LA01. The Crown of Zeus

by Christine Norris

  “How do you know all this stuff?” Harriet asked. She looked around nervously.

  Claire gave a quick shrug. “I did a project last year on life in Ancient Greece for World History. I remember everything I read.”

  Harriet shuffled her feet. “This is all well and good, but I don’t see any treasures, sacred or otherwise. They’re probably long gone, moved since Sir Gregory wrote the poem.”

  Megan shook her head. “Why leave the poem if he moved the treasure? There must be something else here.”

  They walked along the back wall of the little temple; Rachel went ahead, toward the opposite corner. Harriet clung to Megan and Claire, who stopped to admire the biggest statue in the temple. It was another of Athena, fifteen-feet tall. The folds of her sleeveless gown looked fluid, despite being carved in solid marble. An owl sat on her left shoulder, a spear in her right hand. “How in the heck did he get all this down here, I wonder? Down those narrow stairs?”

  “And all by himself,” Claire said.

  “We don’t know that it was by himself.” Megan ran a hand over the cool, smooth stone. She felt a slight vibration, like the statue had its own a life force, just waiting to be tapped. “He could have—“

  “Girls, come here!” Rachel yelled from nearby. The echo rang off the stone walls like a bell.

  Megan, Claire and Harriet ran to where her voice came from. She was between two columns in the middle of the wall.

  Rachel pointed at the wall. “Look.”

  Hidden in the shadows was a plain oak wooden door with an ornate brass doorknob. It looked out of place amidst the stark gray stone of the temple.

  “Hey, check out the knob,” Megan said. “It has the same tree as the diary and the poem.”

  “The treasure is here, I’ll bet.” Rachel ran a hand down the front of the door.

  “And I think that’s where it should stay,” Harriet said. “Or are you forgetting the end of the poem—‘if unversed you are, then trapped you will be’? I don’t know about you, but I could live very well without being trapped, thank you very much.”

  “I swear, sometimes I don’t know why we’re friends,” Rachel said. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

  Harriet bristled. “It must be off on holiday with your common sense.”

  “I’m going in,” Rachel said. “I didn’t come all this way just to turn back now. I want to see the treasure.” She turned the knob. “Locked.”

  “Of course it is,” Claire said. “Would you leave the door to a treasure room open for anyone to just tromp on in?”

  “Okay, it’s locked, we can’t get in.” Harriet pulled a blonde curl straight and let it bounce back. “Let’s go back up to Meg’s room and go to sleep. Or we could watch another movie.”

  “We’re going in,” Megan said. “We’ve got the key, remember? Rachel?”

  Rachel pulled the brass skeleton key from her front pocket, put it into the lock and turned it. It turned easily, which was almost a surprise; Megan thought the lock might be tight and rusty after years of disuse. The sound of the lock’s tumblers was louder than she expected, ominous; but that could have been only in her own mind.

  She held her breath as she spun the key all the way around, pulled it out and put her hand on the knob. Her heart pounded in her chest. “Ready?”

  Rachel and Claire nodded; Harriet only pressed her lips together so that they formed a tight line. Megan turned the knob and pushed the door open.

  She stepped inside; Rachel was right behind her. It was black as pitch inside; even the small bit of light from the temple did not penetrate very far.

  “Find the lights, will you?” Rachel said to Claire and Harriet.

  Megan heard them feeling the wall beside the door. It was Claire that spoke.

  “I think this is it.”

  There was the click of a switch and electric wall sconces, made to look like the torches outside, flickered on.

  This room, like the door, was different than the temple. Instead of a stone floor, there was a highly polished, wide-planked wooden one. Above them was a domed ceiling, painted like a midnight sky—deep blue with sparkling stars scattered across it.

  Megan stared at it, entranced. It was strange; she swore the stars moved. It must be a trick of the light. Hanging on a chain from the center of the dome was a round crystal chandelier at least ten-feet across. Light from the bulbs inside bounced off the crystal drops, making them glow as if they were on fire.

  The room was filled with bookshelves. Rows and rows of them sat perpendicular to a center aisle—covered with a thick, Oriental-patterned carpet runner—that ran into the distance. Megan inhaled; the room had a familiar smell. It was the same dry, spicy smell of the New York Public Library.

  “It’s beautiful.” Claire’s voice echoed into the vast room.

  “There must be a million books in here,” Rachel said.

  “The Library of Athena,” Harriet said in an awed whisper.

  Megan spun around. “What was that?”

  “That’s what this place is called.” Harriet pointed to a brass plate mounted on the wall just inside the door. It read:

  The Library of Athena

  Knowledge is the greatest treasure

  “This must be what Sir Gregory was talking about in his diary,” Megan said. “Knowledge is the key to all. No wonder we couldn’t find anything upstairs. We were in the wrong library.”

  “Great, mystery solved.” Harriet gnawed her thumbnail. “Now can we go? This place is spooky.”

  Rachel looked up, her palms raised to the ceiling as if asking some unseen force for patience. She poked a finger at Harriet. “Go if you want. But don’t you dare tell anyone where we are.”

  Harriet looked from one face to the other. “Oh, all right. I’ll stay.”

  “Good girl.” Claire patted Harriet on the back. “Let’s go exploring.”

  They walked slowly down the center aisle. Attached to the end of each bookshelf was a small brass frame. Like many libraries, inside each frame was a card with the contents of the shelf listed. This library was cataloged alphabetically.

  “Abaris—Amun Ra,” Megan read from the card on the first shelf on the left.

  Claire looked at the shelf directly opposite. “Anake—Aztec.”

  “What the heck kind of library is this?” Rachel pulled a book from the second row of shelves; the card said the shelves contained books Baba Dochia—Belladonna. The volume was old, its pages yellowed and warped inside the mottled cover. There was no title. She opened it.

  Before she could read a word, a blue-gray mist rose from the pages and swirled around Rachel’s head.

  “Cripes.” The mist did nothing, only hung above her for a few seconds. Suddenly it dove back into the book, slamming the cover shut tight behind it. Rachel, hands trembling, put the book back in its place and backed away from the shelf.

  Harriet’s eyes were the size of saucers. “What was that? Now I know I don’t like it here.”

  “I still want to find the sacred treasures,” Rachel said, her voice shaking. “Let’s keep looking. Spread out, but don’t wander. If you see something, shout.”

  “More like scream,” Harriet muttered. “I don’t want to be alone in here.”

  “Don’t worry, we won’t be far away,” Megan said.

  Each girl selected a section and searched its contents. Megan had just plucked a book titled Mummification Rituals of Ancient Egypt from a shelf when she heard Claire shout.

  “You guys come here! You have to see this!”

  Megan dropped the book and ran. She found Claire standing in the middle of one of the D shelves, mouth hanging open.

  “What’s the matter? Are you all right?”

  Claire smiled. “More than all right. Look at these.” She pointed to a section of ancient leather-bound books. “Do you know what these are?”

  Megan shook her head.

  “Da Vinci. Not just books on da Vinci, but by da Vinci.” She pulled one down an
d showed it to Megan. “This is a journal, handwritten, by Leonardo da Vinci. A codex I’ve never heard of.”

  Harriet came toward them. “And that’s important, why?”

  Claire adjusted her glasses. “Because, with the exception of a few codices in museums and well-known private collections, everything ever written by him is in a vault in the Vatican Library. Or at least it’s supposed to be.” She paged through the one in her hand. “This is incredible.”

  “Sir Gregory was a collector, remember.” Rachel came up the aisle, a book in her hands. “You can bet he didn’t want anyone finding out he had those. He would have had to give them up.”

  “I wonder why he didn’t just give them to the National Library?” Harriet said. “Isn’t there one of those codex thingies in the Victoria and Albert?”

  Claire nodded absently, concentrating on reading. “Uh, well, I can understand why he wouldn’t want them made public. There’s some very controversial ideas in here. And some diagrams for some very odd inventions.”

  “That’s nothing.” Rachel plucked a book from the shelf. “Will you look at this? Dragons—A Comprehensive Guide? It’s right next to Great Sorcerers of Denmark. This is a very strange library.”

  Megan shrugged. “So Sir Gregory was interested in magic. His diary said as much. It probably wasn’t something he announced at dinner parties. It’s a weird hobby, and they’d lock him up in the loony bin. Plus, there are other books in here too, like these.” She pointed to the da Vinci collection. “It makes sense he hid them. Let’s keep looking.”

  They resumed their exploration, and it was clear this was indeed an eclectic collection. The “G” shelf held both writings by Galileo (Claire swore those were also very valuable) and about Gypsy magic. Megan and Rachel came across several original Shakespeare manuscripts sitting beside a large number of self-proclaimed spell books from the 14th century. Their inspection of the “P” shelf found a book by Ptolemy just beyond no less than fifty books on potions.

  Megan picked up one and looked it over. “Wow,” she said to no one in particular. “There sure are a lot of books about magic. I didn’t think there were this many people in the world who believed in it, let alone wrote all these books about it.”

  The girls met in the center aisle at the back of the room, just past the last shelf (Zeus—Zochon).

  “Do you think this is it?” Rachel said. “That the ‘sacred treasure’ is this room, these books?”

  Megan pulled the poem from her pocket. “I don’t see how they could be. For one thing, we’re not trapped in here. At least I don’t think we are. The poem said something about being trapped. And for another, there’s not much sacred about these books. Yes, some of them are very valuable,” she said, in answer to a look from Claire. “But the diary specifically mentioned items that he collected, and that they would be hidden in the library. If they were books, why not just say so?”

  “Maybe there’s a specific book we’re looking for,” Rachel said. “Hidden among all the others? Like that one about The Art he talked about.”

  “I didn’t see one.” Megan read the poem again. They had solved the first part of it; that was certain. “And I still don’t get the ‘tales of old’ part, either.”

  “There’s no way we could search every book in here,” Harriet said. “It would take years.”

  Megan pressed her cheek against the cool stone of the back wall. She needed to think.

  “What’s that over there?”

  There was a small bump in the wall, halfway between the center and the corner. Megan went to it, and discovered the bump was actually the stone molding that framed a dark arched opening in the wall. Above the door, carved into the stone, were the words “Special Collection”, and the now-familiar small tree beneath it.

  She waved her friends over. “Come here.”

  Megan felt the wall inside the alcove. There was no light switch. She pulled the flashlight from her back pocket and clicked it on. The room was long and narrow, and shelves ran along the left-hand wall, leaving a space just wide enough for one person to walk. Megan moved the flashlight beam along the shelves, and the spines of what looked like thousands of books. They were all exactly the same size, with different colored cloth covers. Like they were part of a set.

  “Great,” Harriet said. “More books. Still no treasure.”

  Megan walked in, Claire and Rachel following single file. Harriet stayed outside.

  “I can’t see much back here,” Rachel said. “A little help, Megan?”

  “There’s a lantern out here,” Harriet said. Rachel stepped outside, and came back almost immediately carrying a lit brass oil lantern. It cast a soft golden glow on the books.

  “Ick, somebody’s forgotten to clean back here for a century or so.” Rachel ran a finger along a shelf and left a trail in the thick dust.

  A large spider skittered away when Megan hit it with the beam of the flashlight. She shuddered. “I wonder why these are back here and not in the main library?”

  “Who knows? Maybe it’s a catalog of the books out there, or more of Sir Gregory’s journals,” Claire said.

  No, these aren’t catalogs or journals. These are special. There was something about them; a power that Megan could almost feel. It wasn’t good or bad, but like a low hum inside her head. Like they were sleeping.

  That’s stupid. Books aren’t alive, they don’t sleep. But she couldn’t shake the feeling.

  Rachel pulled a random book from the shelves. She blew the dust from the cover, right into Claire’s face.

  “Thanks,” Claire sputtered through a fit of coughs and sneezes.

  “Sorry.” Rachel looked over the worn blue cover. “The Crown of Zeus. Odd title. Wonder what it’s about.” She walked out of the little room and took the book to a long wooden table butted up against the back wall. Claire, still sneezing, and Megan followed.

  “I don’t think we should,” Harriet said slowly. She put her right index finger in her mouth and chewed on it. “Those books were back there for a reason. Maybe they’re dangerous or something.”

  “C’mon Harriet.” Megan and Claire stood on either side of Rachel. Megan pulled Harriet up next to her. “It’s just a book. It won’t bite you.” She wanted more than anything for Rachel to open the book. These books were special to Sir Gregory. They came this far; she needed to see what was written inside.

  Harriet continued to gnaw her defenseless fingernail. Rachel sat the book on the table, the spine flat against the wood. She let it fall open.

  From the book came a sudden bright light and the sound of howling wind. Megan put her hands up to shield her eyes. Both light and sound grew, until they were surrounded by them. Megan felt as if she were being pulled forward by her shoulders. Her feet lifted off the floor—she fell headfirst, like Alice down the rabbit hole. She could no longer see or hear the other girls as she fell. If she screamed, the sound never reached her own ears. She closed her eyes and moved her hands over her ears. She was still falling, even though she should have hit the floor long ago.

  Suddenly everything stopped.

  Chapter Six: Sir Gregory’s Puzzle

  With a bone-crunching thud, Megan hit something solid. She lay still for a moment, just breathing, before she opened first her right eye, then the left. Rachel lay on the ground next to her, groaning. Megan rolled toward her.

  “Are you all right?”

  Rachel sat up and rubbed her head. “I think so. But I’ve got a terrific headache. What was that?”

  “Beats me.” Claire lay a few feet to Megan’s left, next to Harriet. “But we’re definitely not in the library anymore.”

  Megan sat bolt upright. They were in an empty meadow, surrounded by long grass. Large rocks dotted the landscape, poking out of the grass like little mountains. The sun shone from a cloudless sapphire sky, and a gentle warm breeze blew, bringing with it the tangy scent of salt water.

  This is not good.

  All four of them stood. The land slope
d away from them for about a hundred feet before dropping away altogether. Beyond the cliff Megan saw water—a large body of water. Whitecaps danced on top of sparkling blue waves.

  “We’re not even in the house.” Megan tried not to panic, but it was making a good case for itself. “I don’t even think we’re in England. Where are we?”

  Claire picked up her glasses and put them on. “Judging by our attire. I’d say Ancient Greece.”

  Megan looked at her friends, then at herself. Her jeans and long-sleeved shirt were gone; she wore an ankle length dress made of a soft material. It was the color of a robin’s egg. The fabric was draped over her body, secured by gold pins instead of sewn together. Her sneakers were gone too, replaced with a pair of leather thong sandals. Rachel, Claire and Harriet were all dressed the same, except in different colors. This is really not good. What have I done?

  “Ancient Greece?” Megan said. Panic took another step forward. She thought Claire must have hit her head or lost her mind—what she said made no sense. “How did we get to Ancient Greece? Is there a time machine in your pocket?”

  Claire shrugged. “I’m only stating what I see. Based on the landscape and our clothing, Ancient Greece is a logical conclusion.”

  “This is insane,” Harriet said. “There’s no way in bloody hell we’re in Ancient Greece!” She inspected her yellow dress and sandals with a look of distaste. “Is this a toga? Am I wearing a toga?”

  “No,” Claire said, whose dress was green. “It’s called a chiton. Togas were worn in Rome, not Greece.”

  Rachel was still rubbing her head. “Logic and fashion sense aside, how did we get here from the library? And how do we get back?”

  “I know it sounds insane, but maybe the book sent us here,” Megan said. It was the only explanation she had. She thought she might be dreaming, but everything felt so real. Besides, why would she have a dream this crazy? “But I don’t see it, or any other way to get back.”

  She took a deep breath, and pushed panic back into its corner of her mind. Survival instinct took over. There had to be a simple solution, she just had to keep her head and she would find it. Then she could get back to showing her friends a good time. Because this was certainly not a good time. “Wherever we are, there must be people here somewhere. Let’s find someone and ask them to help us.”