by Alex Archer
He owed it all to Vilmos Racz. And Vilmos had also taught Garin to pay his debts. But maybe some of that had come from riding with Roux for so long, too. Both of the old men were similar in that aspect.
“Where are we going from here?” Garin had no doubt about getting out of the jail. He and Vilmos had broken out of other places much more competently built and guarded. With General Dózsa dead, with the threat of the rebellion only a ghost of what it had been, security was lax. He’d briefly considered killing the priest who had visited earlier and using his robes as a means of disguising himself and getting Vilmos out of jail.
Vilmos hadn’t wanted to kill the priest, so they’d waited.
“The Merovingian treasure is out there somewhere, Garin.” Vilmos flashed a smile that almost erased a decade from his face. “I mean to honor King Corvinus’s wish to find it.”
“And then what?”
Vilmos smiled even more broadly. “Keep it, of course. Do you think me a fool?”
Garin laughed quietly at that. “We already have fortunes. Perhaps it’s time to rest and settle down to enjoy the fruits of our labors.”
“Is that what you want to do? Settle down?”
Thinking of the risks they were about to run during their jailbreak, of the adrenaline that would soon be coursing through his veins, Garin laughed again, but this time he laughed at himself.
“No. I don’t want to settle down.”
“Neither do I, and I want this treasure. Promise me this as my friend and as a warrior who served faithfully under me—promise me that as long as I or one of my sons still walks this earth, you will help find this treasure.”
In that moment only a few hours before dawn, alive with the prospect of a violent death that would end his seemingly immortal life, Garin thought of everything Vilmos Racz meant to him. They had shed blood together and escaped death together, faced what could have been insurmountable odds at times and had enjoyed all that life had to offer when the times were good.
Garin had never had that with anyone else. He’d never found anyone he could trust so much. He had never found anyone who cared so much for him. Vilmos had treated him like a true son, not an adopted serf.
“I promise,” Garin answered. With everything they had shared, there could be no other answer.
“Good.” Vilmos grinned at him there in the darkness and unshed tears glistened in his eyes. “Now, let’s leave this place before our captors decide to have a couple more executions in the morning.” He pulled the picklock he carried from his hair and set to work on the lock.
* * *
“WHAT ARE WE waiting for?”
Sabre Race’s voice drew Garin’s thoughts back to the present. They sat in an SUV two miles from the house Annja Creed and Roux had headed to once they’d reached Kosice. When he’d learned where the jet was headed, Garin had called in a favor from associates who worked within the city to watch over Annja and Roux.
He shifted in the seat, remembering the hard floor of the jail cell. It was surprising what would stay with a man even after so many lifetimes. There were exotic meals, strange cities and romantic interludes that he knew he’d forgotten because he had learned he couldn’t remember everything.
Yet he recalled that jail cell, that night, Vilmos and that promise with ease.
On those occasions that he thought of Vilmos Racz, as he did now, Garin couldn’t help but miss the man. He’d been one of the first people Garin had lost in the inevitable forward march of time.
Vilmos had died only a few months later, struck down by a cruel knife blow from a jealous man. Vilmos had only been kind to the young woman the man had been interested in.
Garin had paid for Vilmos’s burial, tracked down and slain the man who had killed him, and then returned to his friend’s widow and told her of her husband’s death. For a time, he had lived among Vilmos’s family and helped out. But in the end, he’d had no other recourse than to leave. His agelessness and his own wandering nature pushed and dragged him back out into the world.
“We could go get her,” Sabre went on. “Out there, she has no place to run.”
“Don’t underestimate Annja Creed.” Garin chuckled, thinking of the times he had done exactly that. “Don’t underestimate the old man, either. Right now we could be watching them and he could have a small army sitting right on top of us. After everything that happened in Ordizia, he’s not going to leave himself open to attack. No, he knows we’re out here. Or close by.”
“Then what are we going to do?”
“We’re going to be patient.” Garin thought of Vilmos and him trading stories while lying in the jail cell and waiting for night to come. They’d done similar things dozens of times in the years they’d fought together. “It’s something an old friend taught me to do. Try it.” He folded his arms across his chest. “For right now, we’re going to let Annja Creed do what she does best.”
“What’s that?”
“Find the answers we need.” Garin smiled in anticipation.
34
“Have you found anything?”
Worn, tired and frustrated, Annja turned from Father Brankovic’s dark-hued third casting of the Virgin Mary to glare at Roux. “Don’t you think if I’d found something by now I’d tell you?”
Roux ignored her tone and short temper. “Actually, I thought perhaps you’d gone to sleep.”
“With my eyes open?”
Roux shrugged. “It’s been known to happen.”
“I wasn’t asleep.” Annja turned back to the casting. After studying the casting for hours, she remained unenlightened.
Denisa Cierny proved to be a gracious host and insisted on preparing meals even though Roux offered to have a caterer deliver. After a short time in the kitchen, she returned with steaming bowls of thick stew, slabs of homemade bread and strong tea.
Denisa tried to remain on hand to find journal entries and translate Slovak. She had a good memory of the journals and was ready, willing and able to lend a hand. Father Janos Brankovic’s later entries provided more hints and details about the man’s search for the Merovingian treasure, but they didn’t give away the location of where it might be.
Brankovic, Annja surmised, had to have been as frustrated as she currently felt. She touched the casting again, running her fingers along the surfaces. The Virgin Mary, as the artist always envisioned her, stood innocent and still, and it was the second smallest casting, no more than a foot and a half tall.
Annja glared at the statue, willing it to speak and share whatever secrets it might possess.
The only things Annja had noticed that were different about the third casting were the slight risings and the ridge line along the statue’s back. She had taken a rubbing of those bumps and the ridge and raised them on the paper in a series of dark splotches that didn’t quite make sense.
If she squinted at it just right, she thought the bumps made a map of sorts. But there was no way knowing what that map might reference.
She ran her fingers over the statue again, feeling the bumps and the ridge. At first she’d thought they might be irregularities, which had stood out against everything she’d seen in Brankovic’s work. The man had been meticulous. If something was on a piece, then it was supposed to be there.
The stone felt cold and hard beneath her fingertips, almost like marble. Then she realized the truth about it.
She sat up straight on the chair she’d borrowed, heart thumping as she considered what she was thinking.
“This isn’t a casting,” she said quietly.
Roux, Racz and Denisa shifted their attention to her.
“What did you say?” Roux had been leafing through one of Brankovic’s journals.
“I said, this isn’t a casting.” Annja ran her hands over the statue again. “The other figures of the V
irgin Mary are true castings, made of plaster from molds Brankovic had made.” She smiled. “This is a true statue, carved from a block of stone.”
Roux joined her, bringing the journal with him. He placed it on the table and examined the statue more closely. “Is this marble?”
“No.” Annja grinned more broadly as things started to come together in her head. “Although it’s often confused with marble. This is limestone. Tournai limestone to be exact. The Romans had it quarried and shaped into all kinds of things, including baptismal fountains. They called it Tournai marble, but it’s not marble.”
“I don’t see how that helps us.”
“Brankovic didn’t just choose his materials by some random whim. Everything he did was by design. Look through the journal that talks about the castings he did of the Virgin Mary. It only mentions five castings.”
“But there are clearly six.” Denisa stood on Annja’s other side.
“Of course there are six. They were created to disguise this one. Because, if I’m right, it holds the location of the Merovingian treasure.”
“You think the statue is a map?” Racz’s voice was hoarse. He’d been looking worse for the wear over the past few hours.
“The statue is a map.” Annja picked up the rubbing she’d done and held it up so the light shone through the paper and made the dots and the ridge stand out more. “Those dots are geographical reference points. And this—” she tapped one of the dots on the lower right side “—isn’t a dot at all.” She squinted at it, trying to make it out, then gave up and referenced the statue.
Using her digital camera, she took a picture of the statue’s back, then used the built-in editing software to raise the contrast so the dot she was talking about stood out more sharply.
It wasn’t just a dot like the other raised areas. The image clearly showed separations that put her in mind of a—
“That,” Racz declared in a shaking voice, “is a key. Most likely, it is the Key of Shadows.”
Annja turned to face the professor. “What is the Key of Shadows?”
Racz licked his lips and ran a hand through his hair. “According to the stories that were handed down by my ancestors, Childeric III knew that Pepin the Short was working to wrest the throne away from him. The Merovingian kings had been relegated to figureheads, more or less, and the actual power was used by the mayors of the cities. In order to keep Pepin from getting everything if that day came, Childeric set aside part of his treasure, seed money for himself or his family to attempt to retake the throne.”
“We’re looking for a key?” Roux asked.
“No.” Racz shook his head and pointed at the statue of the Virgin Mary. “That is the Key of Shadows. It contains a map of where the treasure is hidden.”
“This statue is like the key on a map,” Annja said, understanding.
“It is the map key. But that’s not going to do us any good if we don’t know where to look. We have to know what area it references.” Racz cursed and walked away. “Do you realize how close I am to finding that treasure?”
We, Annja automatically corrected, but she didn’t say anything aloud, because her mind was already turning over other information she had. “This is Tournai marble.”
“You said it was limestone,” Racz pointed out.
“It is limestone, actually sediment left over from the Carboniferous Period, or the Tournaisian, depending on a geologist’s preference. That was when amphibians and what eventually became insects dominated the world. There were very few land creatures, and even those remains are spotty. The lack of fossil records is called Romer’s gap. Most geologists and archaeologists believe there was some kind of extinction event that took place.”
“We’re not talking about dinosaurs.” Racz trembled. “We’re talking about a king’s fortune.”
“What I was getting at,” Annja replied, ignoring the almost-open hostility, “is that at the time, there was only one place people went to get this kind of stone. The city of Tournai—they called it Tornacum—was a small way station for Roman soldiers and merchants on the road from Cologne to Boulogne. They traveled along the coast and crossed the river Scheldt.” She pointed at a rumpled layer of the Virgin Mary’s robes. “I think this is the coastline, and this—” she touched the twisting ridge down the statue’s back “—is the Scheldt.”
“The river?” Racz’s eyes narrowed. “You think that’s the river?”
“I do.”
“You can’t match that to a map.”
“Actually, I think I can.” Annja turned to Denisa. “Could I see the journal that has the entries regarding Brankovic’s journey to Tournai after Dózsa’s death?”
“Roux has it there.” Denisa pointed to the volume in the old man’s hands.
Carefully, Roux placed the book on the worktable next to the statue of the Virgin Mary. “I just saw a map.” He flipped through the pages until he came to a full page of topography.
Annja’s gaze slid along the coastline, matching it to the one she imagined in her head. Everything fit, including the line that represented the Scheldt. She drew in a breath. “Brankovic made the map on this statue’s back from this document.”
She reached for the rubbing she’d done and matched it up to the geographical features on the map. Symbol by symbol, she matched up the dots to mountains, lakes and small towns.
Only one dot remained unaccounted for, and it was the one that looked slightly different from the others. Going back to the picture she’d taken of the statue’s back, Annja flicked her fingertips across the screen and blew up the image.
There, revealed under magnification, was a symbol that looked like a circle with three spokes that crossed it like a wagon wheel.
“Brankovic was serious about his details.”
“That is an IX monogram,” Racz whispered.
“It is.” Excitement coursed through Annja. “It’s formed of the Greek letter I, which stood for IHCOYC, Jesus in that language, and X, which stood for XPICTOC, Christ, again in that language. The Merovingian kings were all Christian.” She looked back at the statue, which stood silent and serene. “Unless I’m wrong, and I don’t think I am, that’s where we’ll find Childeric’s treasure.”
“Then we should get under way.” Roux folded the journal under his arm and turned to Denisa. “Dear lady, I have to ask that you allow us to take this volume with us for a short time. I promise that no harm will come to it, but we can’t leave it here to fall into the hands of the men who are following us.”
Denisa hesitated. Then she looked at Annja.
“We’ll bring it back when we’re finished,” Annja said. She hoped that the woman would go along with Roux’s request because the old man was capable of simply taking the book. He’d already gone out of his way by asking permission.
Some of the worry left Denisa’s face, but not all of it. She probably sensed the same conclusion. “For you. I will let you take Father Brankovic’s journal for a time. It will give you an excuse to come back for another visit.”
Annja smiled. “I will.”
“Well, then,” Roux said, “let’s go.”
* * *
LEAVING DIDN’T TURN out that easy. According to the young woman Roux talked to on his sat phone, the house was surrounded by Garin and his people, as well as de Cerceau and his men.
Standing at the window in the large living room, feeling the welcome heat of the fire soaking into her back, Annja glared into the darkness that covered the landscape. She hadn’t realized until that moment how much time they had spent at Denisa Cierny’s home.
And now that they knew the possible location of the Merovingian treasure, they were cut off from escape.
Roux sat by the fire in a wingback chair and talked to Denisa as though they were old friends. Annja knew he was working to allay her fears
about parting with Brankovic’s journal, but she also believed Roux had developed a fondness for the independence Denisa obviously showed.
“What are we supposed to do?” Racz swayed nervously back and forth beside Annja.
“Wait.”
“Those men might get tired of waiting and decide to come after us.”
“If they do, we’ll deal with it. For now, this is in Roux’s hands.”
“What is he going to do?”
“He’s already done it.” Annja gazed up into the dark sky and spotted a sleek shark shape sliding through the low-lying clouds. A moment later, the helicopter’s spinning rotor became audible, thundering inside the house.
* * *
“THEY’RE COMING.” ANNJA WATCHED from the cockpit of the helicopter rising from the front yard of Denisa’s estate as vehicle headlights raced toward the home. There were at least a dozen of them speeding along the twisting roads. Sparks jumped from the sides of the vehicles and she recognized them as gunfire.
“It won’t matter,” Roux replied from the backseat. “They won’t arrive in time.”
The ground fell away as the pilot powered up the rotor to gain altitude. One of the vehicles suddenly blossomed into a fireball and careened into the forest a quarter mile away from Denisa’s home. Annja hoped it wasn’t Garin, then hoped he’d lost their trail this time but knew that probably wasn’t the case. The man was nothing if not tenacious.
“The forest will catch on fire.” Denisa looked out one of the windows in the back of the helicopter. Roux had convinced her to join them in departing the grounds, though she had done so reluctantly. “My house could be destroyed.”
“Your house will be fine,” Roux assured her. “The proper legal authorities have been summoned, and the fire department has also been notified. They’ll have everything in hand soon enough.”
Annja hoped so. She didn’t like thinking about Denisa losing her home. She put that out of her mind because she didn’t have any control over that. Instead, she turned her attention to the image on her phone, hoping that she had figured out everything and that something yet remained of whatever the Merovingians might have left.
