The Gate of Days - Book of Time 2

by Guillaume Prevost

  “You’re going to suffer, whiffet,” thundered the guard.

  But the yell of rage died in his throat as an unknown figure leaped out of the darkness. Another prisoner! He looped his chained hands around the guard’s neck and jerked them back. The soldier reared like an angry stallion, but his attacker held firm. A mix of rattles and gurgles followed, then a long sigh, then nothing.

  “What a piece of garbage!” said the unknown prisoner. Then, to Sam: “The keys, quick, before he wakes up. They’re hanging on a hook under the table.”

  Sam first retrieved his Browning, then went to get the keys. Back in the cell, leaving his rescuer to deal with his chains, he carefully put his arms around his father. Allan appeared to have lost half his body weight, and hugging him was like hugging a shriveled old man.

  “Dad, it’s me, Sam.”

  “Sam-Sam-Sam-Sam,” Allan said in a singsong, his eyes vacant.

  Sam saw a bucket with a dipper in the corner. “Here, drink this.” He poured some of the water on his father’s parched lips.

  Allan’s body was covered with oozing red sores, and the filthy scraps of a threadbare tunic barely covered his protruding ribs. He was no more than a bag of bones in rags.

  “Save me, Sam … save me.”

  “I’m here, Dad. Can you hear me? I’ve come to save you! We’re going home!”

  “Sam-Sam-Sam.”

  The other prisoner knelt beside them to unlock Allan’s chains. He was about twenty years old, with a narrow face and a determined expression. He seemed to have suffered much less from captivity than his cellmate.

  “You’re wasting your time, boy. He’s been like this for days. I think he’s lost his mind.” He stuck out his hand. “My name’s Dragomir.”

  Sam shook it gladly. “Have you been here long?” he asked as he rubbed his father’s ankles, which showed the scars of the leg irons. Allan continued to chant “Sam” above his head.

  “Three weeks, maybe four. You lose track of time fast in jail. I was carrying pepper and saffron from the Black Sea when my caravan was attacked. The master of Bran is demanding a ransom before he’ll return me to my family.”

  “The master of Bran. Do you mean the voivode of Wallachia?”

  Dragomir bared his teeth in what was probably meant to be a smile. “Yes, the Impaler. But you’re well informed. I was given to understand that it was quite secret.”

  “What was secret?”

  “The fact that the Impaler bought part of Bran Castle. He’s very attached to this place but absolutely doesn’t want anyone to know about it.”

  Sam, who was watching his father, didn’t quite follow. “Oh?”

  “The Impaler could have taken it by force if he’d wanted to, of course! But a war costs men, and he would have revealed that he coveted the castle. Instead he bought the right of residency to the square tower, so he can come and go as he pleases and nobody is the wiser.”

  This seemed like odd behavior for a warrior duke. “What’s so special about Bran Castle that makes the voivode interested in it?”

  The young man avoided the question with a shrug. “If you really want to know, go ask him.”

  “You mean he’s here?”

  “As far as I know, he is in Wallachia right now, fighting Sultan Mehmed. The lord of Bran is fighting his own war against one of his vassals.”

  Sam heaved a huge sigh of relief. So that’s why the castle’s corridors seemed so deserted! “But if the voivode wants to keep all this confidential, how do you know so much about it?”

  Dragomir showed his teeth again. “The notary who drafted the contract between Lord Bran and the voivode was imprisoned here for a few months — to ensure his silence, of course. He died of a fever a few days ago.”

  So there were no witnesses, and there was no evidence of Vlad. That’s why historians found it so hard to prove the connection between Dracula and Bran Castle!

  Dragomir jumped to his feet. “We should get out of here. There’s not much chance the other guards heard us, but they do make rounds.”

  Sam put his arm under his father’s shoulder to help him to his feet. “All right, Dad, were going now.”

  Supported by his son, Allan took a first halting step out of the cell, then a second. When he reached the guard’s table, he had to shield his eyes against the candlelight with his hand. “Where … where are we?” he stammered.

  “In the Bran Castle dungeon,” Sam answered. “But that’s all over. We’re going home now.”

  “We’re going home,” Allan said thoughtfully. “Yes, we’re going home!” Then, slowly: “Sam? Sam, is that you?” He stroked Sam’s cheek with his fingers, staring at him with feverish eyes. “Sam Faulkner! Allan Faulkner’s son!”

  “Not so loud, Dad. Someone will hear us!”

  But his father didn’t care. Mad with joy, he hugged Sam in his thin arms and proclaimed, “He came! My son came! Allan and Elisa Faulkner’s son!”

  As anxious as he was to get out of there, Sam embraced him in turn. How long had it been since his father had hugged him like this?

  “Sam Faulkner!” Allan chanted, at the height of exultation. “Sam-Sam-Sam!”

  But Dragomir quickly brought them back to reality. “We can’t stay here any longer, it’s too dangerous!”

  Sam gently freed himself and helped his father to the staircase. Allan was so weak that it took a major effort to get him up the steps.

  “Right here,” Allan muttered once they were at the top. “Right here, I know.”

  “What’s right here?” asked Sam.

  “Vlad Tepes, of course,” said Allan, whose mind seemed to be wandering. “He’s the one who has it — right here!”

  “What does he have?”

  “He stole it in Izmit,” his father continued. “When he was young. I remember now!”

  Dragomir turned around, a finger to his lips.

  “We have to be quiet, Dad,” whispered Sam. “There are soldiers around, and if they catch us we’ll never go home.”

  Allan stopped dead and glared at him. “I don’t want to go home,” he said in a determined voice. “I’m not going anywhere!”

  “What are you talking about?” cried Sam in exasperation. “Don’t you get it? If we stay here, we’ll die!”

  “I’d rather die than leave without it, do you hear? I’d rather die!”

  Sam tried to pull him along, but his father resisted, bracing his legs with newfound determination and vigor. “Meriweserre’s bracelet,” he muttered urgently, as if that would change Sam’s mind. “Meriweserre’s bracelet! It’s in the highest room of the square tower! We can take it easily!”

  “Were not taking anything,” said Sam angrily. “I don’t care about that stuff! Come on!”

  He pulled harder, but Allan let himself fall to the ground and started yelling: “Guards! Guards! I’m escaping!”

  Dragomir jumped down and clapped his hand over Allan’s mouth. “If you don’t shut up right away, old man, I’ll make you swallow your tongue!”

  “Mmm-ards! Mmm-scaping!” Allan mumbled.

  “Tell him to calm down or there’s going to be trouble,” Dragomir threatened.

  Sam was suddenly at a loss. To find his father he had run from Vikings, crossed war zones, faced a bear, fought gangsters, and survived a volcanic eruption, and now Allan himself was preventing his own rescue! He was making such a racket, the soldiers were sure to raise the alarm — either that, or Dragomir would eventually strangle him. What could he do?

  “All right, all right!” he said with a sigh. “Dad, listen. If you promise to wait for me by the hidden stairs, I’ll go get your bracelet. Do you understand?”

  “What hidden stairs?” asked Dragomir, his eyes suddenly alight.

  “We came in through a tunnel that ends in a mill outside the castle. There’s a passageway in the armory that leads to it.” He turned to his father. “You remember that passageway, don’t you, Dad? And the big dark staircase?”

  With Dr
agomir’s hand still over his mouth, his father nodded.

  “Do you swear not to scream?” Sam insisted. “And to stay in the armory till I get there?”

  Another nod.

  “Let him go, Dragomir. He’ll be quiet.”

  The young man obeyed grudgingly, and they set Allan back on his feet, letting him lean against the wall. They were ready to intervene if he seemed about to yell, but he appeared to be more in control of himself.

  “Can you tell me exactly where the bracelet is, Dad?”

  “In the highest room, Sam. In the square tower.”

  “What does it look like?”

  “It’s Meriweserre’s bracelet, the pharaoh of the Hyksos! There’s no mistaking it!”

  The Hyksos, thought Sam. Setni had also mentioned them — barbarians from the East who had once invaded Egypt. But so what?

  “There’s just the problem of the cage,” Allan added, as if it were a mere detail.

  “The cage? What cage?”

  “Its valuable, you know. They put it in the cage so it wouldn’t be stolen! You just have to open it by …” He scratched his head anxiously while staring at the tips of his toes.

  “By doing what, Dad?” Sam encouraged him.

  “Well, there’s a big combination lock on the cage. That’s right. And then …” He gave his son a look of immense despair. “It’s what they’ve done to my mind, Sam! I can’t remember anything anymore! I should’ve explained things for you better. I feel bad about that. But we can go together, can’t we? I need that bracelet, you understand? Otherwise I’d rather die here!”

  He was getting agitated again, and Sam feared that Dragomir would step in. He absolutely had to get Allan to the secret stairway. After that…

  “I told you I’d bring it back, Dad. You trust me, don’t you? I got you out of the dungeon, I can make it to the tower.”

  “Yes, son, of course I trust you! Otherwise you wouldn’t be here, would you?” With great gentleness, he leaned awkwardly toward Sam and kissed his cheek. “I’ve always trusted you, Sam.”

  “When you’re done smooching here,” Dragomir interrupted, “I’d really like to take that hidden passageway. And preferably without an army at my heels!”

  22 Meriweserre’s Bracelet

  They separated at the first level of the round tower. Dragomir promised he would escort Allan to the armory and stay with him as long as there was no danger.

  “But if any soldiers show up,” he warned, “I’m not going to wait around. Sorry!”

  For his part, Sam took a different hallway, which Dragomir said led directly beneath the square tower. At one point Sam had to duck behind an enormous column bearing the Bran coat of arms to avoid a pair of sentinels coming his way. The two men were joking about a feast planned for that evening to celebrate the return of the lord and his men. Bran was definitely a castle for laid-back good cheer.

  Once in the square tower, Sam waited a full minute, listening to the sounds that came to him from the staircase. There were a few creaks, the whistle of wind blowing through an arrow slit, and some distant barking, but that was all. He had decided he would climb to the top room and look at the bracelet and what was around it so he could describe it to his father. Then he would head back down, saying that he hadn’t been able to steal it. This would make his father happy and also convince him of his good faith. Besides, any place that had one such treasure could well hold others; he might find a coin with a hole to help them get home.

  The tower was indeed deserted, as Dragomir had indicated, and no Bran soldiers were even standing by the doors. Through a crude glass window at the second landing, Sam saw a kind of living room with red curtains on the wall and dark wood chests. As he climbed three more stories, the steps gradually narrowed. At one point, they were little more than toeholds, and the stairway walls pressed in so tightly he could feel the coolness of the rock through his linen shirt. After ten more steps, Sam came to a heavy door bound with iron bands and flanked by two wicked-looking lances with jagged blades. The doors circular handle was in the shape of an undulating snake biting its own tail. Sam hesitated to turn it. After all, if an object as precious as Meriweserre’s bracelet was really here, the door would surely be locked. But when he pushed down on the snake, the heavy door swung open.

  From the threshold, Sam saw a square chamber that was open on all sides. Wide windows overlooked valley and forest, providing an extraordinary panorama of a sea of tall dark pine trees, some gray rock, the colored roofs of some nearby farm buildings, and the sky, close enough to touch. Under each window stood a black bench, supported by legs carved to resemble those of various animals. The seats were covered in vermilion cloth embroidered with images of armored knights battling lions or griffins. Slender ivory columns stood between the windows, decorated with an astonishing number of tiny grimacing faces. Were they meant to represent Vlad Tepes’s victims?

  This strange little room was otherwise empty except for a central pedestal that supported a wrought-iron cage. As Sam walked over to examine it, he noticed a portcullis mounted directly above the door. Apparently the chamber was usually protected by the grille; it seemed odd that no one had thought to lower it.

  The cage was a cube about twenty inches square, with bars shaped like big, waving flames welded together. Inside was a striking miniature model of the entire high tower chamber, eighteen inches on each side, with the same gray wooden window casements, tiny ivory columns, and finger-length black benches with red cushions. A gold bracelet lay in the center on a silver stand … Meriweserre’s bracelet, surely. It glowed with an unearthly radiance, almost seeming to give off its own light: a solid gold circle with a small screw clasp, engraved with a series of simple slits — and a tiny little sun with six rays.

  Suddenly Sam realized what lay in front of him. Meriweserre’s bracelet was the second golden circle! When combined with the seven coins, it was one of only two objects in the world that allowed a person to control his destination in time!

  A number of previously random elements suddenly fell into place. Meriweserre, to begin with: the Hyksos pharaoh who had conquered Egypt and looted Imhotep’s treasure. Sam remembered the list he had labored over at the end of the black notebook. “Meriweserre = O” must mean that the Hyksos pharaoh was the one who had made the object — a copy of Setni’s original — since O could stand for object or the shape of the bracelet itself. After that, the golden circle must have passed through different hands — Xerxes, Caliph Al-Hakim — at different times — 484 b.c., 1010 — and different places — Isfahan, for example — before winding up with Vlad Tepes, its final possessor: “V. = O”. From what Allan said a few moments ago, Vlad had stolen it in the city of Izmit. Allan must have set his sights on Bran Castle in the hope of pocketing the million dollars the jewel was certainly worth!

  Sam tried to squeeze his fingers between the metal flames, but the cage was designed to thwart anyone reaching inside. “Some have gone mad at the idea of possessing it,” said Setni. Had that happened to Allan Faulkner? Sam had to admit there was something fascinating about the bracelet, especially considering its immense powers. How would Vlad Tepes use them, for that matter? And why display this marvel here in the square tower, unguarded?

  Sam examined the locking mechanism. The base of the cage was held shut by a four-inch iron jaw operated by the big combination lock his father had warned him about. The lock consisted of four cylinders — each marked with a series of numbers — mounted side by side, with a lever shaped like a wolfs head on the right. You entered the combination, pulled the lever, and got the bracelet — maybe.

  He rotated one of the cylinders: 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-0. That meant there were 10,000 possible solutions. So why didn’t the Bran soldiers try their luck? Weren’t they gamblers? Or they were afraid of something?

  Sam inspected the stand the cage rested on, a column of solidly intertwined crossbars. Inside it, he could see a pulley and the links of a chain that disappeared into the floor. So the lock op
erated some other mechanism in addition to the one that opened the cage.

  Sam walked over to the nearest window, the one that overlooked the castle courtyard, and glanced down. One guard was casually pacing along the parapet; another was sitting on a barrel, jug in hand. Nobody seemed overly concerned about the square tower and its fabulous treasure. But when Sam looked at the top edge of the window frame, he understood why: A portcullis with razor-sharp spikes was hidden in the thickness of the wall. The other windows had them too.

  Okay, Sam told himself. Either the guy who gets here enters the winning combination the first time and bingo! He hits the jackpot. Or the four numbers he enters are wrong, and the grilles all crash down at the same time. Suddenly the room itself would become a cage, a large-scale replica of the one around Meriweserre’s bracelet. Diabolical! And enough to cool the hopes of any Bran soldier, especially considering what would follow: an intimate chat with Dracula!

  Sam now knew enough to give his father a convincing picture of the situation. Allan would surely agree that he’d made the only possible decision: not to take a stupid chance. He stood one last time in front of the golden circle, wondering if a million dollars even came close to its real value. The perfection of the jewel’s shape, the almost unreal glow it gave off, the striking simplicity of its design — did that actually have a price? To think it would take only four numbers to be able to seize it. Four little numbers — not much at all!

  “Some have gone mad at the idea of possessing it,” repeated the little voice in Sam’s mind, and he shook his head to drive it away. For Allan to have successfully tracked the bracelet to the highest room in Bran Castle, he had to have assembled a colossal amount of information. Ditto to learn about the cage and the lock. Having done that, would he have ventured into Dracula’s lair without knowing the right combination? That seemed hard to believe. And Allan had left a fair number of clues for his son. The serpent coin, for example, that he gave to their old neighbor Max. The cry for help scratched onto the wall of his cell. And the black notebook, with all its pages torn out; had Allan forgotten the notebook, or was it an additional clue? Sam was inclined to think it was a clue; otherwise, why leave it in the middle of the history section, where Allan might hope his son would go looking?