Clive Cussler - Pirate

The back door led into a mud porch, rain boots neatly placed on the floor beneath slickers that hung above them on the wall. He passed through the small kitchen, drawing his gun from its holster. Undoubtedly, they’d come for one thing only, and, sure enough, that’s exactly what he found was missing. Regardless, he checked the rest of the house, then holstered his gun before joining the two outside. “They’re gone.”

Remi said, “The police are on their way.”

Grace, her face pale, asked, “Is anything missing?”

“I’m afraid so,” Sam said, leading them to the front of the house, then pointing to the wall near the front door.

She looked up at the empty space between the two paintings and below the family crest. “The shield? Why on earth would anyone steal that?”

“We believe,” Sam said, “that the symbols on the shield boss were used in creating an old code to decipher a map.”

“A shield boss? I’m not sure what that is.”

“It’s the round brass seal at the center of the shield. It’s a decorative piece used to connect the handle to the shield itself.”

She stared at the wall, then turned toward Sam. “You’re certain it hides a code? It was just a pretty Celtic design.”

“It’s what was around the border of that design on the edge of the circle. Not the Celtic interlacing in the center.”

“That’s…” Grace put her hand on her chest, shaking her head. “I think I need to sit down.”

“Here,” Remi said, stepping forward and taking her by the arm, leading her into the parlor. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Thank you, no. I’m fine.”

Sam took a seat in the chair across from Grace. “You said something about two men who came by just before we did asking about the artifacts you’d inherited.”

She nodded.

“Would you be able to describe them?”

“I think so… Do you think they…?”

“If it’s the same men we’ve run into, then yes.”

“But why?”

“This code I mentioned. We’re not sure, but it’s possible the map it deciphers is to some treasure.”

Her brows went up. “ That old legend?”

“You’ve heard of it?”

“Well, yes. But it was just one of those stories told at bedtime. No one actually believed .”

“This legend,” Sam said, wanting to keep her on point before the police arrived. “Can you tell us the story?”

“It’s been so long…” She leaned back in her seat, her glance straying to the empty space on the wall. “I couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven. It was at my cousins’… They teased me because I was a girl, therefore couldn’t be part of it.”

“Part of what?”

“The protectorship. I remember my oldest cousin teasing me, saying, ‘Don’t you know anything? You have to be a boy. Girls can’t be protectors.’” She gave a slight shrug. “Or something like that.”

“Protector of what?”

“King John’s Treasure, of course.”

Remi was certain she’d misunderstood Mrs. Herbert. “King John, as in King Richard’s brother?”

“The same,” Grace said.

“That’s supposed to be quite the treasure,” Remi said. “Over seventy million pounds, if I recall correctly.”

“But the stories aren’t real, are they? Why on earth would anyone believe them?”

“Hard to say,” Sam said. “What exactly do you recall from the story you heard?”

“Well…” She looked at Sam. “They were more like fairytales than anything else. King John asked William the Marshal to hide the crown jewels to save England. The treasure being lost in the fens was all a ruse so that the young crown prince wouldn’t be attacked. Or something along those lines. As I said, I never paid much attention. Just stories I heard my uncle telling my cousins when we were children.”

“What happened to your cousins?” Remi asked.

“My older cousin died about ten years ago in a car accident, and his younger brother this last year of a heart attack.”

“No other relatives?” Sam asked. “Anyone else who might have heard the stories?”

“Unfortunately, neither had children of their own, and my other cousin who inherited the estate up in Nottingham knows what I know.” She furrowed her brows a moment, then brightened. “Actually, there is someone else. Madge Crowley, my cousin’s ex-wife. I’d quite forgotten about her, mostly because I haven’t spoken with her in years. Not since the divorce. She still sends round the occasional Christmas card. Lives in Norfolk somewhere. I could try to find her address if that will help.”

“That would be great,” Sam said.

She’d found the name and address, Madge Crowley in King’s Lynn. The officer arrived and Sam gave a statement and the name of the investigator from Scotland Yard who was handling the case.

The officer looked up from his notebook. “You’re sure this theft is related?” he asked Sam. “After all, you mentioned this Fisk found what he was looking for at the museum. Why come here?”

“To keep us from finding it.”

The officer turned a dubious glance at the wall where the shield once hung. “So what’s the value?” he asked Grace.

Remi piped in with, “Old relics. More museum pieces than anything else.”

“History,” the officer said. “Don’t know why everyone gets so worked up about this stuff.” He finished his notes, then stood. “I’ll be in contact.”

“Thank you,” Grace replied, walking him to the door. She returned a moment later.

Remi said, “I hope you can forgive us for not being more upfront to begin with. We weren’t exactly sure what we were dealing with.”

“If I’d known any of this would happen,” Grace said, “I’d have made sure the shield went to the museum with the rest of the items.” She smiled, placing her hands on her hips. “I trust there’s nothing more you need? I’d quite like to get back to my simple country life.”

Sam and Remi stood at the obvious though polite dismissal, Sam telling Remi, “I can’t think of anything. You?”

“Nothing,” Remi said.

Grace saw them out. “If you do find anything, please send it to the museum. I’ve had enough excitement to last me a lifetime.”

In the car, Sam handed Remi the address of Grace’s cousin. “King’s Lynn. That’s a three-and-a-half-, four-hour drive. Makes for a long day.”

“Don’t know about you, but my schedule’s wide open.”

“Turns out, so is mine.” He looked at his watch, then started the car. “Selma should be up by now. Give her a call. I’m hoping those photos we took of the shield boss can be enhanced.”

Remi set the GPS directions, then called Selma, putting it on speakerphone. “We’ve had a few developments. First off, we’re heading to King’s Lynn, so we’ll need a place to stay.”

“I’ll see to it. What about your suite at the Savoy?”

“We’ll stay checked in. We shouldn’t be gone that long.” She related the information told to them by Grace about the family history and King John’s Treasure.

“Right now,” Sam said, “I’m more interested in the leather shield that Grace inherited. Particularly that metal circle in the middle. Any chance those photos we sent from our first visit are usable?”

“Let me pull them up.”

While Selma was checking, Remi looked at the images they’d taken. One was washed out from the flash, the other too dark. But as before on that day she’d first seen the shield, her focus was drawn to the intricate Celtic knot engraved in the center of the shield boss. The small, rune-like symbols around the border had, on first glance, looked more like an extension of the Celtic design. Then again, maybe that was the reason for the interlacing in the center — to deflect attention from the ciphers decorating the border. Hide the cipher wheel in plain sight. After all, who would look for it on an old, battered leather shield?