“Guilty.”
“I’ve come across that name many times in my studies.” He turned to Maddock. “And that makes you Maddock. Come on back to my office.”
He led them to a small room crowded with shelves crammed full of books, and boxes of papers and magazines. A bulky desktop computer and monitor sat atop a coffee-stained calendar on the small, metal desk. Ben took a pair of folding chairs from the corner behind the door and handed them to Maddock and Bones.
“Make yourself as at home as you can in here. Sorry about the clutter. I’d make an excuse, but I’m an unrepentant slob.”
“I would be too if the Navy hadn’t drilled it out of me,” Bones said, gingerly easing himself into the chair until he was certain it would support his weight.
“Thanks for meeting with us on such short notice,” Maddock said.
“I’m happy to. The lore of the Southeastern tribes is my specialty. I’m part Cherokee, you know.”
Maddock took in the man’s fair skin, round face, and light-colored eyes, and managed to nod gravely.
“But the Irish in me is winning, as you can see,” Ben added. “Sorry, just a little joke. My wife says it wasn’t funny the first thousand times I told it, but I’m hoping it will age like wine.”
“Keep hoping,” Bones said, adding a wink.
“Will do.” Ben sat down behind the desk, folded his hands, and adopted a businesslike manner. “You said you had some questions about an artifact?”
“Correct,” Maddock said. He and Bones had debated about how much to tell the man beforehand. They wanted word to get out that they’d located the artifact, but they didn’t know what sort of resources the Trident had at their disposal, nor how quickly the organization could act. Consequently, they’d decided to meet with Ben first and try to get the jump on their enemies before spreading the word of their discovery. “Are you familiar with any legends about men who are able to control animals?”
“That’s a pretty common theme, actually,” Ben said. “Well, not exactly controlling animals, but native lore is filled with stories of people who can talk with them.”
“Not talking,” Bones said. “We’re looking specifically for stories about men who can control their behavior.” He glanced at Maddock. “Or legends about an object that gives a person that kind of control.”
Ben’s eyes widened. “Funny you should ask. I know of exactly one such story. It’s not commonly known. I actually collected that story myself from an elder of the Chicora tribe during my grad school days.”
“Chicora?” Bones asked. “I’m not familiar with that tribe.”
“A small coastal tribe down in South Carolina. They’re considered Catawban. What remains of them are petitioning for recognition. They don’t have an official reservation, but I found a cluster of them living in a rural area not far from Myrtle Beach. Hold on a minute.” He rolled his chair into the corner, took a box from a bottom shelf, and began rummaging through it. “Believe it or not,” he said as he shuffled through old papers, “I have an organizational system. It just isn’t readily apparent to anyone but me. Ah, here it is.” He took out an old composition book, replaced the box, and rolled back to the desk. “Let me find it.” He thumbed through the notebook. “Got it.”
“The Chicora tell of a white man dressed all in white who swam to shore on the coast of South Carolina many years ago. He said he had come from across the sea along with others of his like, and their numbers were seven, seven, and seven.”
“So, like seven hundred seventy-seven?” Bones asked. “Or twenty-one?”
“I can’t say for certain, and the storyteller didn’t know either,” Ben said. “But, if we assume the story is based in fact, we can assume twenty-one men would be a better fit for an old sailing vessel.” He returned to his notes.
“The man carried with him a stone which he said wielded great power and that its sister stones had been lost. To prove his claim, he raised the stone and called out to the creatures of the forest. One by one, two by two, and seven by seven they came and circled around. The bear and the rabbit, the cougar and the deer all sat calmly and waited to do his bidding. The man called again and birds settled on his shoulders, the eagle on one and the dove on the other.
“When all had seen that he spoke the truth, the man dismissed the animals and made a gift of the stone to the chief in exchange for his life. From then on, the tribe was always blessed with good hunting.
“The chief sought to carve it into a pleasing shape but found it to be the hardest stone he had ever encountered. Every night he worked at it, but managed only to make etchings upon its surface.”
“What sort of etchings?” Bones asked.
Ben shrugged. “No one knows.”
Maddock and Bones exchanged a quick glance. They thought they knew what the etchings were.
Ben returned to his notes.
“When the chief died, his sons contended for possession of the stone. The eldest son wished to use it as a weapon of war. He vowed to command the fierce creatures of the forest to do his bidding, and would thus destroy his enemies. The second son sought to control the people through use of the stone.”
“You can control people with it?” Bones interrupted.
Ben shook his head. “He figured with the stone he could drive away all the game or call it to him. Controlling a large portion of the food supply is an effective way to control a population.” He glanced back down at his notebook.
“To save her people from the inevitable conflict, the chief’s daughter stole the stone and made away with it. From that day, the tribe has prayed for its return.” Ben closed the notebook. “Not exactly poetic language but that’s pretty much the size of it.”
“Are there any other legends about the stone?” Maddock asked.
“A few, but this,” he tapped the notebook, “is what I believe to be the source of all those stories. I spent a lot of time tracing it back. All the elders I spoke with told the same tale in the same way. The elder with whom I spoke insisted that the tribe still possesses some of the white man’s belongings. He wouldn’t show them to me so who knows?”
“The story mentions sister stones,” Maddock said. “Any idea about them? What they were, what they could do?”
Ben shook his head. “No clue, sorry.”
“No problem. We’d love to talk with the elder if he’d be willing to meet with us. Could we trouble you to give us his name?” Maddock asked.
“Sure thing. It’s Archer. I don’t know if that’s a first name or a last name, and as far as I know, he’s never shot a bow and arrow. He did, however, give me permission to share his information. He’s the oldest of the bunch and highly respected in his community. He knows his stuff.” Ben consulted his address book and then jotted down a name and address on a legal pad, tore off the sheet, and handed it to Maddock.
Maddock thanked him, pocketed the paper, and rose to leave.
“You know, it’s weird,” Ben said. “I don’t think anyone’s ever asked me about the legend of the stone and then I hear from two people in the same day.”
Maddock froze. Had the Trident gotten ahead of them? “Really? Who else is interested? Maybe it’s someone we know.” He hoped he sounded casual.
“A professor from Atlanta. Dima Zafrini is her name. I only spoke to her on the phone but she sounded hot.” Ben flashed a lopsided grin at Bones who returned the smile.
“Maybe we’ll cross paths with her,” Bones said. “Always happy to make a hot new friend.”
“May I ask why you’re interested in the legend? It’s not a well-known story.”
Maddock tensed. He and Bones made a practice of keeping their secrets close, but they needed to get the Trident away from Bones’ family, and maybe Ben could unwittingly help them do that.