by David Wood
Maddock’s cheeks heated. “Were you able to find that research I needed?”
“Fine, change the subject. Like I told you I’ve only been home from work for a few minutes. Do you really think Tam would let me take a day off to sort through reams of Dad’s pirate research?”
Tam Broderick headed up the Myrmidon Squad, of which Avery was a member. She was a faithful ally but also a demanding leader who never forgot a debt owed.
“Even a Myrmidon is allowed to take a personal day every now and then.”
Avery laughed. “I don’t get enough days off to blow them on one of your treasure hunts.”
“Yeah, but this one is a pirate treasure. You can’t deny that’s your bailiwick.”
“Don’t try to tempt me, Maddock. I’ve got plenty on my plate at the moment. Come on. I’ve got the stuff laid out. If Dad had anything on Black Caesar, it should be among this stuff.”
Hunter Maddock, Dane and Avery’s father, had devoted his life to researching pirates and pirate treasure. Although his specialty was Captain Kidd, he’d done extensive research on many of the buccaneers that plied the seas during the Golden Age of Piracy. Much of the information he’d collected was anecdotal, and could not be found in books or online. It was this research that covered the kitchen table and counters.
“See? It’s not all my mess,” Avery said, correctly reading his mind.
Avery put a frozen pizza in the oven, then poured two frosty mugs of Moosehead lager, calling Maddock a “Philistine” when he said he’d be happy to drink from the bottle. “No wisecracks about Canadian beer,” she warned.
“I’m saying nothing.” Though he was loathe to admit it, Maddock enjoyed the full flavor, light malt base, and crisp finish of the Canadian brew. He took a swallow and nodded approvingly. “Not bad.”
They set to sorting through Hunter Maddock’s research. It took all of Maddock’s self-control not to suggest an organizational system. Though highly competent in her professional research, Avery was much more relaxed about her personal life, and these papers, the only thing of their father’s that had been passed along to her, were firmly planted in that realm.
After twenty minutes of searching, Avery let out an “Aha!” and held up a few sheets. “There’s not much here, but it’s all on Black Caesar.”
They cleared space at the table, and Avery read the highlights of the papers around mouthfuls of Margherita pizza. The first page was a biographical sketch, the details of which were already familiar to Maddock. It was the second page where things got interesting.
“Listen to this,” Avery said. “Black Caesar reportedly had the ability to conjure a thick fog that would blind his enemies. He often used this as a means of escape when the odds weren’t in his favor. He’s got notes from all sorts of different sources repeating the same story.” She paused to wipe a bit of tomato sauce off of the page.
“You’re spraying food. Would it kill you to swallow before you speak?”
Avery rolled her eyes. “If Bones were here, can you imagine the pun he’d make out of that statement?”
“The fact that your mind went there too says a lot about you.”
“I used to teach at the university level. The kids rubbed off on me.”
“Of course they did.” Maddock scooted his chair closer to his sister. “Anything about how, exactly, he created the fog? Dad used the word ‘conjure,’ and he always chose his words with care.”
“I don’t know,” Avery began, moving to the second page. “Maybe the same way he made ghosts appear?”
Maddock frowned. “Ghosts?”
“Ghosts. Spirits. Genies. Each account uses a different term, but all the people Dad talked to agreed that Caesar had a way of calling mystical spirits to his aid.”
“So he was some sort of wizard with spirits and fog to do his bidding?”
“Seems like it. At least, that’s what the legends say.” Avery took a drink and stared out the sliding glass door toward the distant waters of the Gulf of Mexico, just visible from her apartment. “There must be something to the legend, or else Dad wouldn’t have recorded these accounts. He was judicious about what information he kept and what he discarded.”
“I didn’t know that.” Maddock and his father had enjoyed a close relationship, but they’d mostly stuck to traditional father and son activities. While Hunter had often regaled him with tales of the sea, he’d reserved the serious discussion of pirate research for his time with Avery. Even now, the revelation that his father led a secret life still stung, and Maddock couldn’t deny that he felt a touch of jealousy that a part of his father’s life had been reserved for Avery, but he knew he’d gotten the best parts of his father and she’d been left with scraps. Any petty jealousy he felt was overwhelmed by the genuine sympathy he felt for her.
“A few years ago, I’d have chalked it up to him finding the story interesting enough to write down, but since I met you guys,” she rolled her eyes in his direction, “I can no longer dismiss the supernatural as mere legend.” She let out a huff of breath. “Life was so much easier when I was an only child.”
“Easy is boring.”
“You low-key sounded just like Bones. It’s disconcerting.” Avery moved on to the next page, scanning it quickly, occasionally whispering something Maddock could just make out.
“Magic ring... controlled spirits... harem of over one hundred women... gold and treasure...”
“Is this about King Solomon?”
Avery frowned. “No, it’s about Black Caesar. According to this, he had a magic ring that he brought with him from Africa. It was taken from him when the slavers captured him but he befriended a crewman and convinced the man to steal the ring back for him. It was with this ring that he called up the storm that allowed him to escape. He told only a precious few about its existence, and vowed that it would be the inheritance of the most worthy of his children. With a harem of a hundred women, I imagine there were plenty of contenders vying for the prize.” She looked up from her reading. “What made you think of Solomon? The treasure and the harem?”
“That was part of it; there was more. King Solomon had a magic ring that allowed him to control demons, or genies, depending on the story. And then there’s what Bones and I found inside Caesar’s headquarters.”
“What was that?”
He reached into his pocket and took out the memory card on which his photos of the headquarters were stored. “If you’ll let me borrow your laptop, I’ll show you.” A few minutes later, they were staring at a high resolution of the strange seal that had been carved into the floor of Caesar’s cave.
“That’s King Solomon’s Seal, all right.” Avery brushed a stray lock of hair out of her eyes and leaned in closer. “You think it’s possible that Black Caesar’s magic ring was Solomon’s ring?”
“This was Solomon’s signet,” Maddock tapped the screen. “It was engraved in his ring. How else would Caesar have known the particulars of this image?”
To his surprise, Avery didn’t raise any objection. “It’s the wrong time period for the Star of David. Besides, these six dots set it apart.” She stood and began pacing. “Caesar was raised in Africa. Somehow, this ring falls into his hands. Maybe he knows what it is, maybe not, but he begins to tap into its power. When he turns pirate in the New World, he uses its power to his advantage. The ring is the source of his success and he adopts its symbol as his own. Carves it into his headquarters.”
“As you know, I’ve seen far more unlikely scenarios prove to be true.”
“As have I,” she agreed. “Again, only since I met you. So, what do you think happened to it?”
“I’m almost certain it wasn’t in his headquarters at Caesar’s Spring. I don’t think Nomi expected it to be there, either. She was really only interested in his journal and papers.”
“Nomi’s the chick that threw the grenade at you?”
“Not at me, exactly, but she definitely didn’t care if she killed us.”
Avery
seemed not to hear. “She probably thought the journal would lead her to the hiding place. But what if he didn’t hide it? What if he kept it with him until he died?”
Maddock pondered the question, slowly chewing his pizza. Black Caesar had ended his career in the service of Blackbeard, whose treasure he and Bones had discovered years before. Rather, they had confirmed the fate of the treasure, and he was confident that nothing resembling Solomon’s ring had been a part of it.
“Caesar was captured, tried, and executed,” he said. “Wonder what happened to his personal effects?”
“He was a pirate. Anything he owned would have been forfeit.” Avery was still pacing. “But it’s also true he didn’t have the ring with him. Maybe he was afraid Blackbeard would try and take it from him.”
“Which he probably would have,” Maddock said.
Avery nodded. “In which case he would have left it somewhere safe until he returned for it.”
“Any ideas?”
“Caesar’s Rock. The headquarters here in the Keys.”
“It’s awfully small,” Maddock said doubtfully. “And I can’t imagine how many people have been over it searching for artifacts.”
“I know,” Avery admitted. “But I think it’s worth checking out. In fact, maybe I’ll give it the once-over while you follow the other trail.”
“Sure, send us a thousand miles away while you spend an afternoon paddling over to Caesar’s Rock.”
“Hey, I’m the one with a full-time job, remember?”
“All right, but I don’t want you to go alone. Most likely, the island was one of the first places Nomi searched, but I’ll send one of the crew just to be safe.”
“Not Bones,” she said quickly. “You can take him with you.”
“Gee, thanks,” Maddock said. “I can’t wait to tell him he’s missing out on a beach trip.”
Chapter 10
Modron Castle, Cornwall
Isla descended the winding staircase into the bowels of the earth far beneath Modron castle. She’d never been invited down here before, and she supposed it was an honor to be granted access to whatever lay beneath the dungeon level.
She passed along a narrow corridor lined with cells. Rusted bars sealed off primitive-looking stone cells. Beyond lay a torture chamber equipped with racks and an iron maiden. She gave a little shiver at the sight. Modron was a replica of an ancient castle, at least on the outside. Inside, it was equipped with all sorts of modern trappings and high-tech bells and whistles. Why had the builder chosen to include a dungeon from out of the Dark Ages?
On the far end of the torture chamber, a solitary suit of armor kept silent watch over the grim scene. Feeling an irrational tremor of anxiety, she raised the visor to reveal a touchpad.
A suit of armor hiding the secret entrance. How cliché.
She pressed her hand to it and watched as a green light scanned her palm. A tremor ran from the soles of her feet, up her legs, along her spine, and up to the base of her neck. She realized, with a touch of surprise, that the floor was vibrating. Slowly, the spot on which she stood sank into the floor.
Darkness surrounded her, and she soon lost all sense of how deeply she plunged into the depths. Finally, the platform ground to a halt and a line of tiny, red lights clicked on in front of her, pointing the way down a short passageway to a closed door.
The floor was of polished concrete, the walls bare cinder blocks. There was a newness about the space that suggested it was a very recent addition. It certainly did not fit in with the rest of the Modron ambiance.
She had almost reached the door when it swung open before her and a figure cloaked in shadow stepped through. She recognized the shaved head and sturdy build of Gowan. The presence of the security guard, or whatever he was, was a sure sign that Nineve waited on the other side of the door. The man always shadowed her.
“About time,” Gowan said in his slow, southeastern United States drawl. He made a show of checking his watch. “She’s been pacing the floor ever since she got word of your find.”
Isla swallowed her retort. She could have told him that she hadn’t spared a moment, had driven as fast as she dared from Glastonbury to the castle here in Cornwall. But to do so would imply that she owed Gowan any sort of explanation. She didn’t answer to him, and she wouldn’t act as if she did. Instead, she merely made a one-shouldered shrug and turned sideways in order to slip past him.
Gowan caught her wrist in a powerful grip. Instinctively, she twisted and yanked her arm back, breaking his grip. “Hands off.”
Surprise dawned across his broad, pale features, and he let out a huff that might have been a chuckle. No longer trying to grab her, he extended his arm at waist level and pressed it to the door frame, impeding her path.
He leaned in close. The red lights danced on the beads of sweat that rolled off his shaved scalp and shone on his blond, almost white, stubble.
“I’m on your side.” His breath smelled of peppermint, but Isla found it disconcertingly sour. “Nineve’s impatient. If she makes up her mind that you’re late, contradicting her will only make it worse. Trust me.”
Isla couldn’t quite bring herself to smile, but she managed a nod. “Thank you.”
Seemingly satisfied, Gowan moved to the side and let her pass. She heard the door close behind her.
“Did you stop for breakfast?” Nineve’s voice asked from the darkness.
Isla wasn’t sure how to respond without coming across as if she were arguing. She settled for the simple truth. “No.”
“Good. I won’t tolerate time-wasting. We have too much to do.” She let out a long, loud breath. “Forgive me. I am not always easy to work with.”
Isla didn’t know if the woman was sincere but decided there was no harm in playing along. “I understand. You’ve met my mother.”
Nineve laughed. “Perhaps that’s why she and I get along so well. Follow me.”
Isla moved toward the sound of the woman’s voice and soon a low, arched doorway became visible, illuminated by the scant light coming from somewhere beyond. A dark form resolved into Nineve’s silhouette, and Isla followed her down a short hallway. Up ahead the light grew brighter, uneven like an open flame.
They emerged in a forest clearing. No, that was impossible. Isla stopped short, looking around. The floor was soft beneath her feet, the open space dominated by the trunk of an ancient tree that rose up into the darkness. Lanterns hung from its branches, shining down on the soft grass and scattered boulders.
Nineve’s face split into a gentle smile that served to enhance her striking beauty. The tall, blonde woman with her high cheekbones and ever so slightly tilted blue eyes was the sort that made other women feel insecure simply by standing nearby.
“What do you think?” Nineve asked.
“It’s remarkable,” Isla said truthfully. She knelt and touched the dirt path on which they trod. She realized it was the same sort of rubbery faux surface used on certain athletic fields. She ran her fingers through the grass. It, too, was artificial.
“We wanted the entryway to the temple to have a natural feel.”
“You succeeded,” Isla said. Now that she knew what she was looking at, she could easily make out the walls, expertly painted and mounted with false shrubbery, vines, and branches.
“We’ll eventually bring this entire level up to scratch, but the temple was the first priority. Come.”
She followed Nineve along the path and up to the tree. Isla marveled at the attention to detail that had gone into crafting it. Its bark surface was rough and broken by various symbols carved into its surface. The sculptor, or whatever sort of crafter created this masterpiece, had succeeded in making everything look old. The scarred trunk spoke of centuries it had never seen. She felt the urge to run her fingers along it, prove to herself it was not the genuine article, but now was not the time to appear anything less than fully composed.
Nineve paid her no mind. She pressed several different symbols in a sequence, too
fast for Isla to follow. A doorway swung back and she stepped in.
Isla followed her in. Sconces on the walls lit the circular room. A simple stone altar dominated the center of the space. The floor was covered with pagan symbols. Ten paces from the altar, low stone benches ringed the worship space, with openings at the compass points. A series of recessed areas, each a hand’s breadth apart, filled the walls that surrounded the temple. Most were empty but a few held familiar items: The Spear of Lug, the Sword of Nuada, the Stone of Destiny, and the Cauldron of Dagda. All the treasures of the Tuatha de Danaan that Isla, along with Dane Maddock, Bones Bonebrake, and Grizzly Grant had discovered. The thought made her heart sink.
“As you can see, your treasures have been given a place of honor. Soon they will be put to important uses.” Nineve’s blue eyes took on a faraway cast.
“What are those?” Isla pointed to her left, where a sword and a spear occupied two more of the alcoves.
“Excalibur and Rhongomyniad. Recovered with only the greatest difficulty.”
“Arthur’s sword and spear? But they look like alien artifacts.” When Nineve kept silent, Isla continued. “Too bad you don’t have Carnwennan to complete the set.”
She’d thought it a lighthearted comment, but Nineve gritted her teeth.
“King Arthur’s dagger is lost, along with Lapis Exillis and Arthur himself. All thanks to Dane Maddock.”
Isla’s heart lurched. Maddock had assured her that he and Bones had seen things she would never believe but he hadn’t elaborated. They’d had far too little time together for a bond of trust to form, and then Isla had ruined it by running away in fear. She’d left Maddock a note, begging for the chance to explain, but he hadn’t responded. She swallowed the lump in her throat.
“I’m not familiar with Lapis Exillis.”
“It doesn’t matter now. Tell me what you found in Glastonbury.”
Isla described the secret passageway she’d found hidden beneath the Abbey, and all that she’d seen as she searched for the ring. She kept descriptions to a minimum, reckoning Nineve would ask her to elaborate if necessary. When she finished, Nineve stood in silence, nodding slowly like a bobblehead doll running out of steam.
