“You’re the She-Wolf that the Commander goes on about?” She asked when we’d reached a quieter hallway.
The Commander? From Rannport? How did he fit into this?
“Sometimes.”
“I thought you’d be taller.”
“I get that a lot.”
She laughed and flashed a smile, opening the bronze and crys-glass double doors to the penthouse.
“Mum! Lupa’s here!” A yell loud enough to make any teenager proud. To be fair, the ongoing party nearly drowned her out.
“Pool!” came the answering call. We skirted the throng to an opulent balcony, as yet uncrowded, probably due to the hunting cat staring through the glass at the party goers like a platter of amuse-bouches. My escort reached up to scratch beneath its diamond collar, and it rested its chin affectionately on her head. I felt the purr through the soles of my feet, boots and all.
The foo pups arrayed themselves in front of me and started a glare-off with the cat, who gave one imperious look and then turned back to watching the guests and licking its chops. My escort slid the glass door shut behind us, flopped onto a lounge chair at the edge of a pool that seemed to drop off the edge of the building into starlight, and proceeded to ignore us in favor of pulling a top-end musicon from her reticule and fiddling with the dial until the right tune poured out. Over my Head by No Moss. How appropriate.
“Lupa, so good to meet you. Did you have fun with the aithergrams?” She erupted out of the pool like a force of nature, full of life and exuberance, curly red mane dripping sparkles of light. Her laugh was downright infectious.
“Aarrrgggg, Matey?”
“Couldn’t resist. I love pirates. And Dr. B was right. You do look the part with that patch. He sends apologies by the way. Says the headaches will ease up as you get used to your eye. Says to try it at twilight — not too dark, not too light. Good time to practice.” Dr. B? Mr. Black Heart Pin? The Commander? Just who were these people? Definitely not my Qin-To counterparts.
“What should I call you?”
“Madame E. I thought you might appreciate something more straightforward. Easy enough to intercept your contact’s transmissions, trim it to eight from twenty and double print the important bits. Agent Xiung is still in the Clockwork Graveyard waiting for you to rifle through a thousand pages of the Chang Sen Codex in your night table drawer to decipher the double-layered cryptique.” Madame E grabbed a towel big enough to cover the bed in my room in the Tetra. She smiled. “He won’t miss you for another two or three hours at least, and he can’t help you anyway.”
“He can’t?”
“The Service can only determine the probabilities on a punched card. The card you retrieved in the Solstice Games hasn’t been punched. It’s a wild card.”
“So it could do…anything?”
“Exactly. But the number combinations on a wild card can be interpreted by the right person. Maybe even in time to learn what they’re planning and stop it.”
“Do you know where I can find the right person?”
“Only one in all Qin-To. Pascal Lovelace. Top of his class. I went to finishing school with his sister. Lovey sees patterns in things no one else can. He still can’t figure out how you beat him last spring.” Wait. Beat him? Not Inarion Blue?
“Lovey?” I had to concentrate to replace the image of a spotty, gangly squit with the pug-nosed, muscled, exo-suit middle-weight it had taken all my wits and a considerable amount of luck to get the better of. “Blue’s real name is Lovey, ah, Lovelace?”
“He hates it when I call him that.” She laughed. “So I do it all the time. But he’s the one you want. There’s just one problem.”
“Problem? What kind of problem?” This didn’t bode well.
“Lovey can take in all the combinations on that card and tell you what they’re up to, no doubt about it, but he isn’t exactly easy to get to.”
“Where is he?”
“Tell me, Lupa.” She beamed enigmatically. “How do you feel about doing time?”
“Prison.” Fa is going to skin me alive.
Thirty Days Later
Minotaur in the Mistm
or
Never Trust a Tomb Robber to Tell You Everything
by T.E. MacArthur
Platanos, Chania Region, Island of Crete
December 23rd, 1893
“So, this is just another, ordinary curse?”
“No, no. Only the ghost of a limb-rending, man-devouring Minotaur.”
The Colonel half smiled. “Ah, nothing to worry about then.”
Miranda Gray had to admit, she was getting used to the Colonel — despite her better judgement. He was refreshingly witty, if incredibly dangerous. “You’re concerned that we’re off chasing a wild goose when we should be serving Queen and country,” she said as the sharpshooter ate a handful of dates.
“I couldn’t care less if they want us for another assignment, but if they do offer it, I wouldn’t want to have to say ‘no’.”
“They won’t throw you back in prison. You’re rather useful.”
“You don’t know the Minister.”
She looked up. “I know that he says you killed his brother.” She was prying with purpose.
The Colonel looked down at his hands, then out at the setting sun. “My employer did the deed, but I’m not entirely ashamed to say I was involved. We were in the midst of a brilliant plan. I make no promises about being a good, decent man.”
“I never asked you to.”
A long silence followed, punctuated by the cry of a bird in the distance.
“Davies said “the ‘Bull of Heaven’ and the ‘Heart of the Sea.’ That’s what we’re looking for, Colonel.”
“Ah yes, he was sharing his knowledge with you, before you were interrupted.”
“I almost had the information.” Gray shook her head. “The Bull of Heaven is a reference to an oriental legend — and by that I mean ancient Mesopotamia, and not Crete. Still, the Bull was very important to the Minoans.”
The Colonel stood up and walked to the railing by their table. A light breeze blew through the sleeves of his shirt. It was likely the Colonel was not used to being so — naked. Yet the acceptable attire for Britain, Germany, and Switzerland was too heavy for Crete, even in winter.
“Then we’re looking for a statue or a monument representing a bull? And in the exaggerated light of a Perigee-syzygy Moon, we’ll be shown the location of the Heart of the Sea? All this is based on the word of a disreputable tomb robber and the diary of a crazy 16th century privateer? Madame Archaeologist, I feel as if we have this treasure already.”
She couldn’t help laughing. “Absurd, isn’t it. Well, my dear Colonel, I’ve chased after crazier goals with less evidence.” She got up from the table, leaving behind a perfectly good cup of wine. Holding the journal of Sir Charles Bellingsfield, explorer in the 1590s and rumored mad man, she leaned against the railing next to the Colonel. “We do have some advantages over Davies.”
“He got here two days ahead of us.”
The Colonel was understandably tense. Was he imagining Malcolm Davies, the professional tomb robber, holding a knife to her throat, then escaping into the river? When he’d learned the details, he was infuriated — though not in a romantic way. She knew better. He, of all men, knew she wasn’t helpless by any stretch of the imagination. He once said that he found her to be intriguing and stimulating as a colleague. He genuinely respected her intelligence. It seemed he preferred the company of brilliant people, even the wrong sort of people. It was his experience that he made up for such failing by being the expert that he was. Gray certainly appreciated his skills.
“He knows, in theory, where he is going. But, he doesn’t know everything. Davies hadn’t translated all of Bellingsfield’s journal, but I have. All we need now is to find the Minoan Bull of Heaven.”
“No one seems to know what that is. You’ve asked every scholar and archaeologist you know. Arthur Evans doesn’t even know,” th
e Colonel grumbled.
Gray turned her back to the railing and watched as a waiter began clearing some of their dishes. “Perhaps we’re asking the wrong people.”
She smiled at him and he watched her boldly approach and chat with the waiter. It was a waste of time, of course, yet her ability to converse so easily with academics and natives alike …
The waiter pointed to the horizon, to the northeast.
“Truly?” Gray said, her expression astonished.
The waiter nodded, smiled, and accepted her gracious gratuity.
For several moments, the Archaeologist and the Colonel stared at one another incredulously. “No,” he finally said. “Not that easy.”
“Apparently so. And that makes me nervous.”
Before she could explain, a clay pot of flowers mere inches from the Colonel’s head shattered and a shot rang out. Both of them dropped to the floor, and Gray looked back into the restaurant to see the entire café staff do the same. “That was meant for you, Colonel.”
“Not fair! Bloody unsporting.” The Colonel withdrew a short revolver from his coat pocket, just in reach where his jacket hung on the back of the chair.
“Can you see who shot?”
“Someone’s running away over there.”
“Damn good eyes you have, Colonel.”
“Necessary for the occupation, Madame.”
“It’s simply a thought on my part, but I believe this is a sign that we’re on the right track.”
“Break open the Champagne?” He hadn’t realized how hard his heart was pounding. “What did the waiter tell you?”
Gray looked over the railing quickly, then settled back beside the Colonel. “See the two mountain peaks over there? That’s it. Not a statue, not a monument, but the mountains themselves. Two equal-sized peaks with a curved saddle of land in between.”
“Doesn’t look like horns to me.”
“Not from here, but, in direct alignment with the moon over there …”
The Colonel nodded. “I never like it when it’s too easy.”
“I suspect your intuition is correct. Still game?”
Well, that’s a damn silly question.
Chania Region, Island of Crete
The Perigee-syzygy Moon on the Winter Solstice was predicted to appear 40% larger than usual. Ancient people had been astonished by this phenomenon — and it was easy to understand why. As the enormous moon rose over the horizon, it appeared a dull orange, from the dust stirred up by the wind. It loomed in the distance, moving slowly, like a stalking panther, casting unusually strong light.
Gray felt a chill crawl up her spine, and it wasn’t from the winter night air. Shadows began to change and move. Skeletal trees cast images of demonic creatures growing and menacing the countryside. Scrub bushes shivered. The air smelled of decay.
The Colonel, air rifle in hand, climbed up the path that led directly to the saddle between the two peaks. They could easily make out the Bull’s horns with a little imagination. He waved to her, and Gray quickly moved up to join him. On her back, she wore a simple pack with basic archaeological equipment and Bellingsfield’s book. In her hands, she carried a low-lit lantern and a Bisley-grip, .45 Long Colt.
At the top of the saddle, the two sat for a moment, waiting.
“Think Davies is around here?” she whispered.
“I’m counting on it, Madame.”
Gray turned to look down at the sea toward the west. A broad pillar of light cast by the moon onto the waves began crawling across the ocean, drawing in toward land. “Watch there,” she pointed. “Normal moonlight wouldn’t have made such a clear indicator.”
The Colonel looked over his shoulder repeatedly, making Gray wonder which he was thrilled by more: the rare mystical secret about to be revealed or the chance to kill Davies.
Slowly — too slowly — the light dragged itself across the water and onto the top of the cliffs.
“There,” Gray said in an excited whisper. “The Heart of the Sea.”
Just at the edge of the light, a hole in the clifftop was revealed. An odd, shape, broken at the top. “That? That’s not a heart.”
“Don’t look for what we think is a heart symbol. That is closer to the shape of a real human heart, as they knew it, and any damage I’ll wager is from two-thousand years of erosion.” She adjusted her pack. “Shall we go?”
“What the hell. I’ll go first. That’s my job.”
Not that I couldn’t, she thought with some frustration. Though, he was right. It was his job to protect her. As he began his decent toward the cliffs, some 500 feet away, she waited — looking for any indication that Davies and his men were nearby.
At the top of the cliffs, looking out over the well-lit ocean, the agents peered down into the so-called Heart. Up close, the hole was rather imposing. Until one was right on top of it, it was impossible to see the ancient steps cut into the rock, spiraling down. Down into the dark. Very clever, those Minoans.
“Still want to take the lead?” she teased.
A howl rose up from the hole. Horrible, almost deafening. “What the hell was that!”
“Wind, my dear Colonel.” She wasn’t entirely sure.
“That was not wind, Madame Archaeologist.”
The howl rose again, sounding every bit angry, bitter, and vengeful.
She had to admit, it was terrifying. Exciting! “Fine, it’s the ghost of the Minotaur waiting to kill us. Feel better?”
“Oh, so much better.” He swallowed. “I prefer knowing what I’m up against.” He gripped his rifle and began climbing down the stairs. Once inside, the howl surrounded him, warning him off one more time. “Better you than a hangman,” he whispered into the dark.
“What?” Gray was leaning into the hole with her lantern.
“It might be a hundred feet to the bottom. I don’t suppose old Bellingsfield told us what to do when we get there?”
“No. His journal never made it that far. He left it aboard ship when he disembarked for this exploration. Never came back.”
“Well, there’s an epitaph if ever I heard one.”
“Yours or mine?” Gray was sorry she had to put away something, in this case it was either the gun or the lantern. She couldn’t climb with both her hands occupied, and the gun lost out to practical illumination.
The stairs, what little remained of them, spiraled down to the bottom of the hole. What waited was astounding: no great frescoes or palace columns, as Arthur Evans had found, but simple clay pots — perfectly intact. The seven, 4–foot-tall amphorae were sealed with tarred cork, and painted with exquisite black geometrical shapes. Each had a different animal: an octopus, a fish, a dolphin, a bull, a bird, an ibex, and a snake. There appeared to be nothing behind them indicating a doorway, but there was something suggestive of a lock. Gray held her lantern up to examine the lock closely.
“Have we found the treasure room?” The Colonel began pointing his rifle up the stairs. He had his job to do, and the Archaeologist was in her element. He knew to stay out of her way.
“If all we ever find are these amphorae, I say yes. These are in perfect condition and I can’t see that any have been opened. Treasure to an archaeologist. But I don’t think this is all.”
“Why put them here?”
“A guess? One of them has the key to this lock — if it is a lock.”
“Don’t you know?” he said, lightly mocking her.
“Archaeology is about educated guessing; plenty of digging at nothing but dirt, and readdressing ideas once more evidence is collected.” She set her pack down and pulled out a trowel. “It may sound strange, but we don’t find things as often as you might think.” She lightly prodded the lock. “It’s not all excitement and riches.”
As if responding to her commentary, the howl blasted through the hole, causing both agents to cover their ears.
“One thing’s for certain,” the Colonel said, watching as Gray added the opposite end of a thin brush to her strange lock-picki
ng efforts, “there’s no Minotaur down in this hole. He’d never fit.”
“True, but we don’t know what’s on the other side of this lock. This may not even be a lock.”
“A trap?”
“One can only hope. This is a tad obvious, don’t you think?”
“Always encouraging.”
She thought for a moment that she’d seen something above. Perhaps it was her imagination.
The Colonel appeared to have seen it too. “What is your educated guess about what’s in those amphorae? If only one has a key …”
“Who knows? Perhaps at the time they held poisonous snakes, or dangerous insects. Maybe even acids. Anything to punish the wrong choice. Hence my picking the lock instead.”
“Because, of course, only the right people would make the right choice.”
The howl made both of them stop for a moment. It sounded right next to them.
“I do wish that thing would shut up,” the Colonel snarled.
“I was thinking the very same thing about you, Colonel,” a voice called from above.
Gray didn’t even bother to look up. “Let me guess.”
“You invited him to this soiree.” The Colonel aimed at the figure climbing down the stairs.
“He invited me, remember? Anyone with him?”
Davies, dressed less opulently than usual, stopped and held out his own lantern. “You insult me, Nefer — oh beautiful one.” She glared at him from her dirt-smeared face. “I have no reason to bring anyone with me. You are the best at what you do.” He crouched on the step near eye level with the Colonel. “You’re the one who insisted on bringing baggage with you.”
It must have been tempting for the Colonel to put a bullet between the man’s smug eyes. But, instead, the Colonel looked to Gray. Between them passed an easy, unspoken agreement. It might serve their purpose to have Davies on hand, and not skulking around behind them. Gray rolled her eyes and went back to her lock.
“Besides, my dear lady, I am not interested in sharing my portion with too many.”
“And what portion is that?” she asked, pushing on something that seemed to push back.
Thirty Days Later: Steaming Forward: 30 Adventures in Time Page 12
