“Hey, how about a little credit, here?” Bones asked.
“Fine. You’re very smart,” she said. “The question is, how are we going to identify the exact center? That could be important.”
“Try taking the longitude and latitude of the northernmost and southernmost points,” Maddock said.
“And split the difference between the two points of latitude,” Isla said, catching on immediately. “Let me see.” She performed the necessary calculations, then entered the new coordinates. “Here goes nothing.”
The result came up immediately.
Maddock grinned. “Bingo.”
Chapter 32
The Rova of Antananarivo was a royal palace complex that served as the home of the rulers of the Kingdom of Imerina in the 17th and 18th centuries, as well as of the rulers of the Kingdom of Madagascar in the 19th century. Located in the central highland city of Antananarivo, it stood atop the highest point on Analamanga, formerly the highest of Antananarivo's many hills, in the exact spot their calculations had identified. Over time, many of the structures were rebuilt or expanded, and the complex grew until 1995 when it burned. Since then, many of the tombs and main buildings had been restored.
“You are now standing at an altitude of 4,760 feet,” the tour guide said. “This hill is considered the birthplace of Antananarivo. The name means ‘The City of a Thousand,’ so-called for the thousand soldiers stationed here by King Andrianjaka in 1610.”
As the guide went on, pointing out the 360-degree view of the city below, the patches of green that marked rice fields, and notable structures like the palace of the prime minister, Maddock scanned the top of the hill, looking for anything promising. He assumed that any place or clue related to the mine would predate the construction of the Rova. They’d searched for accounts of caves, passageways, even underground bodies of water beneath the Rova, but had found nothing. It seemed this was their best option.
The guide led them into the palace of the queen. Here, only the walls had survived the fire, but a new roof had been added on. As the guide discussed the history and architecture, Maddock and Bones looked around for clues, but nothing leaped out at them.
“Not looking good,” Bones said softly. “If we need freaking ground-penetrating radar…”
Just then, Maddock’s attention returned to what the guide was saying.
“The king also selected the site and design of the royal tombs, which he named Trano Masina Fitomiandalana. The name translates to ‘Seven Sacred Houses Arranged in Order.’ Also…”
Maddock heard nothing after that. He, Bones, and Isla turned to one another and said, “Houses of the Seven!”
The guide led them down to the tombs, which had been restored after the fire, and Maddock’s hope waned. If there had been a clue there, what if it had been lost, or discovered already?
“What part of this space is original?” he asked the guide.
“The walls, the floor, some of the tombs, and the remains of course.” He smiled and winked at Isla, who returned his grin but without much enthusiasm.
“Focus on that,” Maddock whispered. They spread out, inspecting the tombs that had been set in a straight line. Maddock kept an eye out for any symbols that might be related to King Solomon, but nothing leaped out at him.
A scripture was engraved in stone at the foot of every tomb. Centuries of foot traffic had worn them down until they were scarcely visible. Maddock took the time to inspect each one. Though they were at least partially illegible, he could make out words in French here and there; enough that he was able to identify the passage from the Bible. When he reached the last tomb, he gave a start.
“…breath and you shall live,” he translated. The same scripture from Haggard’s grave, the passage that had been the key to admission to the sanctum in the royal village.
The tour group was now filing out of the tombs. Isla cast a quizzical look in his direction. With a jerk of his head, he indicated that she and Bones should keep moving. He’d hang back and see if this clue bore fruit.
When everyone had gone, he knelt to inspect the inscription. It was carved into a stone disc. Checking to make sure no one was about, he took out his knife and worked around the edges of the disc until it came free. He lifted it out and brushed aside the silt and sand to reveal images carved into the bedrock.
A stylized sun sank over the rough-hewn shapes of a lion, a bird, and an elephant. The elephant’s trunk wrapped around its body. The bird’s head was thrown back, its beak open wide, as if devouring the sun. Below them, etched so faintly he almost didn’t notice it, was the Seal of Solomon.
“What does this mean?” he whispered. He took a moment to snap a few photos of the images, and then covered it back over with sand before replacing the stone.
As he hurried out of the tombs to catch up with his friends, a torrent of thoughts surged through his mind. What significance could the animals have? Who had carved the symbol there? Had it been done during the construction of the palace, or was it much older? Could the tombs have been built for the purpose of concealing it from the unworthy, with the scripture carved there as a guidepost for those in the know?
“Don’t overthink it, Maddock,” he said to himself. “Just follow the clues.”
Chapter 33
The Tsingy de Bemaraha National park was located in northwestern Madagascar just north of the famed Avenue of the Baobabs. Its unique geological makeup had led to the formation of tsingys — karstic plateaus in which erosion had formed forests of limestone needles.
Maddock could not believe his eyes as they wound among them. He’d never seen anything quite like them. He gazed up at the tall, spiked columns of limestone that rose high above the sparse tree line.
“This gives new meaning to ‘petrified forest,’” Bones observed.
“It’s magnificent,” Isla agreed.
“If King Solomon’s Mines are hidden somewhere in here, it’s no wonder they’ve never been discovered. This place is a warren of caverns and crevasses. A man could get lost in here and never find his way out,” Maddock said.
Isla smirked. “Only because he’d be too stubborn to ask directions.”
“What does tsingy mean, anyway?” Bones asked.
“It’s a Malagasy word that translates to ‘where one cannot walk barefoot.’” Isla’s eyes flitted toward the ground as she spoke. “And I can see why.”
“Looks like we’re almost there,” Bones said, checking his GPS. “I hope this is the place, or else we’ve come a long-ass way for nothing.” He cast a meaningful glance at Isla, who glared back.
“It’s the right place. I’m certain of it.”
The clue hidden at the Rova of Antananarivo, the images of the lion, bird, and elephant, had confounded them at first. And then Isla had found a tourist’s photograph of three unusual-looking rock formations in the middle of Tsingy de Bemaraha. There was no denying the shapes bore a strong resemblance to those in the carving. What was more, they were oriented in such a way that the setting sun would sink behind them.
What had sealed it for Maddock, though, was what lay in between the Rova and the rock formations. Drawing a straight line from one to the other, the line started at the Rova, the center of the Sacred Twelve, the House of the Seven. It passed over the Ikopa River, and then through the Analavory Geysers, carbon dioxide driven, cold water geysers that could definitely qualify as “bad water.”