by Layton Green
Jake nudged a large magnifying glass around the box as we looked on, illuminating a fourth of the bottom at a time. He paused in the bottom left corner, where a definite pattern emerged, taking up about a sixth of the new base. It resembled a triangle sitting on a cliff above a body of water, with three towers rising from the points of the triangle. The craftsmanship was remarkable; the stones had been arranged in tiny wave-like patterns to signify water below the cliff.
Asha’s and Jake’s eyes were wide, and I could only gape.
Lou put his palms on the table as he hovered over the letterbox. “I might actually know this place,” he said slowly. “I think this is a representation of a castle outside Naples called Castello di Selva.”
“I’ve never seen a castle like that,” I said.
“It’s more of a large fortified manor,” Lou said, “built during Roman times.”
“Wait,” Jake said. He went to his bookshelf and selected a dusty oversize tome, checked the index, then opened the book for us to see. Lou swept a hand across the page. The three-sided fortification depicted on the page bore a remarkable resemblance to the pattern created by the letterbox stones.
“It does look like it,” Asha murmured.
Jake stroked his chin. “Commie, what do you know about this site?”
“Not much, except it’s old. I remembered it from a textbook in college.”
“He doesn’t forget very much,” I said.
“What do the Celts have to do with the letterbox or this castle?” Asha asked. “Why do only a portion of the stones reveal a picture?”
“All good questions,” Jake said, shaking his head, “and I don’t have any answers. But at least we found something. I was beginning to think this box came from Kmart.”
He started moving the magnifying glass around again. “I’m trying to see a pattern in the other parts, but it’s just not there.”
“Jake,” I said, “move the magnifier back into the upper right portion, will you? No, not there—in the section with the castle. A little bit more . . . There, do you see it?”
The magnifier illuminated two curved lines, spaced barely apart and leading into the jumbled area above the representation of Castello di Selva.
“It looks like a trail or something,” Asha said. “Leading to that other section.”
“I think you’re right,” Jake said. “I guess that makes sense.”
“Why does it make sen—” Asha began. “Oh, I almost forgot.” She put a fist to her mouth. “Oh my.”
Lou and I exchanged a glance, and I felt gooseflesh prickling the back of my neck as I remembered the words inscribed in Ogham.
Words that, as I stared at the letterbox, had assumed a new and eerily literal significance.
The God Path.
-10-
We made the unanimous decision to leave for Naples in the morning and investigate Castello di Selva. When we called to update Mr. Sofistere, he seemed extraordinarily pleased by the discovery and insisted on paying everyone’s travel expenses. Though troubled by the strange encounter with the thieves outside St. Blaise Cathedral, he didn’t have any insight as to their motivations.
While I honored Asha’s request not to tell Lucius about the robed figures in the woods, I resolved to tell Jake and Lou about them the next chance I got.
Asha still hadn’t said a word.
I was glad Jake had decided to hold onto the letterbox. It helped rationalize the decision to continue, because I had to assume—and the thought chilled me—that our mysterious robed figures would try to follow us to Naples.
Maybe it was foolish, but I was far from ready to go home.
Lou retired with a bottle of rum. Asha and I stood on our balcony, the night breeze ruffling our hair. Try as I might to relax, I couldn’t stop thinking about the cowled figures and the cryptic words on the letterbox.
“I’m not in the least bit tired,” I said. “Want to try out that casino?”
“Let’s.”
We changed clothes, then strolled through an upscale common area with sharply dressed guests lounging on divans and wicker lounge chairs. Outside the lobby, a flagstone walkway led through a series of pools to the hotel’s private casino and disco.
We tried the blackjack table, where the drinks flowed and Asha had a few lucky turns with the cards. As she looked in delight at her growing pile of chips, I marveled at how every emotion and thought registered on her face, lighting it up with wonder, creasing it with worry, shadowing it with sadness, sparkling it with laughter. It was like reading a book and watching the movie at the same time.
Later we moved to the dance floor, sauntering straight to the center and dancing with the abandon of insobriety. Eventually we collapsed onto a sofa, commenting on the ridiculous things people do when surrounded by strangers.
I looked at her and grinned, feeling loose. “I think I’m danced out. Want to go night swimming?”
“You know what?” She stretched like a cat and ran a finger across my cheek. Her jasmine perfume was like a drug. “I think I do.”
We followed the path to a secluded portion of the beach, the moonlit sea a postcard by our side. She began to undress, stopping at her underwear. I did the same, then grabbed her hand and splashed through the surf.
We floated further out, the inky depths a secret realm beneath us. The opaque surface seemed one-dimensional, as if it could slide off the darkened edge of the horizon. I moved my arms through the water to sparkle the plankton, specks of silvery starlight appearing and disappearing with the passage of my limbs.
“It’s lovely,” Asha murmured.
The water was cold, and Asha stepped out first, glistening in her lace underwear. I sat on the beach and wrapped my arms around her. I felt her shivering in the cool night air, and I rubbed her arms until the chill bumps receded.
She reached back and ran her fingers through my hair, then tilted her head back until our cheeks were touching. I caressed her stomach, her body writhing in tune to my touch, our lips moving ever closer.
We kissed hungrily, greedily. I ran my hands over her body, the small but firm thrust of her breasts, her narrow thighs, the soft flesh just below her stomach.
She stroked my face. “Let’s go up,” she said, her voice husky.
As soon as we entered the room, she pulled off her wet clothes, all of them this time. We climbed into the sheets.
Her skin was caramel porcelain, immaculately smooth. When I finally entered her, she whimpered softly and grabbed my hair, wrapping her limbs around me and rolling her eyes to the ceiling. She felt like no one ever had, impossibly good, the kind of sensory overload that only happens in a dream. We made love without reservation, intertwined as vines, robbing each other’s essence like thieves.
I awoke dreamily the next morning, her scent enveloping the pillow. “Asha?”
“Out here,” she responded from the balcony.
I took my time shuffling out of bed, enwrapped in the memory of the night before. I could still taste the warm insistence of her tongue, the creaminess of her skin.
She was sitting in one of the chairs facing the ocean. I came up behind her and massaged her shoulders. She felt stiff.
My hands stopped moving. “Is everything okay?”
She rose and leaned over the balcony. When she turned, I could tell by the guilt shadowing her eyes that things were far from okay. “Sure,” she said, averting her eyes.
Awareness returned like the crack of a whip. “Do we need to talk?”
“No,” she whispered, then leaned in for a quick kiss. “I’m going for a jog on the beach, okay? I need some exercise. I made coffee for you.”
After she left, I stood on the balcony and watched the waves roll onto shore.
My coffee was cold by the time I went inside.
Our ferry was scheduled to disembark at five p.m. and arrive on the eastern coast of Italy the following morning. I spent most of the day restlessly pacing the beach.
I returned to the room
and packed beside Asha in silence. Lou joined us downstairs, and we met Jake at the ferry port. After a few minutes, an announcement sounded from a loudspeaker.
“What’d they say?” Lou asked Jake. “My Croatian’s not quite up to par.”
“How should I know?”
“How long have you lived here?”
“Seven years,” Jake said.
“And you don’t speak the language?”
“I’m American, not Croatian.”
“That’s unbelievable.”
Jake shrugged. “I get by on common sense. If you had any, you’d realize what the announcement said by the way everyone’s rushin’ to board the ferry.”
The tri-level ferry wasn’t crowded. We found a comfortable row of chairs across from the duty-free shop. Jake looked like he had been up all night again, and as soon as we put our gear down, he pulled his hat over his face. Asha announced she was going to look for some juice and walked off.
I watched her walk away, feeling queasy, then turned to Jake and Lou. “Let me pose a hypothetical to you: you’re in the forest with your . . . companion . . . relaxing in a clearing. No one’s around. Suddenly you see a person in front of you, twenty yards away. You look around and there are three more, forming a square around you. What would you do?”
Jake grinned. “I’d introduce them to Saint George.”
Lou snorted. “A lot of good religion would do you there.”
Jake pulled out a long knife from the inside of his boot. “You know, the saint who slew the dragon.”
I looked at the weapon with raised eyebrows.
“You named your knife?” Lou said.
I folded my arms. “I’m being serious.”
“So am I, Counselor,” Jake said.
There was a pause when most people would have changed their expression or said something else. Jake did neither.
“Well, I didn’t have a sword with me,” I said. “And it was damned unnerving.”
Lou sat up straighter. “This actually happened?”
“Yesterday, in the woods in the middle of the island. Asha and I stopped to rest, and these four figures surrounded us.”
They both stared at me.
“They were wearing white robes with cowls, so I couldn’t see their faces. Some tourists wandered in and the figures disappeared.”
Jake placed his knife across his knee, keeping his hand on the hilt.
“I’d write it off as a prank,” I said, “except I’ve seen one of them before. Outside Lafitte’s, the night before we left New Orleans. Wearing the same outfit and staring at us through a window. He had a burn scar on the back of his hand. And when I got home that night, I saw one of them standing in the cemetery across the street. It freaked me out but I sort of pushed it away—you know New Orleans.”
“Jesus,” Lou said.
I thought back to the solitary forest encounter, shuddering as I remembered the way the figures had all advanced at the same time. “They look like they’re in a cult or something.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Counselor,” Jake said, his face grim as he slid the knife back in his boot, “except to make sure we stick together. Maybe it has something to do with that gypsy who tried to steal the box, maybe not. Either way, there won’t be any of those stunts if I’m around.”
I tried my best to believe him.
Later that night, I wandered onto the deck, gazing at the ripples in the sea. I found a secluded spot to lie down, using my pack as a pillow. The soft breeze was a lover’s caress, a canopy of stars twinkled in the velvet sky.
Earlier, the group had discussed the letterbox, but we knew we were only speculating. Everyone was anxious to see what we would find at Castello di Selva.
I noticed movement to my left. On edge after the forest, I whipped around, but it was only Asha. She walked over and sat beside me, hugging her knees. I turned back to the sea, and after a time she stretched out next to me, laying her head on my chest. The familiar thrill went through me.
Darkness shrouded the deck as the remaining lights on the ship winked out. She nodded off to the gentle rocking of the ocean, but I remained awake much longer, my mind troubled by thoughts of the letterbox, the enigmatic figures shadowing us, and the even greater enigma lying beside me.
NAPLES
-11-
The ferry docked at Bari, a small town on Italy’s Adriatic coastline, resigned to its role as a pit stop for travelers. We had time for an impossibly strong espresso before our train departed.
The four-hour train ride to Naples lulled me into a half-sleep. Through half-closed eyes I noticed Lou sleeping, and I could hear Asha and Jake conversing softly across the aisle.
“Mr. Sofistere said you moved to Croatia a number of years ago to classify objects at an ancient Roman temple near Split,” Asha said. “I’m curious as to why you stayed. Is it the shop?”
“If I wanted to be in America,” Jake said, “that’s where I’d be.”
“I didn’t mean to pry.” After a pause, Asha said, “It’s just funny where life takes us. I like to think things happen for a reason, though I admit I’ll never understand the purpose for some things.” I felt her eyes glance my way, and I feigned sleep. “Aidan doesn’t agree with me.”
“What’s our attorney say about it? Or will it cost me to find out?”
She laughed lightly. “He thinks there’s a reason only in the sense of cause and effect, but not destiny or some cosmic force.” The familiar sadness crept into her voice. “Somehow it’s more disheartening to think there’s no rhyme or reason to life, even for the tragedies. What do you think?”
He didn’t answer for a long moment. When he did, his lighthearted tone had disappeared. “I don’t think too much these days. My world’s real simple. I have my wits, my work, and my faith, and I rely on them in that order.”
I drifted back to sleep. I thought Jake one of those men without need to ponder their existence, passing through life in a satisfied linear motion.
I also thought him one of those men with whom all is never as simple as it appears.
After arriving in Naples, we took a taxi through the crowded city center. Layers of grime cloaked the historic edifices, and a web of serpentine streets curved around the town in no apparent order. The city felt like a movie set for Dante’s Inferno.
We settled into a five-story hotel, tired and peeling, wedged into the middle of a crescent-moon side street. According to Lou, it was a short drive to Castello di Selva.
Despite the rough exterior, the inside of the hotel was pleasant and clean. Asha and I shared a room again, this time with two beds. After a shower, I found her writing in a small notebook.
“You keep a diary?” I asked.
“Not regular or anything.”
She closed the notebook. I didn’t inquire further.
“Rested?” she said. “You slept a lot on the train.”
I gave her a pointed look. “I think I had some catching up to do from Dubrovnik.”
She met my gaze, bit her lip, and looked out the window.
A knock interrupted us. I opened the door for Jake and Lou.
“We’ve got ancient maps to follow,” Lou said.
Jake leaned on the door. “And I’ve gotta get out of this cracker box. I can’t stand up in my shower.”
I stood. “We’re going now? To the castle?”
Jake was already walking away. “No better time than the present.”
-12-
We grabbed a taxi and instructed the driver to take us to Castello di Selva. He shot us a funny look, muttered something in rapid-fire Italian, and sped into the polluted maze of the inner city. As he drove, the buildings seemed to lean over the streets, leaving the town in near-perpetual gloom.
We wound through the city and past the sprawl of the poverty-stricken outskirts, then climbed the hills to the north, until the Bay of Naples was a shimmer on the horizon. The taxi turned onto a pitted dirt road surrounded by a forest of oak, and I wonde
red if this was how all the tourists reached the castle. The place was remote.
Finally the taxi slowed, and the trees broke to reveal a clearing. On the far side, a worn path led to a small castle slumbering on the crown of a hill.
Or what was left of it. The castle was in ruins: holes in the outer wall gaped like empty eye sockets, pieces of cracked stone lay strewn about the grounds, crows covered the jagged tops of the towers.
Lou conversed in Italian with the driver. The driver smirked, and Lou grimaced as he translated. “He said the castle’s been in ruins for the last hundred years. He thought we knew.”
Wondering if it was a good idea to wander the ruins alone, I glanced at Asha, but she and Jake left the car and started walking down the path.
Lou and I exchanged a look. Lou shrugged, paid the driver and asked him to return when it got dark, and we caught up with Jake and Asha as the driver sped away.
Although the outer wall had largely been reduced to rubble, we could still make out the triangular shape of the fortification.After passing through an archway set into the more intact ruins of the inner wall, we found ourselves in a square courtyard covered in rocks and weeds, buttressed by a circular tower.
“What are we looking for?” I asked.
Jake put a hand on his hip as he surveyed the scene. “Anything that might be connected to the piece. A map, a drawing on a tapestry, an object of similar construction. Judging by the state of this rock pile, I don’t have high hopes.”
Lou chuckled as he ashed his cigarette. “You spend all night working out that plan?”
“Why spend time on research before we investigate the obvious?”
Three passages led into the castle proper. We started with the middle one, a long corridor which spilled into a series of tiny rooms, probably the servant’s quarters. Jake and Lou checked the rooms on the left, while Asha and I kept to the right.