pushed his way inside.
The place was built like an atrium—circular, with ladders and rails made of olive wood running along all the sides. There were hundreds of shelves, many of them with old leather-bound books still on them, spiraling upward toward a domed ceiling; in its center, there was a stained-glass window that cast a pale purple light over everything below.
“Nothing but books in here,” Lopez said. “I say we go back to the palace.”
“I say shut up,” Greer said, folding up the map and slipping it back into his pocket; from here on in, he knew what to do.
Mounted on the front wall was a big iron bird—okay, a peacock—with its wings spread wide. “Come here, Lopez,” Greer said. “And take hold of one of these wings.”
Lopez looked confused, but he leaned his rifle up against one of the bookshelves and did as he was told. The bird was about six feet high and four feet wide, and the metal was warm in his hands. Would this thing be worth anything, he wondered, back in the States?
“When I say so,” Greer told him, “press the wing forward.”
“You want me to break it?” Now it’d be worth nothing.
“Just do it. Now.”
As Greer pressed on his side, Lopez pressed on his, and after some initial resistance, the two wings began to give way.
“Keep pushing,” Greer said.
Gradually, the two wings began to come together, and as they did so, dust began to crumble from the wall just below the peacock’s feet.
Lopez, seeing the dust, started to ease up, and Greer said, “No, that’s what’s supposed to happen.”
“The whole place is supposed to fall down?”
Donlan, though he kept his rifle loosely trained on Hasan, was rapt.
As the ends of the two wings touched, a narrow space below the peacock’s feet was partially revealed. According to his instructions, something should have opened up completely, but this was close enough for Greer. He crouched down and dug his fingers into the wall. Loose bits of brick and sand fell away, enough finally for him to reach inside—the slot was no more than ten inches high and perhaps a few feet across—and touch something. It was a metal box, covered with dust, and it was what he’d come for. When he pulled, he could hear the crunching of the sand underneath it, but moving it from this angle was tough. He pulled his hand out, brushed it clean, then reached in again and pulled the box another inch or two forward; it must weigh twenty or thirty pounds, he guessed.
“You need some help, Captain?” Lopez asked eagerly. Maybe Greer knew what he was doing, after all. Maybe this was the treasure!
Greer didn’t need any help—not now. Leaning back on his heels, he pulled the box out of the hole. It was matted with grime, and for all he knew, the damn thing was made of lead. Huge iron clasps were sealed on both sides, with antique padlocks that looked like they took a key the size of a fist.
Lopez looked at the locks gleefully and said, “We can pop those—no problem.”
Greer stood up, cradling the box in his arms. “Time to go.”
Lopez and Donlan just stood there. Hasan was afraid of what might happen.
“What do you mean, sir?” Donlan asked. “You mean, we open it back at camp?”
“I mean, we go. Now.”
Greer stepped around them, giving Hasan a shove toward the door. Donlan and Lopez traded a glance— what gives? —then slouched behind.
Outside, the shadows were lengthening. The sun had fallen to the height of the walls, and a night wind was already beginning to kick up.
Greer was marching Hasan past the rows of empty cages, then onto the wooden bridge. Hasan was only too glad to go. He didn’t know what those cages had once held, but he did not want to find out. Nor did he wish to know why the al-Kallis would have needed a
The place was built like an atrium—circular, with ladders and rails made of olive wood running along all the sides. There were hundreds of shelves, many of them with old leather-bound books still on them, spiraling upward toward a domed ceiling; in its center, there was a stained-glass window that cast a pale purple light over everything below.
“Nothing but books in here,” Lopez said. “I say we go back to the palace.”
“I say shut up,” Greer said, folding up the map and slipping it back into his pocket; from here on in, he knew what to do.
Mounted on the front wall was a big iron bird—okay, a peacock—with its wings spread wide. “Come here, Lopez,” Greer said. “And take hold of one of these wings.”
Lopez looked confused, but he leaned his rifle up against one of the bookshelves and did as he was told. The bird was about six feet high and four feet wide, and the metal was warm in his hands. Would this thing be worth anything, he wondered, back in the States?
“When I say so,” Greer told him, “press the wing forward.”
“You want me to break it?” Now it’d be worth nothing.
“Just do it. Now.”
As Greer pressed on his side, Lopez pressed on his, and after some initial resistance, the two wings began to give way.
“Keep pushing,” Greer said.
Gradually, the two wings began to come together, and as they did so, dust began to crumble from the wall just below the peacock’s feet.
Lopez, seeing the dust, started to ease up, and Greer said, “No, that’s what’s supposed to happen.”
“The whole place is supposed to fall down?”
Donlan, though he kept his rifle loosely trained on Hasan, was rapt.
As the ends of the two wings touched, a narrow space below the peacock’s feet was partially revealed. According to his instructions, something should have opened up completely, but this was close enough for Greer. He crouched down and dug his fingers into the wall. Loose bits of brick and sand fell away, enough finally for him to reach inside—the slot was no more than ten inches high and perhaps a few feet across—and touch something. It was a metal box, covered with dust, and it was what he’d come for. When he pulled, he could hear the crunching of the sand underneath it, but moving it from this angle was tough. He pulled his hand out, brushed it clean, then reached in again and pulled the box another inch or two forward; it must weigh twenty or thirty pounds, he guessed.
“You need some help, Captain?” Lopez asked eagerly. Maybe Greer knew what he was doing, after all. Maybe this was the treasure!
Greer didn’t need any help—not now. Leaning back on his heels, he pulled the box out of the hole. It was matted with grime, and for all he knew, the damn thing was made of lead. Huge iron clasps were sealed on both sides, with antique padlocks that looked like they took a key the size of a fist.
Lopez looked at the locks gleefully and said, “We can pop those—no problem.”
Greer stood up, cradling the box in his arms. “Time to go.”
Lopez and Donlan just stood there. Hasan was afraid of what might happen.
“What do you mean, sir?” Donlan asked. “You mean, we open it back at camp?”
“I mean, we go. Now.”
Greer stepped around them, giving Hasan a shove toward the door. Donlan and Lopez traded a glance— what gives? —then slouched behind.
Outside, the shadows were lengthening. The sun had fallen to the height of the walls, and a night wind was already beginning to kick up.
Greer was marching Hasan past the rows of empty cages, then onto the wooden bridge. Hasan was only too glad to go. He didn’t know what those cages had once held, but he did not want to find out. Nor did he wish to know why the al-Kallis would have needed a
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