course.” She nodded to her horse and they removed the short musket. “But I expect that back, Mr. Lampley.”

  “Of course.”

  “I can’t help to notice, Hugh,” Stafford commented, “that for a place of exploration and study, everyone else seems to be well armed.”

  Olivia caught the hardness in Samuel’s voice. It put her on alert. Indeed, Samuel was right. Except for the people carrying artifacts and objects from the entrance of the tomb, everyone else was armed.

  Mr. Lampley stood firm, though his stance appeared casual—legs apart, with thumbs hooked over his breeches. “They’re my men. Our goal is to protect the site, the men excavating it, and the valuable discoveries they are making. That includes any visitors.” He smiled warmly at the ladies. Olivia considered the veracity of his statement. For now, it seemed reasonable to go along with him.

  “Olivia!” The voice set any lingering qualms aside.

  Her father!

  She looked toward the sound and saw him exiting the tomb. “Father!” Olivia rushed ahead of the others, weaving between guards and servants. Joy surged through her.

  He is safe.

  Instantly, weeks of tension released from her body. She stopped short of him, nearly swaying on her feet with relief.

  He was still slender, though he seemed smaller than his six feet—hunched a bit from hours of crouching over ancient stone and dusting off rocks. He had aged significantly since their visit a year ago. It made her protective. And worried.

  “Olivia! Good golly, girl! Whatever are you doing here? I didn’t believe the news!”

  Olivia froze. Uncertain.

  He reached out. “Come here. I’m dusty and unfit for company, but let me see you.” He took her hands and examined her with his scientific eyes. Suddenly she was one of his specimens. “You’re safe and unharmed?”

  “Yes, Father.” Olivia had never felt so unsure in her life. “Are you happy to see me?”

  “Of course.” He relaxed a little. “Only frightened at the thought of how you have journeyed here. I can’t believe Grayson didn’t have more sense. This was not what I had in mind.”

  Samuel stepped up to guard Olivia from behind. “I brought her.”

  Samuel studied her father. Elizabeth, Nathan, Alex, and Worthington joined him. They were letting Lord Merryvale know they stood with Olivia—even if she didn’t know it. Her father’s greeting had been less than wholehearted. It might be an English thing, but it angered Samuel. Olivia had risked her life to come and save him, to see to his safety. A warm welcome would not have been inappropriate—especially after not seeing her for so long.

  “Father, if I may introduce you. Stafford, this is my father, Nigel, Lord Merryvale. Father, Captain Samuel Stafford of Stafford Shipping.”

  “Stafford? Well, then. That would have been safe enough. I’m told you have special privileges in these waters.”

  “Usually,” Samuel said, hesitant to reveal much. Instead he indicated his sister, Worthington, Elizabeth, and Nathan. Elizabeth stepped forward and took both of Merryvale’s hands, greeting him warmly. Slowly everyone began to relax. News was shared, and Merryvale congratulated the Riedells on their nuptials.

  “I see now that you had to deliver her,” Merryvale said. “That was very thorough of you, Mrs. Riedell.”

  “Nathan and I will stay until she no longer needs us, my lord,” Elizabeth answered.

  “I must release you now,” Olivia murmured to her friend.

  Merryvale turned to Alex, causing Samuel’s interest to perk. “This is quite a bounty today. Your Grace, it truly is a pleasure to have you here. Your correspondence has been a great comfort to me.”

  “I am gratified to hear that, my lord.”

  “Unfortunately, we have had no further luck at opening our mysterious tomb.”

  “I can help!” Olivia chimed in excited. “My fluency—”

  “Yes, yes,” Merryvale cut her off sharply. “Hugh! We must arrange a tour into the chambers. And lunch.” He turned to the duchess. “It’s early, but you might be hungry.”

  “Yes,” Alex said.

  “No,” Olivia contradicted. “I want to see inside the tomb—”

  “Food first,” Alex insisted.

  “We ate not two hours ago,” Olivia insisted.

  “I’m hungry. And you never know when your last meal is going to be. Trust me, Professor. I’ve been adventuring a lot longer than you.”

  Samuel studied his sister. She didn’t trust their situation. He tended to agree. In which case, better to figure out who was who and what was what before they were trapped with the dead several feet below ground.

  “Food would be welcome. Thank you, Lord Merryvale.” Samuel settled the issue.

  “But—”

  Olivia looked longingly at the entrance in the ground where local workers were carrying out priceless objects. Her heart pounded with excitement. Who could eat now? They were on the verge of what could be the greatest discovery in history! Olivia stared at the others, who were already following her father to a long wood table in the middle of the large tent camp.

  She ran back to her camel to secure her bag with the star cone and, in case she might need it later, grabbed the leather water pouch that Cook had filled. As she scrambled to catch up with the others, she made as many observations as possible along the way. It was a rather large operation. A number of local workers were carrying objects to one station of tables, where they were sketched, labeled, and numbered. Then they were brought to another station, where they were logged in a book and boxed. Some artifacts were occasionally brought to her father for his assessment. The oasis had armed guards circling at regular intervals. To keep away thieves? Hmm. She smiled at the irony. That put her right where she needed to be.

  Olivia joined the others, though she was still restless and unwilling to sit. Her father had a map on the table.

  “This is what we have uncovered so far.” He pointed. “There are three levels. The first filled with catacombs, small tombs—largely unremarkable. The second floor is more interesting. There is a great hall, like a rest area for visitors, then paths off in several directions. These seem to be the tombs of more prominent members of the city. It is also the level where we found the star cone.”

  Olivia carefully laid the object in question on the table. “And I’ve brought it back … for some mysterious reason that I am most eager to learn.”

  “In good time, Olivia,” her father promised. He pulled another map and laid it next to the other two. “The very bottom are more catacombs. There appears to have been some flooding at the furthest level. But …” Her father pointed to the secon
d level again. “We were able to enter all the tombs on this level. All were quite similar in layout. This one”—her father lifted his eyes to hers and didn’t move—“we have been unable to enter.”

  “Why is that?” Stafford asked.

  Hugh chimed in behind Olivia. “It appears to be a cunning lair of mortal traps.”

  Olivia tilted her head to find the man’s face inappropriately close to hers. “Mr. Lampley,” she noted, with unease.

  “My lady.” He winked.

  She ignored the flirtation, though a smile threatened to twitch free regardless. Stafford folded his arms across his chest, impatient.

  “What kind of mortal traps?” Stafford asked.

  “The kind that kill,” Hugh said, turning serious. “We lost Queensbury when we first attempted entry. The initial chamber is a trap of poisonous darts.”

  Olivia gasped.

  Her father continued, “Then Peel died mysteriously in his sleep not long after. A heart ailment no doubt, but the coincidence did make us more cautious.”

  “I see.” Olivia swallowed, uncertain. Maybe she didn’t need to go into all the tombs. And it seemed her father had never been in any grave danger. “Is that what you meant, Father, when you said getting this”—she touched the funerary cone on the table—“was a matter of life and death?”

  “Yes. We believe it’s the key to safely open each room in the tomb.” Her father looked at the stone object with relief … and something else. Undisguised eagerness. The stone had nearly gotten her killed more than once, and suddenly he didn’t even see her.

  “I’m most relieved to see it wasn’t your life, Father, that was in peril.” A bitter taste filled her mouth. She wondered how much to tell him. “You might have warned me of its true value before placing my own life at risk.”

  Her father’s eyes widened. “I didn’t think you would bring it to me.”

  “What did you think then? That I would entrust its delivery to a stranger?”

  “Yes. I did. With a wily and discreet explanation as to what it was.”

  “Did you also tell Grayson to leave it somewhere such that I could easily get it?”

  Her father’s face flushed. “He wanted to help but could not be involved. He is a curator. You must understand, no one else could easily get access. Nor would anyone suspect you. You were the perfect solution—if only you had sent it to me as you have so many other items.”

  Olivia fought for self-control. “You had little enough faith in me, it seems.”

  “Not at all, Ollie,” Stafford jumped in. “I’m certain your father’s lack of faith is only in your thieving skills, which you shouldn’t be boasting about in any circumstance.”

  Olivia’s stomach hurt. She pressed it, willing the knot away. No one seemed the least upset by this situation. Her father had set her up to be a thief, knew she would be inept at it, and then doubted her loyalty and love as a daughter to deliver the important object herself. And now that she had arrived, funerary cone in hand, he did not seem particularly happy to see her.

  “Come let us sit. I’ll fill you in over luncheon.” Her father waved to a table of food nearby that had been hastily spread for them.

  “I don’t need lunch. I’ll fill you in now.” Olivia knew her voice was tight. She was angry and hurt. It’s not as though there had been great shows of affection in her family, but was it unusual to expect something? And why did she suddenly need it?

  “Food is usually good in these types of situations,” the duchess remarked. “And tea. Do you have tea, Mr. Lampley?”

  Lampley nodded and stepped away to make sure tea was added to the luncheon fare.

  “Grayson was murdered, Father. By people trying to get this ‘key.’ ”

  To her satisfaction, her father’s face went white.

  “And those same men have been trying to kill me. On more than one occasion. First when I tried to take the cone, next while asleep in my very own bed. They killed an innocent person in my place, Father. Meggie. Next they hunted us at the hotel where Mrs. Tisdale and I tried to hide, and last at sea—but that last incident may not be related. Honestly, what kind of madman would put a ten-thousand-pound price on an Englishwoman who had never stepped off the shores of our grand isle and who for all her life has been an obedient and dutiful daughter? Wait. Correction.” She turned to Mrs. Riedell for confirmation. “An exemplary daughter, is that not right?”

  “Quite right, dear.” Her friend gave a pained smile, reaching for her husband’s hand, as if anxious.

  “Actually—”

  Olivia turned as the duchess rudely interrupted.

  “Lady Olivia, as I understand from those who know rightly, and believe me, they have told me quite clearly, an exemplary English daughter would have been married by now, not an unmarried adventuress, roaming the Mediterranean and stealing ancient artifacts.” She reached for a sharp tool on the table and studied it, before turning her attention back to Olivia. “I think perhaps you need to rethink your justification for exemplary. If by exemplary you mean intelligent and accomplished and talented, using those gifts for a productive, or perhaps even higher purpose, then you might be an exemplary person. But you are most certainly not an exemplary English daughter.”

  “Your Grace, how can you jest with me, when it is clear this is not a light matter?”

  “I jest, Lady Olivia, because you seem to be the only one here unaware of the fact that we are the only ones unarmed, and a small army is slowly encircling us.”

  Olivia looked up in shock. Her father did as well, though his look was more wary than surprised. The duchess was right. The men on the outer edge of the oasis stood guard, but a smaller contingent had quietly surrounded the group while her father distracted them. She studied her father anew, wondering whether the maneuver had been deliberate on his part. Olivia retrieved the funerary cone from the table and put it in her pouch. She turned to where her camel and traveling support remained. There was no doubt this was fast becoming a hostile situation.

  Lampley returned to the table and diffused the immediate danger. “Forgive my men. They are meant to protect, not intimidate. I just received word that our new partner is joining us this afternoon. For now, luncheon is served.”

  Olivia felt as though she were teetering on a cliff. Samuel gave her a nod to follow the man, assuring her it was safe … for now. They were invited to a long wood table nearby, complete with matching chairs and a table fitted with bone china and silver flatware. The expedition traveled in style.

  Before she could sit, her father called, “Olivia, if you will escort me to my tent for just a few minutes. I want to show you something.”

  Olivia didn’t hesitate. She would not disobey her father publicly, despite her uncertain feelings toward him. She also wanted some answers. Only, it made her uneasy that even when going to her father’s quarters, they were escorted by armed scouts.

  His tent was large, equipped with a bed, a long desk area, and a small sitting table with three chairs in a corner. There was a shelf with books and a stack of writings that he had completed. He closed the heavy tent flap behind her and raised a finger over her mouth, indicating they should speak quietly. Olivia’s nerves went on alert.

  She adjusted the heavy pouch on her shoulder more comfortably and took the seat her father offered. He sat across from her, elbows on the table, chin resting on folded hands. Finally, he breathed and reached a hand out to her palm up, imploring.

  He looked sad. Regretful. Worried.

  She took the hand.

  “Father? What is it?”

  “Olivia … I’m afraid … I’m afraid I’ve placed you in a danger more ominous than I ever suspected.”

  “A grave danger?” she deadpanned, leaning forward, eyes earnest.

  He blinked, surprised. Then laughed, his chest shaking with humor, a smile splitting his face briefly. “You can still jest. For that I am grateful.”

  “After nearly a month of surviving grave dangers, Father, it is ne
arly all I have left. Why did you want the funerary cone? And why do you not want me here? You know I can help.”

  “It is not that I’m not joyful to see you alive and in good health, Olivia, but now you and your friends might be trapped along with me.” He took a breath. “I had hoped only to keep the artifact from the wrong hands. Lampley’s, to be specific.”

  Olivia didn’t speak for a moment, studying him. Then she said softly, “You have been at this for a long time, Father. How do you know that yours are the right hands?”

  He gave a deep sigh and nodded. “You have grown in humor and wisdom, daughter.”

  She pulled out the letter from her bag and handed it to him. “Stafford said I could give this to you. I read it.”

  “Of course.” Her father examined the letter, smiling. “Nice job at sealing it again, dear.”

  Olivia appreciated the compliment, but her humor disappeared quickly. “They were likely Grayson’s last words.”

  He clutched the letter. “Good God. What have I done?”

  “Father?”

  “Queensbury, Peel, and now Lord Grayson. I never should have involved him. We have stumbled onto something here, Olivia. Something very valuable to some people who are very powerful.”

  Olivia absorbed this, trying to piece together what she knew. “Grayson believed the librarian has something to do with a series of thefts. Of ancient astrolabes, strangely enough.”

  Her father nodded, reading through the letter. “We initially thought it was a librarian of the Great Library.”

  “It is. I’m certain!” Olivia insisted quietly.

  “I agree, Olivia. But there are many ancient traditions, beliefs, even cults that we have yet to discover or understand. Through my correspondence with Lord Heatherly, who is currently in Egypt studying the pyramids, and from my letters in the last year from Duchess Worthington, who also knows Heatherly, I’ve learned about another myth—”