by Robyn DeHart
“Yes. Everyone at the Yard thinks the killer is delusional or something. I figured if anyone knew anything it would be you.”
Max linked his fingers and rested his hands atop his abdomen. “Seven rings of Atlantis,” Max repeated.
“That’s familiar to you,” Justin said with a broad smile. “I knew it would be.”
“Yes, I recognize it.” Max nodded slowly. “But I don’t know why anyone would use it.”
“What is it?” Justin asked.
Max pointed over his shoulder to the map framed on the wall. “It’s from the map. It took me years to locate all the inscriptions and to complete the necessary research to make some sense of it. It’s the ancient prophecy woven through the map’s illustrations that predicted the destruction of Atlantis.”
“That does not help me, Max. I can’t go back to the Yard and tell them it’s a prophecy.”
“Was a prophecy,” Max corrected.
“That’s beside the point.”
Max shook his head. “Clearly someone has a message they want to get out. You said they want you to print it in the newspaper. What would be the point of that?”
“I’m guessing that stems solely from arrogance,” Justin said. “But it does appear to be an actual message to someone.”
“I might know who to ask.” No one had inquired about his map in years, and suddenly it happened twice in two days. Max didn’t believe in coincidences. He looked down at the note again and pointed to the top. “This is addressed to the ‘guardian.’ I’ve never come across mention of that in any of my research.”
“I suspect it to be her majesty. Which brings me to yet another favor. I want to see if she has heard anything and to perhaps warn her that it might be time to increase her security. For herself and for her officers.”
Max raised his eyebrows.
“I need to get in to see the queen, and there’s nothing about my status that will get me an audience with her,” Justin explained. “Third sons who work for the Metropolitan Police are not too high on the list when it comes to the monarchy.”
“I haven’t seen her majesty in quite a while, but she always seemed rather fond of me,” Max said with a grin.
“Thank you.” Justin sighed heavily. “Now tell me about this prophecy.”
“Take a look for yourself,” Max said.
“Is it true you found it when you were only seventeen?”
“Yes,” Max said.
Justin accepted the invitation and came around the desk to stand in front of the large, framed map. “This is quite a masterpiece.”
It took up nearly a quarter of the wall. The hand coloring had not faded over the years so it remained as vibrant and beautiful as the day Max had discovered it. He never tired of looking at it. It only fueled his desire to one day see the sunken land for himself.
“Yes,” Max agreed.
After several moments of staring at the map, Justin leaned back. “Where is the prophecy?”
“You have to look closely,” Max said. “Follow the water rings, then that grove of trees.” He pointed. “The prophecy is embedded in the images of the map.”
Justin stared back at the map. “Oh, here we go. Hidden symbols,” he muttered. “Problem is, though, I don’t read Greek.”
“The seven rings of Atlantis will fall by fire and steel, opening the path for the army of one. Empires will crumble and crowns will melt. The three will lose their blood unless the dove can bring salvation,” Max said. He’d memorized it years ago.
“What is the dove?” he asked.
“I’ve found no mention of that in my research either, though I have tried. Best I can figure out is it must have been some sort of weapon. Or perhaps a plan.” Max shrugged. “Whatever it was, it didn’t work. Atlantis was not saved, if the myth is to be believed at all. Though it seems unlikely anything would have saved them from the earthquake or volcanic eruption—or whatever happened that sank the island.” Max released a heavy sigh.
“Frustrated?” Justin chuckled. “I’ve felt like that often in my Treasure Island research.” He looked back at the map.
Justin had only recently been admitted to Solomon’s. He’d just begun his search. So if Justin was disheartened about his quest for Treasure Island, well, Max could teach the man a thing or two about perseverance.
Max had been searching for Atlantis for the better part of his life. There were long stretches of time where it seemed he made no progress. Other times, it felt as if the proof he sought sat just out of reach. Just out of his sight. As if he might round the next corner and find it standing before him.
As frustrating as the endless search was, it was moments like that that kept Max going. Being a legend hunter took not merely skill, and intelligence, but perseverance as well. Max’s instincts told him Justin possessed all three. If the intensity with which Justin focused on Max’s map was any indication. Justin stared at the map so long that Max expected him to say something more.
Max, on the other hand, had been a member of Solomon’s for fifteen years. When he found the map of Atlantis at the age of seventeen, Solomon’s had invited him to join. They had expected him to go on to do something amazing. He had expected the same thing.
Of course, he’d had his share of success aiding other members. Yet no matter how skilled he was at research and detection, proof that Atlantis had existed eluded him. The juicy grapes still dangled above the mouth of the starving Tantalus.
And yet, he knew with a bone-deep certainty that the proof was out there. Somewhere. There was nothing he wouldn’t give to obtain it.
Justin began repeating the prophecy slowly, as if mulling over every word. Finally, he turned and said, “What if the prophecy isn’t about the demise of Atlantis?”
“Impossible.” Max shook his head. How many times, late at night, had he studied that map looking for hidden clues, then scoured through ancient texts for assistance? Naturally, he knew the words of the prophecy as well as he knew his own reflection. “What else could it be?”
“What I mean is, what if someone else believed it to be about something other than Atlantis?” Justin asked. His eyes held that spark of discovery. Bloody hell, what he was suggesting was certainly a possibility. That hint of a new clue was an irresistible lure to an adventurer like Max.
Grudgingly, Max rose to stand beside Justin. So this young pup thought he could discover something new in the map? Well, no one knew the map or the prophecy better than Max. Max stared at the prophecy, considering Justin’s words. If one assumed the prophecy wasn’t about the destruction of Atlantis, then what would it be about?
“Something that hasn’t yet happened,” Max said aloud.
“Precisely. These rings”—Justin pointed to each on the map—“the seven rings of Atlantis, they were in place to protect the island nation, correct?”
“Yes, precisely. The alternating rings of land and water gave Atlantis great protection from warring nations.” Max slanted a look at Justin. “And you said you thought the guardian referred to the queen. So who protects the queen? Who protects all of England?”
“The military,” Justin answered grimly.
“Exactly,” Max said.
“If I’m correct, then this murderer is following the prophecy, twisting it so that the seven rings represent seven generals.”
Max’s own enthusiasm dimmed a bit as he realized that the new discovery did not involve Atlantis.
“Five of whom are already dead,” Justin said.
Max listened, but said nothing. This entire scenario seemed highly improbable.
“Who are the three that the prophecy refers to?” Justin traced a line of the prophecy through the glass.
“Justin, as far as I’m aware, very few people know anything about the existence of the prophecy. People have seen my map”—Max shook his head—“but I doubt they notice. It took me a long while to discover it.”
“Perhaps it is printed elsewhere,” Justin offered.
It was plausible,
but none of Max’s research had ever suggested that the prophecy was a warning about the future. Granted, he’d never found the exact wording of the prophecy printed anywhere else. Whether or not there was a connection, there were still lives in danger, and Justin was right, their queen needed to be warned.
“Who else would know about any of this?” Justin asked. “Any other Atlantis experts I could question?”
Sabine’s lovely face appeared in Max’s mind. She had arrived out of nowhere asking questions about the map. Did she have something to do with these murders? Max wanted to get answers from her before Justin had the chance. “I’ll see what I can find out for you,” he said.
Justin stepped back around the desk. “They’ll be missing this out of the evidence room.” He pocketed the note. “So I need to get it back. I should be going. My apologies for interrupting you so late this evening.”
Max nodded.
“Let me know if you discover anything,” Justin said.
“There is no time to delay with something such as this,” Max said. “Tomorrow morning, we can try to see her majesty. Meet me at the palace.”
Justin nodded. “Appreciate it.”
Max continued staring at the map long after Justin had left. He would definitely have to pay Sabine another visit. Whether she was ready or not, it was time to share those secrets of hers.
Spencer looked up from his desk to stare at the girl. She was new, inexperienced and terrified. “What?”
She flinched. “There are two gentlemen here to see her majesty,” the maid said.
“Who are they?” He stood and walked around his desk to lean on it. “You always need to know who they are before you come in here. I know you’ve been told that before.”
Her chin quaked, but she did not cry. “Yes sir, Mr. Cole. It’s an Inspector Salinger from Scotland Yard and the Marquess of Lindberg.”
“Inspector Salinger.” Cole thought on the name for a moment, but he did not recognize it. “That is not who we normally communicate with at the Yard.” And the marquess. Interesting pair. Spencer knew little about the man other than that he was a member of that ridiculous club, Solomon’s, foolish gentlemen who fancied themselves treasure hunters. But Spencer did know the marquess had the map of Atlantis. Once he had tried to break in and steal that map, but had failed. The security had been rather sophisticated. And he’d been young and foolish and inexperienced then. Everything was different now.
Had the inspector gone to the marquess as an Atlantis expert to consult on the case? “Show them in,” he said.
The maid bobbed a sweet curtsy, then left the room. A moment later, the two men entered the waiting chamber. Just outside her majesty’s offices, it was the closest one could be to the queen.
The inspector appeared to be of a similar age to Spencer, while the marquess had perhaps five years on them. Perhaps if he had been raised in a traditional fashion, they would have shared times at school. “Please sit,” he offered. But the men made no move to take the offered chairs. “It’s my understanding that you requested a visit with her majesty,” he said.
“We did,” the marquess said. “The inspector here”—he motioned to the other man—“has some official business to discuss with her.”
“I am afraid that her majesty is not feeling well today.” Spencer smiled. “Nothing to be alarmed by, though, I can assure you, but she asked that I take her meetings and then report back to her. What is it that I can assist you with today, gentlemen?”
The inspector eyed the marquess cautiously, but the marquess nodded, urging his friend to go forward.
“It would seem that someone is making sport of our military officers,” the inspector said.
Ah, so that was why they were here. The Yard had finally paid attention. Had it been his note to the guardian that had made them take notice? Or perhaps this inspector was more clever than the rest. “Making sport?” Spencer asked, feigning ignorance.
“Killing them, sir. Five of them thus far.” The inspector’s concern clearly showed in his furrowed brow. “I thought it prudent to notify her majesty so that she might take the proper precautions. Alert the officers that they should be on guard,” the inspector said. “Perhaps offer extra protection.”
“You are certain these haven’t been accidents? They are military men, after all,” Spencer countered, merely for his own amusement. “I have heard of countless accidents on the field of battle and even in their own homes. Cleaning a gun, perhaps.” Of course, he, as the Chosen One, would never try to convince them the killings hadn’t been murders. Still, he couldn’t resist toying with these two men, if only for a little while.
“No, we know for certain the deaths are connected,” the marquess spoke up.
So the marquess had been brought in to assist with the investigation.
“There’s more,” the inspector said. “There is evidence at this last scene indicating that her majesty could be in danger. I wanted to warn her. Her security is of our upmost concern at the Yard.”
“I can assure you, Inspector, that the security for Queen Victoria is quite thorough. But we will take your suggestion under advisement,” Spencer said.
The inspector pulled a card out of the inside of his jacket and placed it on Spencer’s desk. “If you could pass this along to her. Should she have any questions, I am at her service.”
“Splendid.” Spencer tucked the card into his own jacket. “I will be certain to tell her majesty of your visit and your concerns,” Spencer said. “Rest assured that we will do whatever is necessary to protect our military officers. It would be devastating to our country to lose any more of them.”
The men said their good-byes, then left. Spencer waited another moment, then lit a match and held it to the inspector’s card. The flame ate at the paper, consuming the letters of the man’s name, first in black then in ash. Victoria knew about the murders; she was kept informed. But there was no reason to notify her of this particular visit.
It was laughable that Scotland Yard had contacted the marquess for assistance—as if he were an expert on the subject of Atlantis. The man had found a map, but he was a treasure hunter, nothing more. All the same, perhaps it would behoove Spencer to investigate this marquess.
Unlike the bloody nobleman who was merely obsessed with the lost land, Spencer had Atlantis in his blood, beating within his heart. He was from a long line of great warriors, and it was past time for them to regain power and finish what his ancestors had started.
Max and Justin made their way into the main room of Solomon’s. For a Friday afternoon, more people than usual filled the area. A familiar face smiled from the right-hand corner and waved the two of them over.
“Fielding,” Max said as they approached the table. They shook hands.
Fielding folded up the newspaper he’d been reading and set it on the table.
It had only been a few months before that Fielding and his new bride had taken refuge at Max’s house during a dangerous adventure, and now they were both members of the exclusive club. “Where’s the wife?”
“Shopping.” Fielding looked over at the door. “She was supposed to meet me half an hour ago. She’s late, as usual.”
“You know Justin Salinger, right?” Max asked.
“We’ve met once, I think,” Justin said. The two of them joined Fielding at his table.
“Have you heard from the Raven?” Max asked Fielding.
Fielding leaned forward and tapped two fingers on the table. “The thing about my uncle is, he never makes his presence known until he either needs something or is setting a trap.” Fielding smiled. “I don’t suspect he’ll hide forever, though. There’s too much treasure out there waiting to be claimed.”
Max nodded. “He’s been causing problems for the men of Solomon’s for years. More than likely we haven’t seen the last of him.”
“Of that, I have no doubt,” Fielding said.
A moment later, two more gentlemen stepped inside. Max knew them all and waved.<
br />
Nick Callum and Graeme Langford sidled over to the table and took seats; Nick flipped his around and straddled it.
“It’s a compulsion with you to be different,” Graeme noted, pointing to Nick’s chair.
Nick cursed Graeme in response.
“Children,” Max chided, then laughed.
“How goes the Atlantis search?” Graeme asked.
Max shrugged. “New research of late, but I’m not certain it will lead to anything.”
“He got shot,” Justin added.
“Not the first time,” Fielding said.
Max chuckled. “I forgot I told you that story.”
“It was a woman that shot him,” Justin teased.
“Who was it this time?” Fielding asked.
“What the devil, Salinger, if you tell all my bloody secrets, I’ll tell yours,” Max said. It was unlikely he’d share official police business, especially if her majesty was in danger, though any of that information would be safe here among these men.
Then Esme Grey came in, wife of Fielding and the only female member of Solomon’s. Inviting a woman to join their infamous roster had never been an option until Esme. She and Fielding had been offered membership the previous summer after saving the crown jewels, not to mention Pandora’s box. Max had wholeheartedly approved of the addition of the Greys to Solomon’s.
“Hello, darling,” she said as she swooped down to kiss Fielding’s cheek.
Nick grabbed a chair for her from the next table.
“Thank you,” she said, plopping herself down next to her husband.
“Did you spend all of our money?” Fielding asked.
She gave a dainty shrug. “Perhaps.” Then she began digging into her shopping bag. “I know you will all be delighted to know I have purchased a new pair of gloves,” she said, placing them on the table, “a new hat,” again, it went onto the table, “and some fancy face crème.” She set the jar down as well.
“I knew if we allowed a woman in our midst, she’d start bringing in fancy-smelling whatnots,” Nick said with feigned annoyance.
“I’ll have you know that none of this is for here, this is all for me,” Esme said teasingly.
