The man fidgeted at the edge of his seat, watching Hannah like a hawk.
“Wait,” whispered Clooney, holding Hannah in place by her backpack.
The intercom chimed again. “Please step back from the door. The train is departing in—”
“Wait…” Clooney hissed.
The doors rattled in their tracks and began to shut. The officer leapt from his seat, and Clooney shoved Hannah out the doors and onto the station’s platform, diving through after her. The doors shut tight, and the officer slammed up against them, stuck inside.
As the train rolled from the platform, Clooney waved at the officer on board. It was not a happy face that stared back at Hannah through the window of the departing train. She and Clooney stood on the platform, watching the train grow smaller and smaller.
“It’s almost getting too easy,” commented Clooney.
“We are basically professional outlaws at this point,” she agreed, tapping her chin. “Who knew summer vacation could be so educational?”
Clooney turned to her. “So now what?”
“Internet,” she said, removing her phone. She thumbed in ‘Akko Wikipedia.’
“Let’s see. The Wikipedia entry says Akko is an important harbour city and has been for thousands of years. Traders from all over the world used to gather here, exchanging exotic cargo at the ports. And listen to this… it says around 800 years ago, the crusaders built a wall around the entire city. The wall extended right out into the bay, protecting the harbours from invading fleets. But over time, the wall fell into ruin, and most of it was washed away.” She read quietly to herself for a moment and then added aloud, “And here’s what we are looking for… it says there are bits and pieces, little remnants of the wall still standing in the sea.”
“That must be it. If we just walk along the harbours,” suggested Clooney, “we can follow the outer edge of the city and keep our eyes open. I don’t think either of us would miss anything as big as a wall rising up from the sea.”
It was a good plan, and they started at once. It turned out most of the shoreline, where Akko met Haifa Bay, had been paved. Some of the paving was recent. And in some places, the seawater splashed up against huge chunks of stone, piled long ago to disrupt oncoming tides. Fishermen balanced upon the stones, casting lines into the sea. Boats of every size and colour bobbed just off shore.
“Look there,” said Clooney, pointing out a great heap of stone blocks, perhaps fifty feet off shore, forming a mound above the surface of the water. The mound could have been part of a wall once, but was now tumbled into disarray.
They walked. Sometimes they hopped from stone block to stone block, chasing seagulls from their roosts. Just as the sun rose above the city, giving the bay a burnished glow, Hannah saw something in the distance. She stopped in her tracks, shielding the glare from her eyes. “Is that…?”
She and Clooney stared for a moment. Without a word, he grabbed her hand and they raced along the harbour, only halting when they reached the harbour’s overlook. There, rising from the sea like a bizarre island of stacked stones, was the remnant of a long ago wall. The Crusader Wall. It looked for all the world like something from a dream, standing alone at sea, the tide washing about the great slabs of its footing.
The Crusader Wall stood two stories tall. There was even a window in the wall, which was probably a cannon-slot at one time, used to protect the bay from enemy ships. And as the sunlight entered through the far side of the window and the sea crashed about and slapped the stones with a gentle boom, Hannah felt she had stepped into the pages of some fantastical storybook.
“The last point on the map,” said Clooney at her side. “You found it, Hannah. You actually found it.”
She turned to him. “We found it,” she said. “We found it together.”
Clooney beamed. He may have worn silly sunglasses instead of armour and preferred dancing to jousts, but Hannah felt she couldn’t have chosen a better knight to accompany her on this modern-day fable.
Clooney said, “Let’s take a look at that last illustration.”
Hannah opened the journal and they looked at it together. The seventh and last illustration showed the lone wall, surrounded by seawater, and it appeared to be drawn from this very viewpoint on the harbour.
Hannah aligned the compositions till the camera matched the illustration. She glanced back in the journal to get the code, the three numbers Henri had deciphered, and then her heart dropped, staring in disbelief.
There were no numbers beneath the illustration.
Panicked, Hannah flipped the page, but there was nothing more to see. The rest of the journal was blank. In her excitement to reach their destination, Hannah had never noticed the missing code.
“I don’t understand,” said Clooney. “What does it mean?”
“It means Henri never made it this far. He did not finish deciphering the map.”
“But what do we do? This is terrible!”
Without the proper settings, Hannah knew the camera wouldn’t decode the illustration. Which meant no Seal of Solomon. Which meant no freeing Henri from the Cancellarii. To fail at this point, she thought, was simply unacceptable.
There had to be a way.
She returned to the front of the journal. There on the first page, she saw the blue post-it note Henri had first sent her. He had given her three instructions.
1.Keep the map safe
Hannah had done that. And she had done a fine job, considering all she was up against.
2.Beware the Cancellarii
Hannah had succeeded there too, or at least she had done her best. Henri would have been proud if he knew how cleverly she had evaded his old enemy.
3.Remember, Hannah, you have the magic eye!
This one was a little different. Hannah had her camera, true, and it had solved much of the mystery. But all along, Hannah had wondered if there might be something more to her grandfather’s third and final message.
You have the magic eye…
Hannah found herself considering all she had seen in her last three days of adventuring through Israel, all she been through in order to reach this very site. She was slowly coming to appreciate a logic, what could even be called a plan, woven like a melody throughout each of the seven locations Julien Dubuisson had led her to.
With the creation of his enchanted map, Julien had ensured no seeker of wisdom could access the Khātim Sulaymāni, the Seal of Solomon, until they had travelled his course and seen everything he intended them to see, including the three major sites of Judaism, Christianity,
and Islam.
Now, having seen them herself, how could Hannah possibly set one place of worship above the other, when each was equally magnificent? She had seen the same thing in the eyes of each person, no matter which place of worship they prayed at. We all wanted the same things. We were all human. Deep down, there really was very little difference between us.
This, Hannah realized, was Julien’s way of ensuring King Solomon’s safeguard remained in place. Only with wisdom could one access the hidden wisdom of the ring.
And as Hannah marvelled at this realization and the brilliance of Julien’s grand design, something opened in her heart. With spectacular clarity, she saw in her mind’s eye the hand of her grandfather as he wrote the blue post-it note. As though moving backward in time at incredible speed, she next saw her grandfather strolling through Jerusalem, the journal cradled in his arm. Henri kneeling before the Western Wall, deciphering the first illustration. Henri at her father’s funeral. The images kept rolling backward. Next, Henri as a child, receiving the journal from his own father, and on down the line, generation after generation, until Hannah could see in her own mind the detailed image of her great ancestor, Julien Dubuisson himself, sorcerer of Napoleon’s court, sketching out the seven illustrations, adding just a touch of enchantment, which ult
imately led to this place, where Hannah now stood.
Hannah experienced the ghostly apparition of Julien Dubuisson, standing in the exact spot she stood now; no longer separated by time, he gazed upon the lonely wall in the sea, his hand like a visor at his brow, just as hers was now.
Three numbers. Hannah saw three numbers in her mind. Burning like wheels of fire.
It was the code.
She finally knew how Henri had done it. Like him, and all her grandfathers before her, Hannah Dubuisson had the magic eye.
r
In the journal of Julien Dubuisson, just beneath the seventh illustration of a ruined crusader wall standing alone in the sea, Hannah wrote three numbers.
f.11 250 200
“You… deciphered the illustration?” asked Clooney in wonder.
“I guess it runs in the family.”
“Runs in the family? The only thing that runs in our family is baldness, a weakness for sweets, and a love of good jokes. How did you luck out with magic powers?”
She shrugged, digging out the camera. Using the three numbers she had seen in her mind, she set the encoded exposure. She snapped the photo of the Crusader Wall and looked at it.
In the photo, she saw the Crusader Wall with the sunlight pouring through the cannon-slot. Superimposed atop the cannon-slot was the ghostly image of a six-pointed star. The symbol of the Khātim Sulaymāni. The Seal of Solomon.
“That’s it,” she said, pointing to the star. “Inside the window is the treasure. King Solomon’s legendary ring.”
Hannah and Clooney climbed down the embankment that led to the sea. The tide was low and washed about their knees. They waded out to the Crusader Wall, which was not far from shore, and began to climb. The outer edge of the wall looked as though it had been unzipped from the rest, with the stones protruding from the side like handholds. The climb wasn’t difficult, and they quickly reached the top. The wall was roughly three feet wide at the top, with plenty of room for them to move about.
They located the window, or cannon-slot, just below them. First Clooney, then Hannah, climbed over the edge and let themselves down the side of the wall until they reached the window.
The window was about five feet tall and four feet across—nearly the size of a small doorway, with space enough for both of them to stand. Hannah looked around. The interior of the space was built of stones, same as the rest of the wall. There were no obvious compartments. No secret doors that she could see. Hannah wasn’t sure what to do next.
“Perhaps there is a loose stone?” said Clooney.
“Right, let’s try.”
Hannah removed her umbrella from her backpack and worked it between various stones in the wall, searching for a loose one. Clooney tested stones along the ceiling. Nodding at her umbrella, he said, “I admit, you get more use out of that umbrella than I expected.”
She pried at a particularly large stone before her. She huffed and grunted. “Henri always said an umbrella is an archaeologist’s second most important tool.”
“What’s the first?”
“Curiosity,” she said, pausing to catch her breath. “Without it, there could be no wonder. No drive to discover. He used to say people could walk the same ground for a thousand years and think nothing of it. Until the archaeologist comes along, and with little more than the curiosity in her heart, reveals the truth beneath your very feet.”
“Say that again…” said Clooney.
“The truth beneath your feet?” she repeated.
They froze, their eyes locked in realization. Hannah and Clooney crouched to inspect the stones at their feet.
“This one,” cried Clooney, pointing to a stone darker than the rest. “This one is different. It must have been placed here later than the others!”
Hannah wedged her umbrella’s tip down into the slot beside it, prying it back. When the corner lifted out, Clooney grabbed the stone with both hands and flipped it over.
There was a small hollow beneath the stone. In the hollow was an iron box, nearly orange with rust. Hannah picked the box up. The rust was so thick, she couldn’t even see the lid’s seam. She knocked the side, and flakes of rust rained down, revealing a small, corroded latch. She opened the latch and lifted the lid.
Inside the box was a ring.
It appeared to be made of iron and brass, just as the legend said. Four jewels, each colored red, yellow, green, and blue, were set into an imprint of the six-pointed star. And burned into the band itself were four symbols. Four letters.
The four letters of the secret name of God. The legend was true.
Hannah looked at Clooney and actually saw a tear on his cheek. He quickly swiped it away and said, “This is amazing, Hannah. I can’t believe we actually found the Seal of Solomon. The legendary ring of wisdom.”
Holding the ring, Hannah was reminded of the medallion around her neck, and what it had first felt like to find it. She had been wonderstruck. To think that a knight, nearly a thousand years prior, had carried that tiny cross and possibly worn it about his neck…
Now Hannah was looking upon the most wondrous artifact of all. King Solomon’s ring. A treasure beyond treasures. And she was going to give it to the last person on earth who deserved it. The Grand Chancellor of the Cancellarii, Professor Weisman.
It was an archaeologist’s worst nightmare, and she knew Henri would be horrified. When she considered that the ring may even have magical powers, the idea of handing it over to the Cancellarii was all the worse. Henri wouldn’t just be horrified—
he would forbid it. He would forbid the exchange of the ring for his own freedom, even if it cost his life.
“I don’t think I can follow through with this,” said Hannah, gazing at the ring in her palm.
“But you must. To get your grandfather back!”
She shook her head in confusion. “But I don’t even think Henri would want me to. Julien Dubuisson did everything he could to keep this ring out of harm’s way. Now I am about to hand-deliver it to his enemies.”
Hannah began to cry. “I don’t know what to do. What should I do, Clooney?”
He looked at her. “Drink coffee.”
“What?” she said, a surprised chuckle rising up through the tears.
“It is always the answer,” he said. “When in doubt, drink coffee. Look, you have your family traditions, passed down from one generation to the next. I have mine. My family makes coffee. We are coffee makers. My family is made of coffee. If I could open my veins and show you my blood—”
“I get it,” said Hannah, sniffling. “And you are right. A fresh start makes sense. Where is the nearest café?”
Hannah slipped the ring into the front pocket of her dress, and they climbed back down the Crusader Wall. They waded out through the surf to the embankment and clambered up to the harbour. Cafés were everywhere.
“Take your pick,” said Clooney.
They sat at a table overlooking the bay, the Crusader Wall still in plain view. Clooney ordered two coffees.
Hannah drank hers and sat back in her seat. “You were right. Coffee,” she said. Her head was already clearing. The beginning of a plan was taking shape. She looked out over the water, tapping her chin. “I think I am going to call them.”
“Who?” replied Clooney, spooning the coffee foam from the bottom of the cup. “Professor Weisman or Andrepont?”
“Both,” she said. She removed her phone and dialed the first number.
“Wait! Shouldn’t we think this through first?”
“I already have. Hello? This is Hannah Dubuisson speaking…”
r
The two phone calls were essentially the same. Hannah informed both Professor Weisman and Inspector Andrepont that she had what they wanted. For Weisman, that meant she had the Seal of Solomon. For Andrepont, that meant Henri, whom Professor Weisman was ins
tructed to bring with her in order to complete the exchange.
“Meet me in Akko at five o’clock this evening,” she told them. “I’ll be standing on the harbour overlooking the Crusader Wall.”
After finishing the phone calls, Hannah felt an unexpected flood of relief. It was done, and there was no going back. If all went well, Henri would be free by nightfall, and Andrepont would have his criminals in handcuffs. And Solomon’s ring would likely go to a museum somewhere safe, where people could marvel at the wonders of human history.
Suddenly finding themselves with time on their hands, Hannah and Clooney wandered Akko for the remainder of the day. They strolled the Arab market and ate hummus so fresh it was served warm with pita bread. They toured the crusader castles and fed seagulls from the parapets.
When evening came, and the sun began to set, they headed back through the city to reach their rendezvous at the harbor. They waited beside a railing that overlooked the bay. In the twilight, the Crusader Wall glowed red, and a stiff wind blew Hannah’s hair. The tide had come in, and now the sea beat at the embankment, sending salty spray across the pavement where they stood.
“Where is Andrepont?” asked Clooney, looking about. “Isn’t he supposed to arrive first and arrest Professor Weisman when she gets here?”
“He will be hiding,” she answered. “He is probably already watching us from someplace nearby. Waiting to spring on Weisman and her Cancellarii once Henri is out in the open.”
“And here she comes, look,” said Clooney. At that moment a familiar black sedan with tinted windows pulled up.
The driver got out, and Hannah recognized him. It was Jurowitz, the security guard from the university. Jurowitz opened the passenger front door and out stepped Professor Weisman. She wore a fancy blue dress and high-heel shoes, as though she were already celebrating what would soon be hers.
Professor Weisman left Jurowitz standing beside the car and approached Hannah and Clooney alone, following the railing. Even before she reached them, she addressed Hannah, saying, “My dear, Hannah. It appears Henri Dubuisson is no longer the sole archaeologist in your family. I always knew you were clever, but the Seal of the Solomon? King Solomon’s own ring?” She paused before them with the hint of a smile. “Very impressive. All along I had expected it would be Henri who found the treasure and led me to it. But no matter. Let me see the ring.”
Hannah and the Magic Eye Page 12
