“Oh, goodness,” the woman said. “You can’t see me, can you?”
“No, I lost my glasses.”
“Here, try these.”
She pressed something into his hands. He immediately recognized that they were pair of wire-framed spectacles, and donned them cautiously. The effect was immediate and dramatic. While the lenses were not as powerful as his normal prescription, the world was no longer a smear of indistinct colors. He got his first good look at Barron, stern and regal in his ornately carved chair at the head of the table. He also saw the other half-dozen people assembled at the table. Most wore navy-blue uniforms with gold piping — doubtless the captain and senior officers of Barron’s airship — but one man, in the seat beside Vaughn, looked completely out of place. Dressed all in black, the same shade as his pomaded hair and perfectly groomed mustached, the rugged looking fellow might have been considered movie-star handsome, if not for the ragged scar that stretched like a plowed furrow from his chin to his left ear. When the dark man realized he was the subject of Newcombe’s scrutiny, he flashed a dangerous scowl, and the scientist quickly looked away.
“Better?” asked the woman.
“Much.” He turned to thank her, but his voice caught in his throat.
She was beautiful… no, he thought. That’s probably not the right word. She wasn’t glamorous like Marlene Dietrich or Greta Garbo. Rather, her freckled face, framed by close-cropped brown hair, gave her an almost pixie-like appearance. Newcombe didn’t know if that qualified as “beauty” to whomever it was that decided such things, but he nevertheless felt an idiotic grin spread across his face. “Thank you,” he finally managed. “But what will you do without them?”
She shrugged. “I’ve got three more pair in my stateroom. I’m rubbish at keeping track of things, especially my spectacles, so I always bring along a few extra.”
Barron cleared his throat. “Miss Dunn, I believe you were about to tell us about adamantine.”
“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.” Newcombe was surprised to hear himself say it, but the impulse had been overwhelming. He wanted to know more about this lovely Miss Dunn.
“Quite right.” She smiled. Newcombe wanted to believe the smile was meant for him, but he knew that his face was probably just a blur to her. She extended her hand. “Fiona Dunn. How do you do?”
Barely able to keep from trembling, Newcombe reached out, took her hand, and touched his lips to it. “I’m Dr. Findlay Newcombe. I do very well, thank you.”
Not to be left out, the red-haired author practically shouted across the table: “I’m Rodney Lafayette, an author of some renown.”
Fiona inclined her head politely in Lightning Rod’s general direction.
“Does that satisfy your sense of propriety, Dr. Newcombe?” Barron rumbled. He didn’t wait for an answer. “Miss Dunn is a scholar of ancient languages—”
“I’m a good deal more than that, Walter.” Fiona turned to Newcombe again. “He makes me sound like a librarian. I’m trained archaeologist. I’ve explored the Valley of the Kings, and the palace of Ashurbanipal in Nineveh. I’ve gone looking for dinosaur fossils in the Gobi Desert. I’ve even—”
“Forgive me,” Barron interrupted forcefully. “What I meant to say, is that I have employed Miss Dunn in the capacity of expert linguist, and I would very much like her to tell us what the ancients have to say about adamantine.”
She stuck her tongue out at the host, but then straightened herself. “Numerous ancient texts describe adamantine as the hardest metal on earth. Some scholars believe the word referred to diamonds, but I find this explanation highly suspect.
“In Greek mythology, the sword Perseus used to slay the Gorgon Medusa was said to be of adamantine. Norse mythology tells of the god Loki being bound with adamantine chains. You can’t very well forge diamonds into a sword or make chains out of them. No, adamantine has to be some sort of metallic element, and evidently the ancients — or rather the gods of the ancients — found a way to fashion it to suit their needs.”
“Just as with titanium,” Barron interjected, “the metal is only malleable when it is refined from raw ore. We need find such a source of ore.”
Fiona nodded. “According to Virgil, the gates of Tartarus, the entrance to the Underworld, are composed of adamantine. I believe that the pit — Tartarus — is in fact a mine, where the ancients located a source of adamantine ore. If we find Tartarus, we find our adamantine.”
“As simple as that,” Lafayette remarked, scoffing.
“Finding Tartarus will be a challenge,” Fiona admitted. “But the ancients believed it was a literal place, and they even told how to find it. One such account was housed in the Library of Alexandria.”
Lafayette made no attempt to hide his skepticism. “The Library was destroyed thousands of years ago.”
“Not quite ‘thousands’ plural, Mr. Lafayette. Part of the Library was destroyed in the fourth century, but some parts of it may have survived as late as the seventh century, when Muslim armies conquered Alexandria. I discovered a parchment in a monastery in Jerusalem, which contained inventory of items that had survived the final destruction of the Library. Included in that collection was a comprehensive edition of the Dictys of Crete, a geographical account of the Odyssey of Homer, composed by Polybius in the second century BC. Polybius believed that the writings of Homer were not only historically correct, but also geographically accurate, and to that end, he retraced the journey of Odysseus and identified all the places he visited in his wanderings with actual known locations, including the entry to the Underworld — Tartarus — where Odysseus met with Teiresias.”
“You said you found an inventory; not the actual historical document.”
Fiona sighed, her patience clearly wearing thin. “The items from the Library had been taken; looted by agents of the Hashshashin — a cult of Ismaili Muslim assassins that rose to power in Persia in the eleventh century. The map would have been taken to their stronghold, Alamut, which was reputed to have its own magnificent library. It’s not a stretch to believe that they would have added this history to the collection there.
“The Ismailis were eventually conquered by the Mongols, and much of the library at Alamut was also destroyed. Some items were saved, but no mention of Polybius’ writings or any of the other items from Alexandria Library appears in the historical record. I believe this is because the collection lies in a secret treasure room that has yet to be discovered.”
“I can think of any number of other explanations.”
“Mr. Lafayette, would you please allow her to finish?” Newcombe was again surprised at his own assertiveness.
“Why thank you, Findlay. As I was saying, our best chance to find Tartarus and a source of adamantine, is to explore the ruins of Alamut for that historic account.”
“We should arrive there in a few days,” Barron added.
“Good God. Are you saying that we are already underway?” The writer jumped up from his seat and ran to enormous window. “We’re over the ocean!”
“We left as soon as you and Dr. Newcombe were brought on board. I apologize if it has inconvenienced you, but I assure you, I thought only of your safety.”
“This is an outrage. I’m not even the one that these revolutionaries were interested in. I demand to be returned at once.”