Gabriel Hunt - Hunt Through Napoleon's Web

“How so?” Gabriel asked.

“You said there were three traps, correct? Well, the Napoleonic Code was divided into three books. The first has to do with People, the second was about Property, and the third . . . well, the third was about Acquiring Property—sort of boring stuff for lawyers.” Gabriel was reminded of the text of the Rosetta Stone, about taxes and putting statues in temples. Sometimes the greatest discoveries in history had to do with boring stuff. “The first trap,” Sammi went on, “with the anthem . . . knowing the anthem would have been one of the tests for citizenship. It would have been covered in Book One of the Code.”

Gabriel shined his light around. “And you think all this . . .”

“Property,” Sammi said. “Book Two.”

“So what does Book Two have to say about property?” Gabriel said. “Other than ‘Don’t take it or you’ll get stabbed with a spear.’ ”

“The Code defined what was designated as a French citizen’s personal property as opposed to what was owned by the state.” Sammi looked around at all the accumulated wealth, all untouchable. “Or by the emperor.”

Gabriel thought about that. “So this is his property. We’re not allowed to take it. We have to show something that is not on his list of property to get out of here.”

“But show it to whom?” Sammi said.

Gabriel bent to examine the chest and the shelf it sat on. The two seemed to be attached in some way—at least he wasn’t able to move the chest off. And when he pressed down gently on the shelf, it had some give, almost like the balance of a scale.

“I think we have to put it in here—it’s a receptacle. Like the hopper of a machine. You put something in, and—” He tested the chest’s lid; it moved on surprisingly smooth hinges. “You put it in, close the chest, and hope you don’t get a spear in your back for your troubles. The question is what goes in the chest. Just something that’s our property and not his?”

“Not just anything,” Sammi said. “Under the Code, ‘Property’ wouldn’t refer to ordinary consumables or goods of minor note. It would have to be something of real value.”

Gabriel looked around again. “Something like what’s on display here, only ours rather than his.”

“Right. But—” Sammi took in the display of jewels and gold bars and framed paintings. “How could we possibly have anything like this? Unless you’re carrying a painting on you that I don’t know about?”

“Nope.”

“Or a gold bar . . . ?”

“I’m sure Michael’s got some back home, in a safe deposit box somewhere. But that won’t do us any good down here.”

Sammi was digging through her rucksack, trying to find anything that might work. But no amount of pitons and carabiners would do.

Gabriel thought about it. His Bulova A-11 wristwatch was worth a decent amount; his Zippo lighter, too, since it dated back to World War II. But there was a second problem, beyond the question of whether they were valuable enough—whatever he put in the chest also had to be something the two-hundred-year-old mechanism, whatever it was, would somehow be able to recognize. And he didn’t think Napoleon’s engineer could possibly have forseen wristwatches and Zippo lighters.

“Hang on,” Gabriel said. “I have an idea.”

“What?” Sammi said.

“Just stay back. If I’m wrong, I don’t want you getting hit, too.” He positioned himself directly in front of the chest. Looking up, he saw the circular openings through which spears might shoot at any moment.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to show Mr. Bonaparte some property and see what happens.”

“Gabriel, please be careful—I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“Neither do I.” Slowly he stepped forward. And taking his Colt out of its holster, he set it down on the bottom of the chest.

It was a gun—and there were guns on display here. What’s more, it was an antique; the provenance was a bit murky, but the man he’d gotten it from had sworn it had once belonged to either Wyatt Earp or Bat Masterson. Now, that would have been around 1870, not 1800 . . . but at least it was the right century. He gave the pistol a last lingering look. If this worked it might be the last time he’d see it—and if it didn’t work it might be the last time he’d see anything . . .

He swung the top of the chest shut and shot a glance up at the ceiling, poised to leap left or right at the first sign of motion.

But the motion, when it came, came from the wall beside the chest. With a loud grinding noise, two of the giant stone blocks slowly rotated as one until they sat perpendicular to their original position. The opening revealed a chamber on the other side.

“I don’t believe it,” Sammi said. “How could it possibly have known what you put in . . . ?”

“Maybe it didn’t. Maybe anything the same weight would have worked.”

She looked around at the speared skeletons on the ground. “Somehow I doubt it.”

“Well, then you might want to get over here, before this thing changes its mind.”

He stepped forward, cautiously watching the holes in the ceiling as he passed through the opening—but no spears came.

Sammi followed carefully in his footsteps, not deviating from his path by so much as an inch. As she reached the rotated wall, the top of the chest slowly and silently rose. She looked inside. “The gun’s still there,” she said. She reached in to get it.

“Don’t!” Gabriel shouted—but she lifted the Colt out of the chest without any ill effect.

She held the gun out to him. “What—do you think you are the only one permitted to take risks?” she said. “Besides, it wasn’t all that much of a risk. Napoleon was a tyrant, but he was not a thief. He might take another man’s country—but not his property.”

Gabriel took the Colt and returned it to his holster. “Thank you. I can tell you, I feel a lot safer with this old friend on my hip.”

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Sammi said. “Look.”

She directed her flashlight’s beam toward the ground. In the previous room there had been half a dozen human skeletons. Here, the entire floor was littered with them, many of them horribly contorted, their bony hands clutching at their skeletal throats. Here, circular holes did not just cover the ceiling, they lined the walls and floor as well. And at the far end of the chamber was a metal cage containing a stone tablet. The tablet was covered from top to bottom with minute carvings and inscriptions.

The Second Stone.

Chapter 22

The relic sat on the rotted remnants of a brown cloth. It was only a fraction the size of the Rosetta Stone but its surface was covered with a similar profusion of minuscule writing, rows of angular Greek characters alternating with stretches of hieroglyphics. It was just as Amun had described, and as Louis’s secretary had sketched in the document Gabriel had seen.

But just at the moment it wasn’t the main thing commanding their attention.

“What do you think killed them?” Sammi said, playing her light over the skeletons scattered across the ground.

“Not spears this time,” Gabriel said. “I’m guessing poison. Probably gas.” He leaned forward gingerly and bent to examine one of the holes in the wall nearest to them. There was a dark, solid residue around the edges. With a bit of effort he was able to scrape some of the residue off with his fingernail. He sniffed it and grimaced.

“Sulfur dioxide,” he said. “Not the strongest poison, but enough of it in a closed space will kill you.”

Sammi nodded. “There were stories that Napoleon used sulfur dioxide to put down slave rebellions in Haiti and Guadeloupe. Supposedly he had gas chambers built into the holds of slave ships.”