“We were discussing Plato’s fiction of Atlantis,” Bonaparte explained to the others.
“Except some scholars believe it might have been real,” Fouché amended. He had the sleepy watchfulness of a cat, his mind calculating truths and evasions like a warehouse full of ledger clerks. “And that it might have left something behind.”
“Which, however unlikely, you are to investigate,” Napoleon now told us briskly, rubbing his hands together as if to shake a chill. “The rumor is that this object may have been left on this island. Yet if I send a military expedition to Thira, it will set off a war with the Ottomans I don’t need. But a party of savants? Who cares what scientists do? With luck you can slip in and out without being seen. If not, you’re simply on a mission to explore an old volcano. They’ll think you’re harmless eccentrics.”
“What object?” Cuvier asked.
“This will interest Fulton,” Fouché said. “The rumor is that a terrible weapon from ancient times may still exist, or at least the knowledge of how to build it. The nature of this weapon isn’t clear, but speculation is that the nation who gets it first will control the Mediterranean, and perhaps the world.”
“You mean it’s some kind of ancient war machine?”
“Yes.”
“I’d like to see that.” Fulton was as drawn to machines as I am to women.
“When we learned the Egyptian Rite was seeking a meeting with Ethan Gage, we knew we had to act. It’s imperative that we learn the truth of these rumors before something monstrous falls into the wrong hands.”
“What, English hands?” Smith challenged.
“I’m speaking of this cult, which seems to have an agenda counter to all civilized nations. While we’d have preferred not to include you, Monsieur Smith, this is not a French-English rivalry—it is union in a greater cause. Besides, Gage gave us no choice after his expedition dragging you to the wicked Palais. Now, I’m afraid, you must briefly cooperate with the French government in this hunt for knowledge. We are at peace, after all.”
“But my business is in Britain!”
“My information is that you’re quite unemployed.”
“Not to the point of wanting to go to Greece!”
“We are your new employer.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then we’ll confine you as a spy until this matter is sorted out. Cooperate, and you may advance your geologic career. We know your work has been ignored by the Royal Society.”
“Wait just a minute,” Fulton said. “I may be interested in ancient machinery, but I’ve no interest in this Thira, or Og, either!”
“You do if you want French interest in your peculiar idea for a steamboat,” Napoleon said. “You’ve exhausted our patience and budget with your ridiculous Nautilus, but if you help us with this, we’ll give your new contraption a fair look.”
“Oh.”
“And you, Cuvier, will accompany these men as a French patriot to provide this quartet with Gallic logic and purpose. You will be the expedition’s leader and purser. Unless you prefer disgrace, dismissal from the Institute, and loss of the education ministry?”
“I wish only to reclaim my honor, First Consul. We savants have a reputation, even if Gage does not. I apologize for associating with riffraff, but perhaps good can come of it.”
“And me?” I asked, not happy that no one was objecting to the “riffraff” description.
“According to Madame Marguerite, who is secretly in our employ, this Osiris fellow you ran over promised to take you to your lost love Astiza,” Fouché said. “He wanted to take you to Thira, too. The woman must be there, or at least you might find a clue to her whereabouts. Do this errand for France and we’ll send you on to the Egyptian lady. If not, you can go back to the United States to explain that your efforts to persuade us about Louisiana came to a complete failure and that our Caribbean army will soon occupy New Orleans. You will be banned from France, blamed for abject diplomatic failure in America, and forced to find a real job.”
I swallowed. The prospect of actual work does daunt me. “So all we have to do is go to Thira, talk to this Greek fellow, and poke about for an ancient weapon?”
“Find an ancient weapon. Or at least bring back word of it before Ottoman soldiers, foreign spies, pirates, rebels, bandits, or the Egyptian Rite get to it first. Consider it a holiday from normal duties, gentlemen. A boy’s adventure.”
Sleepless, gritty, sore, and frightened, we numbly assented. What choice did we have?
“But how are we to find this weapon?” Cuvier asked.
Fouché took out a small velvet bag. “Before our troops were forced out of the Ionian Islands, one of our officers made purchase of a relic, a ring, from a distressed noblewoman. She said it was forged late in the fifteenth century. It was oddly fortuitous; the man said the duchess was quite beautiful and quite enigmatic. Some contend the ring was made by Templars themselves. When my agents heard about it, I decided to acquire it. I think you’ll see why.”
The ring had a flattened section like a miniature seal, and we saw immediately that it bore the word “Thira.” In the background was a domed building with part of the dome missing, as if someone had taken a bite, like a crescent moon. In the foreground was what looked like a stone sarcophagus meant to bury the dead, with its lid open. A man in robes and a medieval cap appeared to be climbing into the coffin, as if it were a bath. Or perhaps he was climbing out.
“What does it mean?”
“No one knows,” the policeman said, “but it obviously refers to the island. Why would Templars forge this of such an obscure place? Thira is little more than a cinder. This Greek patriot you will meet may find this useful in helping you.”
“Perhaps that’s where the weapon is,” I said, studying the piece. “He’s climbing in to get it.” Compared with the medallion I’d carried in Egypt, this one seemed plain enough.
“Then you’re to do the same. Look at its reverse.”
I turned the ring to inspect the flattened part that would be against the skin. There was another dome, this one quite normal, and inside it the letter “A.”
“What does that mean?”
“We have no idea. Deciphering this object will keep you occupied on your trip to Thira. The essence, gentlemen, is speed. Go swiftly, go silently, and go ahead of any pursuit.”
“Pursuit?” I always hate that.
Cuvier rubbed his weary face. “At least we can study the volcano. Maybe we will be lucky enough to have it erupt.”
“Wouldn’t that be a treat,” I said drily.
“Good!” Napoleon said. “Now—who wants a shot at my swans?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Napoleon promised we could accomplish our mission in a month or two. And indeed, with Europe in peace and the roads mostly dry in high summer, we made our way overland from Paris to Venice in a mere two weeks, traveling south through France and then east across the new Cisalpine Republic that Napoleon had created after his victory at Marengo. I saw no evidence we were being followed. Of course our enemies, if they hadn’t given up, might guess exactly where we were going, given that Osiris, Marguerite, and Fouché all seemed more aware of what was going on than we were. Our quest was probably about as secret as a failure of contraception in the ninth month. On the other hand, perhaps we’d discouraged the Egyptian Rite or Fouché had delayed them, and the entire trip would be a holiday lark.
While my companions were less than happy at being drafted and blamed me for Bonaparte’s coercion, they were also excited about traveling at French government expense. Cuvier had been entrusted with our allowance, though like all pursers he was hard to persuade to spring for the nobler vintage of wine or choicer haunch of meat. “I have to account for your consumption at the end of all this,” he’d grumble, “and I’m damned if I know how to explain to the ministry why this wheel of cheese was necessary over that one—which is cheaper and a hundred grams heavier, as well.”