Pirate

“Very good, sir. I’ll pass on the information.” He walked back to inform the investigator.

Sam waited until he was out of earshot, telling Remi, “Remind me to call Rube as soon as we get out of here.” If anyone could pull strings to make permits magically appear in the files, Rube Hayward could.

Alexandra, finished with her statement, returned to the wall, sitting on the other side of Sam.

He looked over at her, curious. “You turned on Fisk. Why?”

She gave a cynical laugh as she reached up, touching the small bandage on her forehead that one of the paramedics had put there. “I never wanted anyone hurt. Ever. I only wanted to find this treasure to get back at Charles. And then…” She glanced at Remi. “I knew that once Fisk got what he wanted, they were going to kill me like I was nothing. And dump my body down there.” Her eyes teared up, and she brushed them with the back of her hand. “He was going to do the same to you. I just felt I had to take a stand. I wanted my two kids to know I finally did something right.” She gave a ragged sigh. “It doesn’t matter. Charles might not have the treasure, but he’ll get away with trying to kill us like he does everything else.”

“That,” Sam said, “we can probably do something about.”

“How?”

“Trust me,” he replied, thinking about the security reports Archer had been forwarding to him on Charles Avery. “I’ve got an entire team gathering evidence on him as we speak.”

“If you do find it — the treasure — do me a favor and send me a picture? I’d like to forward it to Charles.”

“Doesn’t seem likely now,” Sam said. “The map’s completely deciphered, and this was our best hope. We seem to be at a dead end.”

“Or a better location,” Remi added.

Eventually they were all escorted to the police station, where formal statements were made. Hours later, they were released, and by the time that Sam and Remi got back to their hotel room, they fell into bed, exhausted, not even bothering with dinner.

* * *

“We did it!”

The excitement in Lazlo’s voice was enough to bring Sam fully awake.

“Did what?” Remi asked.

“Finished the cipher.” Lazlo announced. “In the castle rock. Beyond the den of the wolf’s head. The fourth chamber. Above death. Below death. With the last meal.”

Sam and Remi looked at each other, then turned back to the tablet and Lazlo’s beaming face. “Great,” Sam said. “Exactly what does it mean?”

“The location of the treasure,” Lazlo replied. “Except that first part.”

“First part?”

“We’re fairly sure it’s telling us it’s not at Robin Hood’s lair.”

“Would have been nice to know yesterday,” Sam said.

“So,” Remi said, “eliminating the Robin Hood connection, where does that leave us?”

“As vague as it is,” Selma replied, “we believe it means Newark Castle.”

“Newark Castle?” Remi glanced at Sam, then back at the tablet. “Why there?”

“The talk of death, chambers, and the last meal, it’s got to be talking about where King John died.”

“Sorry,” Sam said to Remi. “Looks like that vacation’s going to have to wait.”

Fifty-seven

The next day, Sam, Remi, and Nigel drove out to Newark under a dark sky that threatened more rain. They parked in the lot across the River Trent, the wind gusting as they walked across the bridge toward the imposing fortress. From this side, the castle appeared whole, but when they passed through to the other side, it was apparent that little remained of the once-impressive structure beyond the near-intact curtain wall along the riverbank, the gatehouse, a large hexagonal tower at the northwest corner, and a lower tower at the southwest end where King John was said to have died.

“Not much left,” Sam said as they looked around at the park-like grounds in what had at one time been the castle keep.

The wind whistled through the crumbling ruins, whipping at Remi’s hair. She nodded toward the lower, southeast tower. “My money’s where King John died. The riddle’s clearly talking about his death.”

“Isn’t that a little obvious?” Sam asked.

“Hide in plain sight. Why not?”

Sam picked up a few pamphlets so that they’d look more like visiting tourists instead of burglars who planned to sneak into the parts of the castle closed to the public. “As many times as this place has been occupied and remodeled since King John’s death, where would they hide it?”

“The point of our visit, isn’t it?” Remi asked.

He pulled out his phone and accessed the text with the ciphered riddle that Selma had sent.

The fourth chamber. Above death. Below death. With the last meal.

Remi tapped the screen. “Chamber is another word for room. That could be the room where he died.”

“The last meal could mean a dining hall.”

“Which is long gone.”

“The tour’s starting,” Nigel said, pointing to the small crowd near the south tower.