[JJ06] Quicksand

by Gigi Pandian

  “There’s got to be something more we can do,” North said as the rotted piece of wood in his hand snapped in two.

  “If I’m going to die,” I said, “you can at least tell me what’s so important about this treasure that’s getting us killed.”

  “I thought you’d already figured it out.”

  “I think so, but there are still a few missing pieces. You acquired those letters from the British East India Company clerk at an estate sale, where you were looking for art for your legitimate business. But at the time, you didn’t believe the ravings of an addict. It wasn’t until you found a corroborating reference that you believed the rumors he spoke of. Based on where the Mont Saint-Michel treasures and records were hidden during the French Revolution, and then destroyed or stolen during WWII, I’m guessing it was Nazi plunder that led you to your corroborating evidence. Am I right so far?”

  “I knew you were smart, but I didn’t realize how smart,” North said, giving me a nod of admiration. “That’s my downfall, isn’t it?” He sighed and turned back to his wall.

  “When you learned directions to a secret room had been hidden inside a desk from the monastery scriptorium, you sought out the desk.” As I spoke, I continued to tap my piece of broken wood into the spaces between stones. “That’s when you discovered that most objects from Mont Saint-Michel had been removed during the Revolution. The Louvre had acquired the scriptorium desk that contained the clue.”

  “I’m the one who made that connection,” North said. “Even though I’m not the one running this operation, my knowledge of art comes in handy.”

  “But,” I said, “you still didn’t want to act before you had more proof that the treasure was real, and that it hadn’t already been discovered. That’s where Hugo came in. With the connection to Mont Saint-Michel, you knew he’d be able to tell you if your speculations were correct. But because of the religious significance of the Mont, Hugo wouldn’t have anything to do with it. Being a smart business man, you would have backed off then, wouldn’t you? Only you weren’t the one calling the shots.”

  “Quite. Once I found the desk at the Louvre, I considered keeping the information to myself and calling the whole thing off. I know I’m good at setting up a successful con, but Louvre good? I’m not that arrogant. But I knew one person with the skills to pull it off. That’s when I brought in Lane. With him, I knew we could do this.”

  Lane swore. I glanced at him and saw he’d broken his wooden stick. He looked around for another one.

  “What I still don’t understand, though, is why part of Tipu Sultan’s treasure is so important for you to risk all this.”

  North spun around. “Tipu Sultan? Who the hell is Tipu Sultan? It’s Clive of India’s lost treasures that are here. You got a look at the full extent of the letters when you broke into my room, didn’t you? You know what this is about.”

  “I read the letters. Clive’s lost treasure isn’t what this is about.”

  “That Company clerk clearly mentioned Clive’s treasures!”

  “Yes,” I said, “but you’re forgetting the additional clue in the illuminated manuscript page the monks left us.”

  “Sequere cementarium claustri ad cryptam. How could I forget? Follow the stonemasons of the cloisters to the crypt. All that told us was directions to their hiding place. And not even specific directions, at that. As you may have noticed, there’s more than one crypt, each of them larger than you’d think would be found on this damned rock.”

  “You didn’t have the parchment authenticated to see when the writing and illustration were added?”

  “Funny enough,” North said, “Hugo refused to cooperate at that point. And we were in a hurry. Our information was solid. Even though I’m not an expert on illuminated manuscripts, I know forgeries. The parchment wasn’t a fake. And since it has been hidden inside the desk at the Louvre since the 1790s, even if I was mistaken, there’s no way it could be a modern fake.”

  “You didn’t notice the painted illustration of a tiger attacking a man that was in a much brighter paint than the words? It looked like the tiger was painted much more recently than the Latin script.”

  “That’s what the monks did, Jaya.” North let out an exasperated sigh. “They painted pictures of people and animals in their manuscripts. That’s what they’re known for at the Mont. The beautiful illustrations praised God and also helped illiterate people understand the subjects of the books. That’s why they’re called illuminated manuscripts as opposed to plain old manuscripts. Really, I thought you’d have more of a general education.”

  “I knew all that,” I snapped. “I’ve never heard of an illuminated manuscript that included an illustration of a gruesome automaton made famous by Tipu Sultan, the Tiger of Mysore.”

  “But that doesn’t—it doesn’t—how—”

  “The English clerk talks of a Frenchman who was rumored to have amassed a treasure in India that he wanted to return to France, a treasure that included an automaton as well as treasure taken from Clive. But it’s the tiger and an elephant painted on the parchment. That’s the portion of his treasure that’s here at the Mont.”

  “I don’t believe it,” North said. “This has to be about Clive’s treasures. It has to be.”

  “Even if you’re right,” I said, “why is Clive’s treasure more important than anything else you’ve gone after before?”

  North frowned.

  “The treasure doesn’t matter, you two,” Lane said. “Come over here. I think I’ve found something.” He pointed up at a crack running along the joint of the wall and ceiling. “The rock is weak here. Sébastien, do you think this room will collapse if we dig here?”

  Sébastien stood back and looked around the room. We watched him in silence for several minutes. Without anything to do but wait, the damp cold felt more oppressive.

  “Find whatever materials you can,” Sébastien said, wiping his dusty brow with his sleeve. “We dig.”

  We couldn’t all fit around the weakened rock, so Lane and I continued checking the other walls for possibilities while Sébastien and North dug. North grumbled under his breath about fake injuries preventing Lane from taking his place.

  Half an hour later, neither Lane nor I had found another weakness in the walls, and Sébastien and North had only managed to dig out a narrow opening of about a foot. Icy water sloshed around my ankles. Only my heightened alertness from fear prevented the chill from defeating me.

  “I have it!” Sébastien said, pushing forward. I rushed over to where he stood. A sprinkling of dirt fell on his arms, and when he pulled them back, I saw that he’d broken through the wall.

  Instead of being elated, he shook his head. “It’s no use.”

  “But we’re through,” I said.

  “The rest of the rock is too solid. All we have is this small opening. Nobody could fit through that.”

  I looked at the hole, then down to my hips. “Nobody besides me.”

  “You can’t go alone,” Lane said.

  “What choice do we have?”

  Nobody said anything.

  I looked around for something I could take with me as a weapon. The wood fragments were too small to be of use, so I scooped up the discarded rope.

  “Lane,” I said, “can you lift me up? Why isn’t anybody moving? This is our best shot. They’re not right outside the door, because the hallway must be filling with water, too. I’ll make my way out, then come back with help. North, how dangerous is the engineer you employed?”

  “Don’t worry about him. He’s not helping with anything like this. He doesn’t even know we’re down here.” North looked up to the heavens and shook his head. “Your beau doesn’t appear to be moving. Would you like a hand up?”

  North boosted me up to the narrow opening. I squeezed through, feet first, willing myself not
to think too far ahead. I was getting out of the dungeon. That’s all that mattered.

  I nearly slipped on the uneven floor as I landed on the other side of the prison wall. Water lapped at my feet. I oriented myself in the faint light from the hole I’d come through. The dungeon door was a few yards away. I ran to it and tried the handle. It didn’t budge. A shiny new padlock the size of the palm of my hand kept the door shut. Without keys or a sledgehammer, I wasn’t getting into that room. I stood there for a few moments, my hand pressed flat against the door. Lane was only a few feet away from me, but it might as well have been a thousand miles.

  A dim light shone ahead. If there was a window slit overlooking the ocean that I could squeeze through, I could swim to safety. I ran forward toward the light. The path sloped upward, leading me away from the tidal waters. But hope made me reckless. I tripped on an uneven rock and tumbled forward. Pain shot through my arm. Ever since I’d broken it two years before, it hurt when I applied too much force.

  Even worse than the pain was the realization that the light I’d been running toward was moving. It wasn’t light from a window to freedom. It was a flashlight. A flashlight clenched in Dante’s hand.

  CHAPTER 44

  Dante gave a start. This time around, he wasn’t expecting to see me.

  “How did you get out?” He pointed his flashlight at my face.

  I bit my lip and shrugged. “It’s not too late, Dante. You haven’t killed anyone yet.” I began backing away slowly.

  “Stop moving. Does he know you’re out?”

  I stopped backing away, more from surprise than from Dante’s request. Was Lane right that North’s imprisonment had been a ruse?

  “You can pretend you never saw me,” I said.

  “It’s too late for that.” He raised a fist.

  I knew I was no match for his size, but I wasn’t much of a match for anyone when it came to size. I like jiu jitsu because it focuses on ground combat, where height and bulk are less important than intelligence and keeping your head.

  I lunged at Dante. Not for his face or midsection, but for his legs. I wanted to knock him to the floor, where I’d have the advantage of surprise.

  He wasn’t expecting me to go for his knees. The force of my weight against his legs threw him off balance. The flashlight flew out of his hand and he fell to the hard stone floor with a thud. The flashlight rolled to a stop, the fragmented light casting a harsh shadow across Dante’s face. Though stunned, he didn’t take time to catch his breath before he was on his knees and on top of me.

  Underneath him, I vaulted my hips into a bridge pose, again knocking him off his center of gravity by tipping him over the top of my head so he was forced to balance on his hands. I gripped his elbow to pull away the last of his control. He grunted as I tossed him over and slid out from under him. His head knocked against the stone floor. While he was dazed, I used the rope I’d brought with me to tie him up. He groaned softly as I rolled him over, wrapped the rope around his wrists, and ripped off a piece of his shirt to gag his mouth.

  Satisfied that he wasn’t going anywhere, I searched him for keys. I pulled out at least two purses’ worth of junk from his coat, shirt, and slacks pockets, but the only key was to a car. As I stared helplessly at the useless car key, Dante’s eyes popped open. Unable to speak through his gag, he grunted at me and thrashed around in his bonds. But as the realization quickly sunk in that he wouldn’t be able to break free, his body grew still. The look of loathing on his face gave me a bigger chill than the frigid ocean water I’d escaped.

  I picked up his fallen flashlight and ran.

  I had no idea where I was, or where I was going. We were in some old section that everyone had forgotten about, and the records were lost. My plan had been to go up. If I could find a way.

  The beam bounced wildly against the walls, a combination of dirt and stone. The light flickered. I stopped. The light flickered again.

  I turned it back off to conserve the battery’s life, hoping that was the cause of the flicker and not that it wasn’t broken from the fall. With the flashlight off, the darkness that surrounded me was as black as tar. The stale air felt thick, as if I was breathing in the blackness around me.

  I waited a moment for my eyes to adjust. They didn’t. There was no light for my eyes to adjust to.

  As I sat in the darkness and tried to think, I breathed deeply, the scent of decay filling my lungs. What I wouldn’t give for a window and a light switch. There had been an oil lamp in the dungeon and Dante had been using a flashlight, so I knew electric lights were too much to hope for. My only hope to find one was to keep going and make my way up.

  I reached my hand out in front of me. The simple act was more frightening than I imagined it could ever be.

  Feeling the rough stone wall, I made my way by touch. I trudged along for what felt like hours, but was probably a much shorter period of time. Slowly feeling my way by touch, the surface of the wall gave way to metal. I jumped back and turned the flickering flashlight back on. I stood in front of a jail cell. This lower level must have been for prisoners, before it was breached and the area flooded. Unless— I shuddered at a horrific thought. It was only my hope that the prisoners had been moved once this level began to flood.

  The flashlight beam remained steady, for the time being, so I hurried along, rushing as quickly as I could without tripping. I cried out in joy as the beam of light shone over a set of stairs. That’s what I’d been looking for. A way up.

  I scrambled up the stairs, tripping over my own feet in my rush. The flashlight flickered. I shook it. “Come on, flashlight. You don’t have to hold out much longer.” I’d only been alone in the dark for a short time, and already I was talking to myself.

  When I reached the top of the stairs, I stopped in my tracks. The beam of the flashlight illuminated a decaying skeleton.

  Whoever had been imprisoned here had been left here to rot, never receiving a proper burial. I wondered if anyone even knew he’d died. Would anyone know that I’d died down here?

  I felt my breathing become labored. I wasn’t sure if it was from stale air or from fear. Things couldn’t possibly get any worse.

  The flashlight went out.

  It took all my will to continue. Again feeling my way with raw fingertips, I walked forward, past the skeleton. The only sound was my own breath. Not even rats were here to keep me company.

  Up ahead, I saw a faint light. A window! I must have climbed high enough to reach a window.

  A flash of hope washed over me—only to be lost a moment later. The light was red. Light from either the rising sun or from the nighttime floodlights wouldn’t be red. I must have been hallucinating. Still, I walked closer to the light. It strengthened. I could see my hand stretched out in front of me. I wasn’t imagining it.

  I followed the light, my hesitant steps turning into a run as it grew brighter. Rounding a corner, I found the source of the colored light. High in a corner of a small room was a narrow slit in the rock that formed a window. Set into the slender opening was the most beautiful stained glass window I’d ever seen.

  It wasn’t like the pieces I’d seen in churches, with religious figures. This one was a mosaic flower. Springing out of an ocean of blues and greens, a yellow stem wound upward. The sky was filled with red flower petals. I stepped closer. Hundreds of tiny shards made up the piece. I couldn’t imagine how long it had taken to create, but the result was a piece of art. It was as beautiful as anything in the Louvre, and it was here, buried deep under Mont Saint-Michel, forgotten.

  This was the miracle Massi had mentioned. How had it come to be here?

  In the soft glow of warm light, I took in the beauty found in this unexpected place. Looking around the room, another surprise greeted me. This was a prison cell.

  A portion of rock wall had been carved out, creating
a narrow work space. Shards of colorful glass lay across the makeshift desk. A prisoner had used leftover stained glass to create beautiful art. I picked up a shard of bright blue glass that fit in the palm of my hand.

  I looked back at the exquisite window. If that prisoner could make something beautiful in this godforsaken place deep beneath the abbey, so could I. I was getting us out of there.

  The sound of footsteps echoed in the silent space. Could it be someone outside? I had no idea what time it was. The light from the high narrow window could have been from floodlights or from the sun.

  A bright light shone behind me. I whipped around, looking for somewhere to hide.

  Before I could act, a man stepped into the room. And I knew that I’d been wrong about everything.

  “You,” Marius said, “have been making my life very difficult. It’s time for you to come with me.”

  Dante appeared behind him, carrying the rope I’d used to tie him up. With a malicious smirk on his face, he stepped forward and bound my wrists.

  CHAPTER 45

  The door of the dungeon opened and I was thrown back inside. I stumbled and landed in the water. It was now two feet high.

  “Thank God,” North declared, as Lane rushed to my side and began untying my wrists.

  “I thought you were on our side now,” I snapped, shivering in the cold water.

  “For the last hour,” Lane said, “all he could talk about was how you must be dead. I was about to put a gag on him.”

  “I was only gone for an hour?”

  “Feels like much longer when you’re on the run, doesn’t it?” North said.

  A scraping sound caused us all to turn our heads. In the opening I’d squeezed through, a boulder appeared, covering the hole.