Summoning their pluck, the explorers started pushing their way through the packed street. Reaching the colonnade, they took a breather near one of the columns, and relished the deliciously cool shadow giving a momentary respite from the blazing Italian sun. On arriving this close to the Vatican, Einstein and Carstairs noticed the hundreds of liveried Swiss Guards lining the enclosure, resplendent in their flared steel hats and crimson plumes, polished steel breast plates, and striped pantaloons stuffed into matching high-top boots. Razor sharp halberds were held at attention by the big guardians, and tasseled swords dangled from every hip. But despite the quaint garb, the guards were clearly more than ceremonial. They closely scrutinized the crowds with the hard gaze of professional soldiers. The swarms of people paid the Swiss Guards no attention, unless it was to ask directions, or to inquire about the history of something.
With the smooth art of jungle explorers, Professor Einstein and Lord Carstairs joined the busy throng once more, using elbows and hips to keep moving constantly forward. Reaching the concourse, Einstein and Carstairs found themselves surrounded by a mob of priests, monks, friars, and nuns of every order, each walking with a quiet serenity: a feeling that seemed to dominate the entire complex. As if in a world of their own, the clerics seemed immune to the jostling mob. The marble square was quieter than the cobblestone streets of Rome. The chatter and bustle expected from a crowd this size proved mostly absent. Once more, it was possible to hear the occasional bird singing in the trees, and the air was filled with the sweet smell of incense and spring water.
By mutual consent, the two explorers stood still for a moment, as the sights invoked a sense of wonder and awe. The towering spire of an Egyptian obelisk some twenty-five yards in height rose dramatically upward from the center portion of the square, flanked on either side by gushing fountains. Dominating the square was St. Peter's Cathedral, majestic even in its present ruined condition. A complex array of scaffolding framed the row of giant marble columns and the mighty stone towers that supported the famous upper balcony and the dome designed by Michelangelo Buonarroti. Scores of sweating workmen were everywhere; hauling lumber, laying brick, painting, and performing the most delicate of stone carving.
The passing of the centuries was tangible here, almost to the point of becoming a physical force: one that firmly reminded them that this site became a major focal point of world history on a regular basis. For every archeologist and historian alive today, this was a holy place, although for entirely different reasons than those of the Catholics. With a supreme effort of will, the Englishmen finally moved on.
"So, Professor," Lord Carstairs said, keeping his steps slow to match the pace of the smaller man. "Where is the tablet located?"
Looking about, Einstein pointed towards a busy staircase alongside a magnificent church whose soaring spires reached for the stars. "To the right, just past the Papal Post Office, is the ground floor entrance to the Sistine Chapel. Go up the winding steps and follow the signs to the library. I shall wait for you across the street at that little coffee shop we passed."
Glancing downward, Carstairs arched an eyebrow. "Aren't you going to accompany me, Professor?"
"Ah, no," the professor mumbled, "I don't think so, lad. Maybe next time."
"But why not?" Lord Carstairs asked, puzzled. "What with time being of the essence, surely the presence of an academician of your stature would simplify things to no end."
Shifting his stance uncomfortably, Professor Einstein forced an innocent smile on his face. "Well, normally, yes. But the Pope and I had a bit of a tiff once."
"A papal tiff?" Carstairs said with a frown. "Involving what, may I ask?"
His eyes searching the sky for divine inspiration, the professor gave a delicate cough. Then another.
"Involving the tablet?" Lord Carstairs guessed sagely.
In mock embarrassment, Einstein nodded. "They refused to allow me access to the Dutarian stone, so I, well, borrowed it."
"Borrowed? And exactly when did this event take place, sir?" Lord Carstairs inquired, the implications becoming frightening clear.
"Oh, about three in the morning."
Aghast, Carstairs cried, " You burgled the Vatican ?" He then quickly lowered his voice as the nearby crowd turned in response to the cry. "B-but that is unpardonable, sir!"
"Well, the Pope certainly thought so," Professor Einstein agreed wearily.
A woman with a baby rushed by, parting the men for a moment. In her wake, they stepped close once more.
"So, did they catch you?" Lord Carstairs demanded.
"Me? Ha! Certainly not," the professor sneered, and then added, "Although in retrospect, that was what seemed to annoy them the most."
Feeling slightly ill, Lord Carstairs slumped onto an ornamental railing around a fountain. Holding his head in both hands, the big man appeared to be at prayer, and several hurrying priests gave him a brief benediction in passing.
"Did you ever return the stone?" Carstairs asked hopefully, from behind his hands.
"Of course, lad!" Professor Einstein said, sitting next to his friend. He patted the lord on the shoulder. "Why, I even gave them a splendid copy of my rubbing from the Amsterdam bracelet. But for some reason they still consider me persona non grata ."
Spreading his fingers, Lord Carstairs peeked down at the grinning professor. That wasn't lasagna he smelled now, but an East London rat.
"And why is that?" the lord demanded in a low rumble.
"Well, I did charge them a modest fee for postage and handling," Einstein admitted coyly.
"Professor!"
"Seemed like the thing to do at the time," Professor Einstein demurred, shifting about uncomfortably on the bench.
Now massaging his temples, Carstairs made a small noise of pain.
"Oh, and lad, you'd better let me have your pistol," Einstein added, holding out a handkerchief.
Wearily wary, Lord Carstairs scowled at the cloth. "Merciful heavens, why? You're not going to use it to steal some of St. Peter's Gate or something?"
With a flippant gesture, the professor snorted in disdain. "Bosh and tish! I already have a piece. No, the reason is that the Swiss Guard is notorious for its total lack of humor involving foreigners' bearing weapons anywhere near the Papal residence."
"Understandable," Carstairs acknowledged, reaching inside his coat. "So be it." Wrapping the massive revolver in the linen handkerchief, he transferred the Webley.
Tucking the mammoth pistol inside his own coat, Einstein then rummaged around in his vest before producing a small jewelry box. "Just in case there are any problems about getting into the occult section," he said, passing it over, "offer them this."
As if accepting a bomb from a mad German revolutionary, Lord Carstairs inspected the jewelry box, and then flipped open the lid. For several moments, he studied the contents in puzzlement until a sudden burst of understanding washed across his features and the lord stared in awe.
"No. This isn't…it couldn't be!" Carstairs said, having trouble getting out the words. "No. It is impossible!"
"To the best of my knowledge, that is real," Professor Einstein sighed. He started to reach for the box, and then slowly lowered his hand. "So don't fritter it away, lad. Use it only as a last resort to get that tablet!"
"Absolutely, Professor," Carstairs muttered, reverently closing the box, and tucking it deep inside his clothing. "Although, technically, I suppose this belongs to them as well."
"Balderdash, lad," Einstein snorted. "Finders, keepers. That's my motto."
Just then, an eddy in the swirling throng opened wide showing a clear path directly to the front entrance of the Vatican.
"There's your cue, lad," Einstein said, gesturing onward. "Good luck, and be sure to keep your wits sharp."
"Righto," Lord Carstairs replied, squaring his powerful shoulders. Standing, the dapper lord strode away, the tiny box still tightly clenched in a scarred fist as the mob filled the square once more.
Watching the
head of the tall man move over the milling crowd like a coconut floating at sea, the professor cast a nervous glance at the papal home as he hurried at his best speed towards the nearest exit. The Pope was famous for many things, and his boundless wrath towards successful thieves was one of the Top Ten.
Leaving the square, Professor Einstein wriggled his way to a nearby piazza: the pleasant Italian invention of an open-air restaurant. Taking a seat facing the Vatican, the professor placed an order with a handsome waiter for cappuccino, and settled down to begin his vigil.
Slowly time ticked by under the warm Mediterranean sun. Two cups of strong coffee and a plate of sugared zeppoles later, Einstein still awaited word from Lord Carstairs, while developing a dilly of a case of heartburn. In idle amusement, the professor fed a bit of his pastry to one of the innumerable cats of Rome. Julius Caesar himself had brought the creatures over from Egypt. As far back as the fifth century, historians had noted the large number of the furry beasts stalking the city. In wry humor, the citizens of Rome referred to them as 'The Little Kings' and gave them free rein.
With casual efficiency, the waiter removed the luncheon menu from the professor's table and replaced it with one for dinner. Einstein barely had a chance to glance at it before a different waiter appeared, bearing a fresh cup of coffee.
"Is everything to the English gentleman's satisfaction?" the waiter politely asked, placing the tiny cup and saucer on the checkered tablecloth.
"Absolutely. The cappuccino is delicious," Professor Einstein said, taking a fresh sip. "Don't know why we can't get this at home."
"The purchase of a special brewing machine is necessary," the waiter explained helpfully, wiping his hands clean on a white apron tied about his waist.
"Interesting. And I suppose none are available for sale?"
" Excusa , no, signore ."
Relaxing in his chair, the professor gave a bemused smile. "I see. It is a clever way to make sure the customers are forced to return. Are you British, by any chance?"
"Pure Sicilian," the waiter smiled, giving the word the proper pronunciation. "Oh, there was another matter, sir."
Licking his sticky lips, Einstein lowered the drained cup. How strange. The waiter's command of English just drastically improved. "Yes?"
"The lady at table eight wishes to express her thanks," the waiter said, gesturing with a towel-draped arm.
Raising an eyebrow, Professor Einstein glanced at the woman in question. He had noticed her upon arriving, if only for the striking beauty of her features, which were evident even behind the black lace veil. Her style of dress declared her British, as did the quiet refinement of her movements. But as far as the professor could tell, she had never once looked in his direction.
"Her thanks," Einstein repeated, curious. "Whatever for?"
Now the waiter leaned in closely and softly whispered, "Why, for drinking your drugged coffee so very quickly, Professor Felix Thaddeus David Einstein of the International British Museum."
With a surge of fury, the professor tried to stand but his head went reeling. Pawing for the pistol in his pocket, Einstein discovered his fingers were numb and useless as cordwood. Great Scott, I've actually been drugged like a shanghaied sailor! Desperately, the professor opened his mouth to shout for help. The waiter stuffed in a warm zeppole.
Trying to chew his way to freedom, Einstein felt the piazza begin to spin madly about and, somewhere in the distance, there were bells tolling. Bells? No, that was the blood pounding in his ears.
As the swooning professor slumped forward onto the table, his last conscious thoughts were of the sugared zeppole and his own forthcoming doom.
Chapter Seven
In slow stages of foggy delirium, Felix Einstein gradually awoke, feeling just awful. His temples pounded louder than jungle drums and an angry porcupine seemed to be nesting in his stomach. Plus, there was a taste in his mouth of sour mash and tin, as if the professor had tried to out-drink a Welsh miner. Bleh.
Upon attempting to stand, Einstein quickly discovered that his wrists were individually tied to the arms of the wooden chair he occupied. Coils of rope circled his legs from ankle to knee, more rope was wrapped about his middle, and still more was wound around his throat. Despite the seriousness of his predicament, the professor had to admire the thoroughness of the binding. This was the work of a true expert. This meant that he was in very big trouble indeed.
Breathing deeply so as to regulate his pulse, Professor Einstein forced himself to take stock of the room. It was small and well lighted, with plain, whitewashed plaster walls, two windows and a single door. The floor was carpeted and there were fine lace curtains on the windows. A hotel, perhaps, or a lady's private chambers. Unfortunately, he could see nothing outside except empty blue sky. Blast! The only furnishings were a carved mahogany washstand with a matching wardrobe and a beautiful four-poster bed with a stunningly lovely embroidered quilt of superior quality.
Reviewing his escape options was a short and depressing process, as Einstein spotted his personal belongings lying on the quilt some two yards distant. Prominent among them were his sword cane, pistol, pocketknife, and Lord Carstairs' huge Webley, still partially wrapped in the linen handkerchief bearing the Einstein family crest with the Latin motto: Cre do qua absurdum est!
A creak caught his attention. He turned to see the door swing aside and admit a lone hooded figure, its arms and face hidden by voluminous folds of dark cloth.
"So you took me alive," Professor Einstein snarled rudely, feeling better by the moment, which was very odd indeed. No known anesthesia could detoxify out of a human body this rapidly. A bit of magic here, eh? That made sense, seeing who it was they were fighting.
The masked figure said nothing in reply.
"What now?" Einstein continued. "A bribe to stop our quest? A bit of torture? Or am I a hostage?"
"All of those and more," the person said in a husky feminine voice. "But first, conversation."
"An unusual tactic for dullards," Professor Einstein snapped as insultingly as possible, even though his captor was obviously of the opposite gender. Biologically a female, but certainly no lady! "I have nothing to say to the likes of you!"
"Mayhap you do not understand what it is we offer," she countered, crossing her arms under an ample bosom. "After the initial cleansing bloodbath, the world will be at peace, with the undesirables removed. What advances science and art could make, with the politicians and bureaucrats gone!"
"The undesirables removed," the professor repeated, the words bitter as the aftertaste of the knockout drugs. The phrase made Einstein think back to the Dutarian tablet in his museum, and he shuddered. "Never! I will never comply!"
"Oh, but you were never counted among them!" the woman cried, clearly misunderstanding his reaction. "A man of your knowledge and abilities? We admire you greatly. Indeed, that was why…" The woman literally bit her tongue, causing Einstein to realize that he had just missed getting important information.
"Still not interested," the professor stated flatly.
Placing both hands on her wide hips, the woman tilted her head as if in contemplation, and then straightened it, obviously having made a decision.
"Besides the unlimited money, power, fame, and freedom to do your research," she continued undaunted, "you are also offered…me!"
With a whirl of her cape, the woman removed the flowing garment and stood brazenly before the bound man, clad in her street clothes from the restaurant. Minus the veil. A man as well as a professor, Einstein was impressed by the sheer beauty of the woman. Her face was classically beautiful, the skin smooth and unmarred, except for matching dimples. Her eyes were blue as the Aegean Sea, her lips lush as a plump Scottish lass's.
Incredulously, the professor watched as the woman deliberately lifted the hem of her skirt and teasingly revealed a sweetly shaped ankle. Then she wiggled it!
The hussy! A proper Victorian gentleman, Professor Einstein felt his mouth go dry at the raw sexual display. I-
I c-can almost see her actual leg!
Dropping the hem again, she now slowly unbuttoned her blouse, exposing a full inch of swelling cleavage.
Desperately fighting not to rise to the carnal bait, the professor tried juggling algebraic equations and logarithms in his head. Euclid, save this mortal wretch!
Tossing her long auburn curls over a shapely white shoulder, the animal temptress leaned in closer to the sweating man. "I have also read many of the forbidden volumes on intimate man-woman relationships," she purred warmly in his ear. "Such as the Tibetan Book of Love ."
At that point, Einstein could not stop the mathematical equations from abruptly turning into geometric calculations on rods and spheres.
"My favorite is the Kama Sutra," she said, running the pink tip of her tongue over scarlet lips. "I am particularly fond of position number thirty-seven."
Pouring sweat, the tumescent professor tried to think of his dearly departed mother and paying taxes. Position number thirty-seven. That was almost as good as his personal favorite, number fifty-two .
"Although my personal favorite is number fifty-two," the seductive trollop giggled lustfully, slowly tracing a dainty hand along the coils of rope around the professor's thigh. "In my private collection, I also have a dozen Japanese Pillow Books."
He swallowed hard.
"They're illustrated, you know," she added, thrusting her torso forward and breathing deeply with the most delightfully astonishing results.
A sudden tightness in his undergarments told the professor that unless he did something fast, his own body would betray him. Einstein was a man of science, but still a red-blooded man. There was but a single defensive weapon remaining for his use that had any chance of success, and the professor had to unleash it immediately! Closing his eyes to the vision of loveliness, Professor Einstein regulated his breathing and became very still.
At first, the woman thought Einstein had succumbed to her charms. But as nothing happened, she began to wonder if the elderly man had suffered a heart attack. Placing an ear upon his chest, she not only heard his heart beating strongly, but a faint humming as well. It only took her a few moments to recognize what it was. Snarling furiously, she slapped the prisoner hard across the face, stomped away in disgust to exit the bedroom, and loudly slammed the door in her wake.
THAT DARN SQUID GOD Page 8
