Kingdom of Darkness Read Free

bursting point. ‘Sir, what are you both talking about? We’ve found their treasure – what else do we need from them?’
    ‘Information,’ Kroll told him. ‘That’s how wars are won, not with tanks or bullets. I told you, you should learn from history.’ He returned to the pithos, signalling for Jaekel to join him. ‘Open the jar.’
    ‘Sir!’ Jaekel snapped in reply. He raised his gun, flipping it around ready to smash the stock against the pithos’s spout—
    Kroll’s yell of ‘No!’ and the horrified cry of ‘ Óchi! ’ from Patras were simultaneous. ‘Idiot!’ the Nazi growled. ‘Use your knife, not your gun! Take out the stopper.’
    The chastened stormtrooper slung his weapon and unsheathed his combat knife. Kroll watched as he worked the plug loose, then turned his attention back to the Greeks. The adults all seemed appalled at the prospect of the great jar’s opening – or was it apprehension? He looked back at the text upon the pithos. More mentions of Alexander, but from the perspective of history. Andreas may have known the great king, but these words had been written long after his death.
    Which meant that if Andreas himself had been the author of the Romance , the pithos really might contain the stuff of legends . . .
    A crackle as Jaekel worked loose a chunk of pitch. He tossed it aside, then jemmied away at the stopper itself. More of the black resin crumbled. A sharp rasp of metal – and the cap moved.
    ‘Careful, now,’ Kroll warned, but Jaekel had learned his lesson. He used the knife to lever the stopper upwards. It was indeed solid silver, but the Nazi leader was now less interested in the metal’s value than in what the pithos contained. Waving Jaekel aside, he hopped up on to the statue’s plinth to look down into the container.
    Water shimmered gently in the torchlight. The jar was almost full to brimming, holding hundreds of litres, maybe more. He leaned closer, briefly moving the torch away as he adjusted his balance.
    The shimmering remained, even without light.
    For a moment he thought it was just an after-image. But the same thing happened when he lowered the torch again to check. ‘Jaekel, point your light at the floor,’ he ordered. ‘Rasche, Gausmann, you too.’
    The SS troopers obeyed. The chamber became almost fully dark as Kroll flicked off his own light. He looked back at the jar.
    The water in the pithos was aglow, sparkling, but not with bubbles: with light.
    It was faint, like moonlight reflected from a pond on a misty night, but definitely visible. ‘What is it, Sturmbannführer?’ asked Rasche.
    ‘Wait,’ said Kroll. He flicked his torch back on and cautiously dipped his little finger into the water.
    The resulting sensation made him twitch. ‘Sturmbannführer!’ Rasche said again, with concern. ‘Are you all right?’
    ‘Yes, yes,’ Kroll replied, slipping his finger back into the pithos. This time, he was prepared, and did not flinch. His skin tingled, very slightly. The effect was not unlike a mild electric charge.
    He withdrew his hand, thinking for a moment. Then he scooped up some energised water in his palm and raised it towards his mouth—
    ‘That is not for you,’ said Patras. Kroll looked sharply at him. Even surrounded by SS troopers, his family at gunpoint, the old man’s attitude was defiant.
    ‘Who are you to decide?’ Kroll demanded in Greek.
    ‘We are the descendants of Andreas – once a humble cook, and later the guardian of the Spring of Immortality. We have protected his shrine for almost two thousand years, and kept his secret from those who think themselves better than the great king. Is that what you believe, German? That you are a worthy successor to Alexander?’
    Kroll bristled at the challenge. ‘The Third Reich will become the greatest empire the world has ever seen, yes.’
    ‘But you are not its leader.’
    ‘I act in the name of its leader, Adolf Hitler. Therefore I am worthy, since Hitler is the