The Crown that Lost its Head: A Historical Mystery Thriller (An Agency of the Ancient Lost & Found Mystery Thriller Book 2)

by Jane Thornley

  “Pardon?”

  “See that fig tree up there?” She pointed overhead.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Those are indigenous to South America. Somebody a long time ago introduced specimen trees here.”

  We continued for almost twenty minutes further until Rupert requested a rest.

  “We are almost here,” Afonso called. “Few steps more.”

  By now we had left the path and had begun climbing a steep incline. Rupert trudged valiantly upward and plopped himself down on the first mossy rock he found at the top. Behind him stood a chain-link fence so overgrown with vines and foliage that unless you knew it existed it would be nearly impossible to see.

  “Rupe, are you all right?” Peaches asked while patting his shoulder.

  “Fine, Penelope, fine. I just need a brief respite before we continue.”

  So rest we did, giving Abreu the opportunity to dispense water into paper cups as if we were on a picnic.

  “Do you guys drop bread crumbs, too?” Peaches whispered to Afonso as he stood nearby.

  He grinned. “If you need. Are you hungry?”

  “Depends on what’s on offer.” She smiled back. I figured that probably got lost in translation, which was no doubt a good thing.

  Ten minutes later, the men unlocked the chain-link gate and we proceeded through a narrow path to stand by a large circular opening approximately thirty feet across strung with draping fines.

  “This is opening to well. Best now when sunshine beams overhead. Stairs very steep and slippery. Be very careful. Remain on left-hand side on way down. Do not go near open part,” Afonso instructed.

  From this vantage all I could see was moss-skimmed marble and strands of ivy hanging down. Minutes later we were carefully negotiating the stairs, bracing ourselves against the left wall as we descended around and around a circular staircase that opened on one side to a straight drop.

  At one point, I leaned over and clung to one of the pillars long enough to risk glancing down. It was a dizzying view made more vertiginous because the staircase narrowed as it wound its way down. It felt like gazing at an upside-down Escher drawing from the top of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. I estimated the drop to be around 150 feet.

  Finally we arrived at the bottom, which measured a considerably smaller circumference than the top—maybe twelve feet across at most. A raised table-size marble platform dominated the center and for a moment all we could do was stare at it as we shuffled around in a circle to find standing room. At our backs six doors in various states of decay, each either blocked off with stone or gated, led away into the dark earth—the tunnel system. The dark scent of earth permeated everything.

  “Where do you believe Ricardo Carvalho fell?” Peaches asked.

  “We think here or in one of the tunnels. Very deep holes there, the earth unstable. Senhor Carvalho Senior ordered all tunnels blocked after the search. Too dangerous,” Afonso replied. He was gazing around at the doors that encircled up, seeming edgy and uncomfortable. “We not stay long.”

  A brief silence descended on the party, broken by Evan. “That is most certainly an altar,” he said. “Possibly Roman in origin judging from those stones at its base.”

  It appeared as though a two-foot hunk of once-smooth marble had been placed on top of the huge hunks of carved squared stone. He crouched down to run his phone along the numerals carved into the surface. “And these are definitely Roman—MC and the other letters have been worn away. Possibly the altar was originally used for a suovitaurilia sacrifice.”

  “True that the ancient Romans had sacrificed pigs, sheep, or bulls to Mars as a gift to the Gods,” Markus remarked.

  “But it looks like a Templar cross over here,” Peaches said. We followed her around to stare at the distinctive four-armed cross with the flared ends carved into the stone.

  “Yes, and I’m guessing that Senhor Carvalho was correct in his belief that this altar has seen many uses over the centuries,” Evan remarked.

  “Including human sacrifice?” Peaches asked.

  Markus leaned over to inspect the carved image more closely. “Possibly. We don’t know which of the Roman mystery cults may have worshipped here or the nature of their practices. There have been indications but nothing definitive.”

  “The sun shining through the oculus-like opening may be significant,” I said, gazing upward.

  “Maybe Mithras,” Markus commented as he circled the altar, taking photographs. “Mithras was a solar deity, so perhaps rites were performed when the sun was directly overhead, and the Romans would worship Mithras in caves or underground places like this.”

  “But that upside-down tower overhead is much later,” Peaches mused, looking up. “The foundations are Roman, maybe, but those columns are medieval through and through.”

  “And other pagan religions may have used this site,” Rupert added. “Indeed, with a full moon overhead shining directly upon the platform, what a prime time it would be to mutter incantations to conjure up the earth gods.” He raised his hands and murmured something incomprehensible.

  “But if that cross is Templar, which I agree it must be, then Christians had taken over this spot for their own uses.” I stared at the platform. “Maybe the Divinios. Any signs of recent use?”

  “Footprints would have been brushed away,” Peaches said, studying the stony ground beneath her feet. “Or packed down.”

  “It’s been an excavation site up until a few months ago and I would think it easy to eradicate all signs of recent use,” Rupert remarked as he leaned against the altar.

  I was gazing around at the six evenly spaced doors exiting to tunnels. “What’s through there?” I asked Abreu, pointing to one at random.

  “That way to dragon fountain,” he said, indicating the gated opening behind Peaches. “This one to house.” He pointed to another door that had been walled over with stone. “And that one Senhor Ricardo ordered closed when one man almost fell through. No idea where it goes. Very dangerous, all very dangerous. Possible to go through only if you know way.”

  I nodded. Turning away, I noticed that Markus had stepped back to speak to one of the two guys that had accompanied us. They stood together in the shadows making hand signals. I shuffled toward them, but by the time I’d gone counterclockwise, Markus was back taking photos of the altar.

  Rupert was still leaning against the altar, fanning himself with his hat by then. “Blasted warm in here, isn’t it?”

  One of the men caught sight of him and barked something in Portuguese, pushing Peaches aside to advance on Rupert with his fists clenched. Peaches caught the man by his collar and pinned him to the spot while Abreu stepped in front of him, muttering something in angry tones. An argument quickly erupted, which Abreu silenced with a chop of his hand. He sent the man away before Abreu returned to apologize to Rupert.

  “I am most sorry, Sir Rupert,” he said. “Some employees new and not well-behaved.”

  “Indeed,” Rupert remarked. I may have been the only one who caught the instant that Rupert had reached for the gun he always carried inside his jackets.

  “No leaning on the displays,” Peaches said to Rupert. “Bad boy.”

  “Perhaps not,” he said, straightening. “Still, how excessively rude.”

  When Abreu announced that it was time for us to leave, nobody protested except Markus, who was on his hands and knees studying the altar’s base. A few minutes later we were all trudging up the stairs.

  “Stress fractures everywhere around here,” Peaches said, pointing to a lightning-bolt-shaped crack nearly severing one of the marble pillars in two. “Another shake-up and this place goes.”

  “Yes, I can see that,” I said, touching the wall. If possible, looking up is even more dizzying than looking down.

  When we had stopped by the pool to let Rupert rest on the return trip, I sidled up to Markus. “So what were you saying to that guy there?”

  “Senhor Craca?” he asked, turning his magnified blue
eyes to me.

  “You know his name?”

  “I asked his name, Phoebe—not so difficult, is it? Anyway, I was just asking if I could be allowed to take a brief look down one of those tunnels.”

  “And?”

  “And the answer was a very decisive no.” He illustrated with a mini air chop. “Satisfied?”

  I wasn’t actually.

  The remainder of the day passed with the team cloistered in the library combing Ricardo’s research material. While the men focused on the court of King Philip of Spain and his son, Don Carlos, I took a slightly different tact. I studied the queens, specifically Queen Elizabeth of Valois, Philip’s French queen, and Queen Isabella of Spain, his mother in the portrait.

  There were two queens in Spanish history who had stood out across the ages, both named Isabella. Isabella I, known as Isabella the Catholic or Isabella of Castille, ruled jointly with her husband, King Ferdinand, until her death in 1504. She was undeniably a force to be reckoned with, a queen of the Inquisition who also held the banner for Spain’s dominion over land and sea, heaven and earth.

  On the other hand, the Portuguese-born queen, her namesake, Isabella of Portugal, was born the year before the other queen died and came to the Spanish throne through her marriage to the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V of Spain.

  Queen Isabella, Empress of the Carnation as she was named, emerged as an able consort for the powerful ruler and the union appeared a love match, strangely enough for the times. This was the queen in the portrait I couldn’t take my eyes from, a queen among queens. She assumed regency roles in her husband’s absence and proved a strong and able leader.

  She must have seemed the gold standard of queens of the day: pious, strong, adored by her husband, and powerful in her own right. Philip’s queen during the Don Carlos years, on the other hand, may have felt overshadowed by her late mother-in-law. Elizabeth of Valois was the daughter of Henry II of France and Catherine de’ Medici, so no slouch in the lineage department. By all accounts she kept a low profile and thrived on personal pursuits surrounded by female friends rather than on politics.

  The female painter Sofonisba Anguissola and Princess Ana de Mendoza became her friends shortly after Elizabeth’s wedding and remained in her company for the rest of her days. I could only imagine how those women relied on one another in the politically fraught male domain of the court. Elizabeth even picked up the brush herself under Sofonisba’s tutelage and pursued a creative and nurturing role in the court. By all accounts, she remained fond of the disruptive Prince Carlos and was a mother to Philip’s other children, illegitimate and legitimate alike. Not all queens yearned for power but saw their duty in other roles.

  I lifted my eyes to the portrait of Queen Isabella. In many ways, Elizabeth of Valois was the polar opposite of her mother-in-law. One queen held the country together through politics and might while the other worked a different kind of feminine power.

  Exhausted after such a long day, I must have slept for several hours that night dreaming of queens lost in dark tunnels. And suddenly I was shaking. I bolted upright thinking, Earthquake! I was going to fall into a dark hole and never be seen again! And there was that alarm! Then I noticed my phone flashing red.

  “Phoebe?” a small voice whispered in the dark.

  I blinked down, trying to still my thumping heart. A short shadowy figure stood beside my bed, one hand on my arm. A pink light illuminated her face.

  “Ana Marie?” I snatched up my phone, disengaged the app. “How did you get in?”

  She pointed toward the table. I stared, not understanding. “There are double walls. I can go anywhere.”

  I got up and checked, flashing my phone light under the table at the small hatch-like door that hung open. Pushing it shut, I realized that it was virtually undetectable. “So you came to visit me in the middle of the night?”

  She nodded. “Do not tell Mama but please help me find my daddy now.”

  “Now?” I straightened. “I mean, why now, honey?”

  Taking my hand, she tugged me over to one of the windows and pulled back the curtains. “Look!”

  I gazed far across the darkened gardens at what appeared to be three flashlights weaving in and out of the hedges.

  “It’s Daddy,” the child whispered. “I watch for him every night. Tonight he signals me to come. He wants me to find him. Please come with me, please.” She tried to tug me toward the door.

  “Wait, Ana Marie,” I said, holding her back. “Those are probably the guards patrolling the grounds. It’s not safe to go out there at night, which is why your mommy won’t let you go.”

  “They are not the guards! On Saturday nights, Senhors Pao and Rios patrol and they always take the same route. Senhor Pao is on the other side of the garden near my pond and Senhor Rios is near the woods. And there were three lights tonight. Sometimes I see even more.”

  I shivered. “All the more reason not to go out there.”

  “But I have to!” she sobbed. “I miss my daddy and I promised never to go alone!”

  My heart breaking into a thousand pieces, I fell to my knees before the girl and gripped her little shoulders. “Ana Marie, your daddy wouldn’t want you to go anywhere dangerous. He would want you to stay inside where it’s safe.”

  “No! I thought you would help.” She pulled away. “Daddy needs me!” And she unfastened my lock and dashed out the door.

  11

  I ran after her. “Ana Marie, I’m coming with you,” I called. I didn’t care if I woke everyone—that was the idea. “Wait for me!”

  I could see her phone light against the walls as she ran down the corridor. In seconds, she had darted down the turret stairs as I bolted after.

  Dashing down the steps in my bare feet, all I could think of was stopping that child. I had broken every cardinal rule of emergency exits and didn’t care. Around and around the curved staircase I went, hearing her footsteps pattering below. Her phone cast long shadows on the tower walls, but the moment I reached the last step everything plunged into darkness.

  “Ana Marie?” I paused, flicking on my phone light. No more footsteps, no more telltale glow, and not a single sound but for the mechanical whir of a refrigerator somewhere. Then something banged at the end of a dark hall to my left that sent me scrambling after.

  A speck of light followed by a clang. She had to be heading out a back exit. My bare feet padded on the tile floor until I reached a steel door, which I flung open onto a blast of chill air. One step farther and gravel was biting into my feet as the door slammed shut behind me. An alarm began screeching from the house above.

  “Ana Marie!” I cried. Now I could see her light bobbing through the hedges somewhere ahead. I took after her, only I couldn’t figure out exactly which way she’d gone. Every direction ended in a wall of boxwood, and backtracking just brought more of the same. I was in a damn maze!

  Guessing that this smartphone might connect to Evan instantly, I hit the speed dial and blurted into the phone as I ran: “It’s Ana Marie! She’s run into the garden searching for her daddy! I’m outside looking for her.”

  “Phoebe! Where are you exactly?”

  “Damned if I know.” Then I glimpsed a light weaving somewhere to my right. I switched back to the light app and bolted after.

  The house alarms were pealing so loudly I doubted she could hear me over the ruckus now but that didn’t stop me from trying. “Ana Marie, wait up!”

  Maybe I’d hit it right with the direction gods for once because a path opened up and soon I was bounding across an open lawn slick with dew. With her light still bouncing ahead, I thought I was finally catching up. But suddenly the light stopped. Just stopped. Maybe she was waiting?

  Then something dark reared up before me and flung me facedown to the ground, phone flying from my hands. Briefly winded, I rolled onto my back and kicked out but whatever it was had gone. Disappeared! How did a mass big enough to throw me to the ground simply disappear?

  I stumbled t
o my feet, snatched up my phone, and ran toward the fallen light, maybe a hundred yards away. It was her phone, all right, the sparkly case lying on the path still beaming pink light into the night. But Ana Marie was nowhere to be seen.

  Picking up her phone, I called her name until my throat grew raw. Spinning both lights around 360 degrees, I saw nothing but dark topiaries with tendrils of mist snaking close to the ground. Where did she go?

  “If you hurt her, I swear I’ll make you pay!” I croaked. He had to have kidnapped her, whoever that thing was that attacked me, and if he harmed that child… It didn’t bear thinking about.

  I started running, my lights beaming straight ahead, trying to catch movement or something, but all I caught were shadows smudged by that shifting mist.

  And then my feet left the grass and I was plunging through ferns and bracken in a downward hurl. Ana Marie’s phone slipped from my grip but I managed to hang on to mine until a branch snagged my ankle and pitched me facedown into a bed of wet ferns.

  I slid on my stomach for several feet before coming to a stop, my shirt soaked, everything dark. Pushing onto my hands and knees, I felt around for my phone. The light had gone off, leaving me blind. Damn, damn, damn. Like I had time for this.

  Here, the mist was thicker, the shadows darker. Somehow, I wound up in the woods with no idea how or where—one minute I was on grass and the next not. I stood listening, sensing the shapes of trunks, ferns, and mossy rocks all around me, my heart thumping hard. Every childhood fairy tale I had ever read had dropped me right in the center of the deep dark forest and left me alone with the big bad wolf.

  Grow up, Phoebe. Little Red Riding Hood has martial arts training now. But there was still something uncanny about those woods. Maybe it was only my imagination, maybe it was only that shifting mist, but the atmosphere prickled my skin. I couldn’t bear to think of Ana Marie lost out there even though she must know this area better than anyone. I was the lost one.

  I felt for the phone with my feet. No luck. “Come here, phone,” I called in a moment of folly. Amazingly, a light began pulsing, reminding me that this was a brighter-than-average smartphone.