Can this Book of Thoth perhaps be read in the same way? What is its key? We will see.”
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Well, here was more of the same gibberish I’d encountered ever since I’d won the damned Egyptian medallion in Paris. Lunacy, apparently, is contagious. So many people seem to believe in legends, numerology, and mathematical marvels that I’d begun to believe too, even if I could rarely make heads or tails of what people were talking about. But if a disfigured banker like Farhi was willing to muck about in the bowels of the earth because of Jewish numerology, then it seemed worth my time, too.
“Well, welcome. Try to keep up.” I turned to Jericho. “Why are you shouldering a bag of mortar?”
“To brick up whatever we break into. The secret to stealing things is to make it look like no theft has occurred.” That’s the kind of thinking I admire.
We slipped out the Dung Gate after dark. It was early March, and Napoleon’s invasion had already begun. Word had come that the French had marched from El-Arish at the border between Egypt and Palestine on February 15, won a quick victory at Gaza, and were approaching Jaffa. Time was short. We made our way down the rocky slope to the Pool of Siloam, a plumbing fixture since King David’s time, me breezily giving advice to crouch here and scurry there as if it were really trusty Algonquin lore. The truth is, I’m more at home in a gambling salon than wilderness, but Miriam seemed impressed.
There was a new moon, a sliver that left the hillside dark, and the early spring night air was cold. Dogs barked from the hovels of a few shepherds and goatherds as we clambered over old ruins. Behind us, forming a dark line against the sky, were the city walls that enclosed the south side of the Temple Mount. I could see the form of El-Aqsa up there, and the walls and arches of its Templar additions.
Were Muslim sentries peering down? As we crept along, I had an uneasy feeling of being watched. “Someone’s out there,” I whispered to Jericho.
“Where?”
“I don’t know. I feel them, but can’t see them.” He looked around. “I’ve heard nothing. I think you frightened the French away.”
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I fingered my tomahawk and took my rifle in both hands. “You three go ahead. I’ll see if I can catch anyone behind.” But the night seemed as empty as a magician’s black bag. At length, knowing the others were waiting, I went on to the Pool of Siloam, a rectangular ink pit near the valley floor. Worn stone steps led downward to a stone platform from which women could dip their jars.
Sparrows, which nested in the pit’s stone walls, rustled uneasily. Only the faintest gleam of faces showed me where the others huddled.
And our group had grown.
“Sir Sidney did send help,” Jericho explained.
“British?” Now I understood my foreboding.
“We’ll need their labor underground.”
“Lieutenant Henry Tentwhistle of HMS Dangerous at your service, Mr. Gage,” their crouched commander whispered in the dark. “You will recall, perhaps, your success at outbluffing me in our games of brelan. ”
I groaned inwardly. “I was lucky in the face of your boldness, Lieutenant.”
“This is Ensign Potts, who you bested in pharaon. Took six months’
wages.”
“Surely not that much.” I shook his hand. “How desperately I have needed it to complete the Crown’s mission here in Jerusalem.”
“And these two lads you know as well, I believe.” Even in the midnight gloom of the Pool of Siloam, I could recognize the barricade gleam of a memorably wide and hostile smile of piano-key teeth.
“You owes me a tussle, after this,” the owner said.
“And our money back besides.”
But of course. It was Big Ned and Little Tom.
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8
You should be honored, guv’nor,” Big Ned said.
“This is the only mission we’s ever volunteered for,” said Little Tom.
“Sir Sidney thought it best for us all to work together.”
“It’s because of you we’re along.”
“Flattered, I’m sure,” I said weakly. “You couldn’t advise me of this, Jericho?”
“Sir Sidney teaches: the fewer to speak, the better.” Indeed. Old Ben himself said, “Three may keep a secret if two of them are dead.”
“So he sent four more along?”
“The way we figured it, there must be money at stake to draw in a weasel like you,” Little Tom said cheerfully. “Then they issued us picks and we say to each other, well, it must be buried treasure! And this Yankee, he can settle with Ned here as he promised on the frigate—or he can give us his share.”
“We’re not as simple as you think,” Big Ned added.
“Clearly. Well,” I said, looking at the decidedly unfriendly squad of sailors, trying to ignore my instinct that this was all going to turn out 7 6
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badly, “it’s good to have allies, lads, who’ve met over friendly games of chance. Now then. There’s a bit of danger here, and we must be quiet as mice, but there’s a real chance to make history, too. No treasure, but a chance to find a secret corridor into the heart of the enemy, should Boney seize this town. That’s our mission. My philosophy is that what’s past is past, and what comes, comes best to men who stand with each other, don’t you think? Every penny I have goes into the Crown’s business, after all.”
“Crown’s business? And what’s that fine firearm you’re bearing, then?” Little Tom pointed.
“This rifle?” It did gleam ostentatiously. “Why, a foremost example. For your protection, since it’s my responsibility that none of you come to harm.”
“Costly little piece, it looks to me. As made up as a high-class tart, that gun is. Lot of our money went into that, I’ll wager.”
“It cost hardly a trifle here in Jerusalem,” I insisted. “Eastern man-ufacture, no knowledge of real gunnery. . . . Pretty piece of rubbish, actually.” I avoided Jericho’s glare. “Now, I can’t promise we’ll find anything of value. But if we do, then of course you lads can have my share and I’ll just content myself with the odd scroll or two. That’s the spirit of cooperation I’d like to enter with, eh? All cats are gray in the dark, as Ben Franklin liked to say.”
“Who said?” asked Tom.
“Bloody rebel who should have hanged,” Big Ned rumbled.
“And what the devil does it mean?”
“That we’re a bag of bloody cats, or something.”
“That we’re all one until the mission is over,” Tentwhistle corrected.
“And who’s this damsel, then?” Little Tom said, poking at Miriam.
She stepped distastefully away.
“My sister,” Jericho growled.
“Sister!” Tom stepped back as if he’d been given a jolt of electricity.
“You take your sister on a treasure hunt? What the devil for?”
“She sees things,” I said.
“The hell she does,” Ned said. “And who’s that back there?” t h e
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“Our Jewish guide.”
“A Jew, too?”
“Molls are bad luck,” Tom said.
“Nor are we carrying her,” his companion added.
“As if I’d let you,” Miriam snapped.
“Be careful, Ned,” I warned. “Her knee knows where your cockles are.”
“Does it now?” He looked at her with more interest.
By the lawns of Lexington, wasn’t this a fine mess? I couldn’t have made a worse stew if I’d invited anarchists to draw up a constitution.
So, thoroughly unsettled, we stepped into the shallow pool and waded knee-deep water to its end. Current issued from a cavelike opening secured by an iron grate.
“Built to keep out children and animals,” Jericho said, hefting his iron pry bar. “Not us.” He applied muscle and leverage and there was a snap, the rusty grill swinging inward with a screech. Once inside, our ironmonger closed the gate behind us, securing it with his own new padlock. “For this one I have a key.” I looked behind at the well’s long rim. Had someone ducked out of sight? “Did you see anything?” I whispered to Farhi.