by Robyn DeHart
Chapter Sixteen
Graeme’s suggestion had been a good one. Mortimer Flynn, a former member of Solomon’s, was said to have one of the largest and most extensive collections of unique weapons in Great Britain. It might be another futile search, but perhaps luck would be on their side. Flynn’s estate was a two-hour drive from London, and exhaustion overcame Sabine during the ride. They hadn’t gotten much sleep the past few days, and no doubt it was wearing her down. As the carriage rumbled to a stop, Sabine awoke.
Sabine looked weary, but so beautiful. Her hair was rumpled, and she had a hand imprint on her cheek from her nap. Still, she stirred him.
“Where are we?” she asked, peering out the small carriage window.
He climbed down from the carriage and held his hand out to her.
“In Kent at the weapon collector’s estate,” Max reminded her. She’d evidently slept so deeply in the short period of time that she’d forgotten their destination.
“Oh, right. And this man, you and your Scottish friend know him?”
Max looked out the window. “Not precisely.”
“Not precisely?” she repeated. “What does that mean?” She looked around at their surroundings, trees lining the small road. “Why did we not pull into his drive?”
Max took that exact moment to check his pistol.
Her eyes widened as she eyed his gun.
“He used to be a member of my club,” he said.
“You’ve never met him, though.”
“No, he was gone long before I joined.” He shrugged. “But I know of him,” Max said.
“And you think that small affiliation will grant us an invitation into his home?” The pitch of her voice rose.
“Of course not.” He moved closer to a tree. “We don’t need an invitation.”
She followed. “Why is that?”
“We’re going to go in unannounced and look around.” He peered through a clearing in the trees. Flynn’s house sat straight ahead of them, though they’d have to maneuver through the remainder of the trees and scale a stone wall to get onto the property. Then it would be a matter of finding the right door.
“Do you ever go in through the front door with an actual invitation?” she hissed. “I should have known you were planning something like this when we left London at such a late hour.”
“We need the weapon, do we not? Do not worry, he’ll never even know we were here,” he said.
They moved along the shrubbery, careful to conceal themselves in the darkness. The grand estate before them swept across a hillside, staking a clear claim on all the land below. The gray stone looked dark and menacing in the night sky. Ivy crept up, covering one entire side of the building.
Soon they found themselves against the stone wall that surrounded the perimeter of the house.
“We should try a door in the back,” Max whispered.
Together they moved along the wall, across the front, and around the side. Max stopped.
He pointed to the single door on the west side of the house. “That’s even better. A servants’ entrance. He’ll never know.”
“And I suppose if we find the weapon we’re just going to borrow it,” she said tartly.
He thought a moment, then nodded. “Precisely.”
“Is breaking into people’s homes some sort of misguided hobby for you?” she asked.
“When the task calls for creative measures. Come.” He hoisted himself to the top of the wall. When he turned to help Sabine, she was already halfway up. He assisted her the rest of the way, then jumped down and helped her land on her feet. They used a grove of trees to maneuver closer without being seen.
“How are you not rotting in a prison cell by now?” she whispered. But he saw the hint of a smile teasing her lips.
“I am the Marquess of Lindberg,” he said simply. That, and he excelled at smoothing over bad situations. A smile here, a banknote there, and people tended to forget their worries. He made his way to the door. At this hour, the servants would all be in bed. With his tools, he was able to pry open the lock. He saw Sabine still hiding behind a tree. “Are you coming with me or are you planning to hide out here?” he whispered.
Her lips tightened into a thin line. She said nothing as she strode past him into the house.
Max smiled and followed behind her.
They stood completely still for several minutes, allowing their eyes to grow accustomed to the dark room. It appeared to be the kitchen, as the scent of bread permeated the area. Sabine’s warm breath breezed across his neck. She leaned in closer and that same warmth blew against his ear.
“How do we know where to look?” she whispered.
Bloody hell, but he wanted her. Right here in this stranger’s kitchen. Pushed up against the cupboards, hot and fast or painfully slow. He didn’t care which. Maybe both.
Quietly they crept across the kitchen and into the pantry area. Max held his arm out to stop Sabine’s forward movement. He pointed down at their feet. There sleeping on the floor were two scullery maids. Sabine’s eyes grew large. Max nodded to reassure her. He held her hand as they climbed over the girls’ sleeping forms. One of them stirred, and Max and Sabine froze. But she turned over and continued to sleep.
They exited the pantry into a hallway with a staircase, because if they didn’t keep moving, Max just might take her on the floor. “He keeps most of them on display in the great hall,” he said quietly as they began their climb.
She tugged on his shirt to stop him. “Then why couldn’t we have simply asked him if we could take a look?”
“On display for himself. He doesn’t like to share.”
“I see.”
“This way.” He grabbed her hand, ignoring the way it fit perfectly within his.
He led her through a darkened parlor into a hall and across a marble floor. They walked slowly to avoid making too much noise, crept up another staircase, and down to the right until they entered what Max thought to be the great hall.
Two large windows allowed the moonlight enough entrance to give them a clear view of the room. In addition, there were oil lanterns flanking the sides of the huge mantel. Enough oil remained for another couple of hours, though Max suspected a servant would be by in that time to douse the lights. They would have to work quickly. Suits of armor stood guard in all four corners and display cases featured weapons from every era and country. Swords and knives and guns covered every surface, the larger ones hung on the walls.
“Oh, my,” Sabine said. “I should hate to make this gentleman unhappy.”
If the rumors Max had heard of Flynn’s temper were true, then they certainly did not want to make the man angry, but he said nothing of that to Sabine. “Let’s make quick work of this. You start over there.” He pointed to the right side.
“It could potentially take us three days to make our way through all of this,” Sabine said. “There are so many inventive ways to kill a person.”
“We know we can ignore all of the shields and armor and concentrate only on the knives and daggers and swords,” he said.
“Anything with a blade,” she said.
“Precisely.”
Max walked past samurai armor, horse armor—and it would seem an entire regiment of muskets—before he even found a glass case with swords in it. There he found them in several shapes, made of gold and silver and bronze and iron, but no sign of the dove carving.
“I would think it would be Greek in origin,” Sabine said. “Or at least appear to be. That’s the closest civilization to Atlantis.” She reached into her bag and withdrew a magnifying glass.
“Ancient Greek or older,” he said. He frowned and pointed at her hand. “Where did you get that?”
“From Calliope. I thought it might make it easier to find what we’re looking for. So far we’ve found the dove engraving on a tombstone and the wall in the bathhouse, but those are both rather large in comparison to the hilt of a sword.” She shrugged. “I wanted to be prepared.”
He smiled.
“Why, did you want to borrow it?” she asked. She held it out to him.
“I can see quite well on my own. I don’t need your lady’s tool to assist me.”
She braced her fists on her hips. “Let me know if you change your mind. You might run across another statue and need it”—she waved the magnifying glass—“for a closer examination of the breasts.”
Max laughed quietly. “Carry on,” he told her.
They looked for over an hour and had only scoured half the room. Max had seen pieces from what he believed to be the Byzantine Empire and perhaps even one of the early dynasties of China. Fascinating though the collection might be, he could see why the men of Solomon’s had decided to remove Mr. Flynn from their roster. He was not interested in any particular legend or myth, but rather was simply a collector of all kinds of weaponry. A fine hobby, but not the stuff of the legend hunters, as some outsiders referred to the men of Solomon’s. Also, he was known to use his collection regularly. The threat of violence was more than enough to disqualify him. He’d been asked to leave the club and had subsequently left London, and as far as Max knew, had never returned.
“Max,” Sabine whispered. “I think I’ve found something.”
He moved to where she stood, near one of the windows in front of a small display case. Inside was one single dagger, the hilt carved with a crude rendition of a bird. Engraved on the blade was an inscription in Greek: The Great army is commanded as the ten were done.
“That has to be it,” Sabine said.
Max eyed it carefully, then with his own much smaller knife, reached for the lock at the base of the display case.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” a voice called from behind them.
“We’re in grave danger, sir,” Sabine began. “And we need this weapon.” She pointed to the dagger encased in the glass box. “We will certainly return it when we are done.” It was probably futile to try to bargain with the man; he didn’t seem congenial in the least.
“I don’t bloody well care if you’re the queen, you’re not getting my knife,” the man growled. He was tall, taller than Max, though not as broad. His long, brown hair was scruffy and straggled past the man’s shoulders. His beard was full and gray and covered worn, wrinkled skin that had seen far too many hours in the sun. Coarse wool on aged leather. “I found that one myself, dug it up from beneath a castle in Gloucester. Nearly lost my leg, I did.” Then, as if he’d realized he was conversing with them, he shook his rifle.
Max took a step forward. “Mr. Flynn, I can assure you—”
Flynn pointed his rifle directly at Max. His narrow eyes squinted until they were nothing but angry slits. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Max said.
Sabine watched Max’s demeanor change. Gone was the seductive charmer she was used to, and in his place was a deadly calm protector ready to negotiate and bargain their way out of this.
“From Solomon’s.” Flynn’s eyes narrowed, and he snarled. “They’ve always been after me. Did they send you for that piece in particular or were you planning to take everything the two of you could carry?”
Max nodded slowly. “I am a member of Solomon’s, but that is the only reason I even knew of your name and your collection. We were looking for a rare piece, but it doesn’t appear that you have it.” Max slid his hand into Sabine’s and pulled her closer to him. “We are terribly sorry for bothering you at such a late hour.” He moved them closer to the door. “We’ll be on our way now.” His smooth and steady delivery nearly convinced Flynn, or so it seemed. Max had even managed to direct Sabine a couple of feet closer to the door.
Then Flynn shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he said. He held his gun steady, aimed directly at them. “This way. You walk slowly and don’t try anything or I’ll shoot you first,” he said to Max, “then take my time with the girl and shoot her, too.”
Sabine swallowed and involuntarily squeezed Max’s hand, pulling it tight to her side. The warmth from his body offered no actual protection, yet gave her a measure of comfort, though she realized that if this armed man behind them chose to do just as he said, they’d have little defense to prevent him.
“Keep walking,” he said. Eventually he closed the distance between them enough so that he could alternately press the end of the rifle into Max’s back and then her own.
He marched them upstairs and into a bedchamber, where he shoved them inside. “I’ve already sent for the local magistrate. I saw you creeping across the lawn and knew you were up to no good. But I waited to see what you would take. He’s on his way to have you both hauled off to jail. I called for him first, so I can’t kill you myself,” he said, then slammed the door. The lock turned behind them. They heard something large scrape against the floor, then bump the door.
“He’s braced it with a piece of furniture or something. I’m surprised he didn’t toss us into the dungeon,” Sabine said.
Max looked away from the door, where he was currently trying to dismantle the lock, and smiled at her. “Now wouldn’t that have been an adventure.”
“Not one I would relish. I can assure you that,” she said.
“Check the windows,” Max said.
Sabine made her way to the opposite wall to the four windows. “They have bars on them.”
“Check to see if we can remove any of them.”
“If only you could have pocketed that dagger before he found us,” she said.
“It wouldn’t have mattered,” Max said, going back to the lock.
She checked the first set of bars, but they would not budge. “Why ever not?” she asked. “The prophecy states that the dove is the only way to stop him. How are we to do that with the blade locked up here?” She had to save Agnes.
“That wasn’t the correct weapon,” he said plainly. “I was not lying to Flynn.”
“Of course it was. It had a bird carved into its hilt. The same bird we saw in the cemetery and again in the bathhouse.” She checked the next window and again found the bars immovable.
Max turned away from the door and walked over to her. “I know it looked as much, but it was merely another clue. Sabine, trust me when I say it wasn’t the right one.”
“How can you be so certain?”
“Wrong time period, for one. That dagger was Turkish, from the Ottoman Empire, far too young to have been something made in Atlantis or at least made in the time of Atlantis.” He reached down and tilted her chin up. “That doesn’t mean it wasn’t the correct clue, though.”
For a moment, she forgot herself and allowed his sympathy to squeeze at her heart. Tears pricked at her eyes. More than anything she wanted to lean into him, give herself over to the attraction between them, and for one night, forget the prophecy. But she was afraid that if she gave in to him again, even one more time, she’d never be able to walk away from him. So she moved to the next window.
The windows looked out over the front of the house, and she could see the circular drive off in the distance. The moon lit the forested area lining the estate, and the grounds were lush and well landscaped. When she opened the final window, she shoved on the bars as she had done on the others. This time, they moved.
“Max,” she whispered as she straightened. “These bars shifted. Perhaps we can somehow remove them.”
He sauntered over to her, then pushed at the bars. They moved some more. “Stand back,” he told her before he kicked at the bars. They broke away and fell to the grass below. “We’re on the second floor.” He leaned out, looking at the ground. “It’s quite a drop.”
She judged the distance herself. “The grass looks plush enough. And there are those rounded shrubs.”
He cocked one eyebrow.
“At least we are not on the third level,” she said.
“I could do it, but you might break something,” he said, then peered out the window again. “Several somethings.”
“What a
bout you?” she asked. “If you can make the jump, so shall I. You’re certainly not going to leave me here alone.”
“I don’t suppose we have any other options. Unless we want to wait for the authorities and hope we can talk ourselves out of a prison sentence.”
“But we did break the law. They won’t simply let us go. I don’t care who you are.” She shook her head. “I think we jump.”
“All right. I’ll go first and then I might be able to help you down easier,” he said.
It was those moments that annoyed her the most. Just when she’d about convinced herself that he was an utter cad, he’d do or say something so gentlemanly that she knew no matter how much of a scoundrel he might be, there was a good man inside him.
“Very well,” she said.
He positioned himself in the window, but facing her. Deftly he sprang from the window, but his fingers remained grasping the ledge. He was stretching himself down so that the actual jump would be as short a distance as possible. Then he let go.
She looked out the window in time to see him land on his feet. He looked up and smiled at her, and that wicked smile stole her breath. She suspected that Maxwell Barrett, like a cat, always landed on his feet.
“Come on,” he said into the darkness. “I’ll catch you.”
The amount of space between his outstretched arms and the window seemed enough for her to fall and break her neck. What if she couldn’t bring herself to do it? What if she couldn’t jump?
The answer came for her in the form of footsteps in the hall, followed by male voices.
“I caught them in my display room,” Flynn said.
The furniture outside the door scraped against the floor. She glanced behind her just as the lock turned, then she closed her eyes and jumped out the window.
Max caught Sabine, and the weight of her landing knocked them both to the ground.
“Look, down there,” Flynn yelled.
A man, presumably the magistrate, leaned out the window beside him. “Stay right there,” the man ordered. He pointed at them and then disappeared from the window.
