by Jayne Castle
At five o'clock that afternoon, Melanie appeared in the doorway of Lydia's office. She wore a very short, red leather trench coat belted snugly around her waist. Her purse was tucked under one arm.
Lydia looked up warily. "What?"
"Nothing much," Melanie said a little too lightly. "I'm on my way home. Just stopped in to say good-bye. See you Monday."
"What's so funny?"
Melanie grinned. "Well, if you must know, I just saw your VIP tour group gathering in the lobby."
Lydia braced herself. "A Hunter-Scout troop?"
"Nope."
"Thank heavens for small favors. Garden club?"
"Nope. Try again."
"Charity organization?"
"Getting warmer."
"I give up."
"I'm not going to tell you," Melanie admitted. "Mostly because I want to see your face when you get a good look at this bunch of VIPs."
Resigned, Lydia got to her feet. "You know, the sooner Emmett steps down from his job at the Guild, the better. I'm tired of being a museum attraction."
Melanie stepped aside and swept out a hand to usher her through the door. Lydia heard her make some suspicious noises in the hall behind her.
"Stop snickering," Lydia ordered.
"I'm not snickering. I'm chortling."
"You're snickering."
Before Melanie could defend herself from that charge, Lydia turned the corner and saw the group that awaited her.
On the positive-rez side, it was a small crowd, only about half a dozen.
The negative-rez was that they all had shaved heads, long, green robes, and unnaturally serene expressions.
"Oh, boy," Lydia said under her breath. "Greenies."
"If I were you," Melanie whispered as she went past her toward the door, "I'd give them the same tour you give the Hunter-Scout troops. You know, concentrate on the Tomb Wing. Something tells me they'll want to see the really weird stuff."
At that moment the six Greenies noticed Lydia and bowed respectfully. By the time they raised their bald heads, she had her tour-guide smile firmly fixed in place.
One of them, the leader, apparently, stepped forward. "I am Acolyte Clarence. It is very kind of you to make this time available to us. We are eager to learn."
The museum emptied out quickly at five, thanks to the new obsessive-compulsive night guard. Benny Fellows was young, but he took his duties seriously.
"'Evening, Miss Smith." Benny touched his cap when she paused at the entrance to his small office with the Greenies in tow. "Everything is in order for the tour this evening. I've got the lights on in all the galleries."
"Thanks, Benny. We'll be finished in about an hour and a half."
"Yes, ma'am." Benny waved the group on into the main gallery.
Thirty minutes later, Lydia decided that she had been much too hasty in her assumptions concerning the Greenies' level of intellectual interest in antiquities. Their questions were thoughtful and showed that the group had done a fair amount of study.
Whatever else you could say about the cult, she thought, it was obvious that the Greenies did not starve their members. All six of the men in this group looked strong, solidly built, and quite fit. They varied in age but they all appeared to be somewhere between twenty and forty. Clarence was the oldest. He was also the one who asked the most questions.
The museum took on an eerie ambience after closing time, she reflected as she led her group into the Tomb Wing. The long galleries were always on the dark side, of course, even during regular hours, because Shrimp liked the creepy effect. But this evening they seemed drenched in ominous mystery.
"In this gallery we house the various objects that the experts believe were associated with the alien burial rites," Lydia said, turning the corner and gesturing toward the dramatic entrance of the Tomb Wing.
The Greenies appeared suitably impressed by the over-the-top decor. Shrimpton had pulled out all the stops to induce a sense of spectral gloom in this wing. It was darker than the other galleries. The sarcophagi, urns, and other strange objects inside had been carefully arranged to create the most morbid effect. Each artifact was illuminated with a narrow beam of green light that left great pockets of shadows around the relics.
"Watch your step, please," Lydia said briskly. "It's quite dark in here."
A ripple of excitement went through the group. There were several murmured comments and exclamations.
She paused beside a green quartz urn that was dramatically accented with acid green light reminiscent of the interior glow of the catacombs. Nothing made by humans could precisely reproduce that unique radiance but Shrimpton's small staff had come close.
"This urn was discovered in a chamber that was heavily guarded with several very complex illusion traps," she said. "There were also a number of powerful energy ghosts in the vicinity. The assumption is that the original owner wanted to ensure that his tomb would not be disturbed."
Clarence surveyed the abstract designs on the urn. "Does anyone know what the decorations mean?"
"Unfortunately, the nature and purpose of the carvings found on so many of the artifacts remain unknown." She traced the elegantly curved decoration that circled the urn. "Many para-archaeologists, myself included, believe that these designs are examples of Harmonic writing."
"Real words? Oh, wow." One of the members of the group stepped forward to take a closer look. "But what does it say?"
"That's the problem," she said patiently. "We don't know. If these are meaningful symbols they are, in a sense, locked in code. Until para-archaeologists find a key to the code, the alien writing will remain nothing more than a series of attractive decorations, as far as we humans are concerned."
"Hey, look over there." Another Greenie pointed excitedly across the room. "A coffin."
The group hurried past the urn to examine the relic.
Lydia followed. "You are fortunate to be able to view this object today. This is the last day it will be on display."
"Why is that?" someone asked.
She patted the edge of the uncovered coffin. "It was purchased from the museum by a private collector and it's due to be picked up on Monday. It's called the Mudd Sarcophagus after the P-A who discovered it. You will notice that the interior is large enough to hold a full-grown person but that the shape is not quite right for a human."
The six Greenies all leaned over to peer into the empty sarcophagus.
"Weird," one of them muttered. "The aliens must have had big chests and short legs."
She opened her mouth to respond to that observation but at that instant she heard the unmistakable clink of a string of beads.
Clarence was leaning over the open coffin. The long necklace that until now had been concealed by the folds of his green robes had fallen forward and dangled in midair. The thin spear of light from the ceiling fixture glinted on a series of oval-shaped amber gems.
Lydia stopped breathing. She was absolutely certain that if she could get her hands on Clarence's necklace and compare the beads on it to the single amber gem she had found in Maltby's apartment, she would discover that they were identical, probably right down to the little letter A carved on one side.
A for Amatheon, not Andrea.
Clarence straightened, absently tucking the beads back inside the folds of his gown. He smiled benignly at Lydia.
"You will forgive what no doubt appears to be our somewhat morbid interest in funerary artifacts, Miss Smith," he said. "Please understand that locating the tomb and the sarcophagus of the great philosopher, Amatheon, is of extreme importance to our Order. Naturally, that goal has given all of us a fixation with ancient tomb relics of every kind."
As he spoke, the other five Greenies drifted away from the sarcophagus. She had the unpleasant feeling that they were starting to circle her like so many sharks.
She was suddenly acutely aware of just how empty the museum was at this hour. The realization that she was alone with Greenies struck her with the force of a gla
cial wind. She was amazed that her teeth did not chatter.
Trying to appear casual, she edged toward the nearest alarmed display case. It contained an array of tomb mirrors. A small quartz box sat atop a pedestal a short distance away. She slipped between the case and the pedestal.
"No problem," she said coolly. "Almost everyone is interested in tomb relics. Human nature, I suppose. Death rituals and preparations for the afterlife hold a deep fascination for most people."
Was it her imagination or were the Greenies closing in around her? She tried to count the robed figures but it wasn't easy to keep track of all six in the deep shadows.
"Have you read the Thirteen Steps to Bliss, Miss Smith?" Clarence asked gently.
"No, actually, I haven't had a chance." She drew a breath and very casually put her hand on the top of the display case.
Immediately she felt a little safer and more sure of herself. If she so much as jiggled the lock the alarm bells would sound throughout the museum, summoning Benny.
"You really should read it," Clarence said.
"The thing is, I can't even keep up with my professional reading," she said lightly. "You wouldn't believe how many journal articles, conference papers, and books I have stacked up in my office, just waiting for me to get to them."
Clarence regarded her with an expression of grave reproof. "Some tilings are more important than a journal article."
"You know, you're right about that. I'll have to get a copy of the Thirteen Steps this afternoon and take a look." She could only count five Greenies now, including Clarence. Where was the sixth?
Then she sensed the rush of movement directly behind her. The sixth Greenie.
She started to spin toward him but she was too late. He clamped a hand around her mouth and placed a damp, medicinal-smelling cloth over her nose.
The odor was shockingly, horribly familiar. She had breathed this foul stuff once before.
One of the hidden memories of her Lost Weekend leaped forth from the dark depths of amnesia. The image snapped into crystal-clear focus.
The hunters who had abandoned her in the catacombs had used this stuff to subdue her.
She had no time to deal with the implications of the recollection. Another Greenie had grabbed her right arm. A third seized her ankles and hoisted her off the floor.
Struggling not to breathe, she swept out her free hand, groping for the little box on the pedestal. Her fingers closed around it. Twisting, she smashed the relic into the top of the display case. Glass cracked and shattered.
To her horror, no alarm sounded.
Her first, outraged thought was that Shrimpton had neglected to pay the security firm's bill.
"Hurry," Clarence ordered. "Benny told the van to pull up to the loading dock five minutes ago."
Benny, the new security guard, was in on this. No wonder the alarm hadn't gone off.
She could not hold her breath any longer. She had to inhale. The instant she sucked in air, the world around her wavered. Whatever had been used to soak the cloth over her nose was going to make her pass out quickly. She had very little time left in which to act.
She still had the little box in her hand. She flailed wildly, slamming it against the chest of the nearest Greenie.
"Ghost-shit." The man released her involuntarily, bending over in pain.
"Don't let her go, you idiot," Clarence said.
"I think the witch cracked some ribs."
"I don't give a damn about your ribs."
Lydia twisted in her captors' grip. Her hand snagged on a string of beads. They all wore the amber necklaces under their robes, she realized.
She ripped at the beads and felt the string snap. Amber gems clinked and tinkled as they hit the floor, scattering and rolling in every direction.
"My beads," a Greenie hissed. "She broke my beads."
"Forget the amber," Clarence said grimly. "Benny will sweep up after we're gone. Move, you fools."
The fumes imbedded in the cloth were working swiftly. Lydia felt her consciousness leak away like water down a bathtub drain. No matter how hard she tried to twist and writhe, her muscles were going limp. Her eyes closed against her will.
She was vaguely aware that the Greenies were lowering her. At first she thought they intended to put her down on the floor. Maybe she was wrong about the amber bead connection. Perhaps what was happening was nothing more than a simple robbery.
It occurred to her as the world faded away that she might have done her job too well here at Shrimpton's. Before she had joined the staff, the quality of the relics had been mediocre at best. No serious thief would have looked twice at any of the antiquities on display. But in the past few months she had obtained some rather nice acquisitions for the museum.
If these bastards were antiquities thieves, they would surely try to take the little dreamstone jar out of its special display case. It was far and away the most valuable relic in the place. They would have a surprise coming if they grabbed it. The alarm in that cabinet was not linked to the rest of the system. It was connected directly to the offices of Guild Security, Inc. The museum would soon be crawling with ghost-hunters.
But instead of the cold floor she felt the unmistakable touch of quartz against her back and legs. A fresh wave of panic flashed through her. They were putting her into the sarcophagus.
"Is she out yet?" Clarence asked urgently.
"Just about."
"Get the lid."
Lydia got her eyes open one last time and wished she hadn't bothered. The Greenies were lowering the cover of the sarcophagus onto the burial box.
She was profoundly grateful when the last of her conscious awareness winked out.
Chapter 24
Emmett leaned back against the desk and quickly scanned the file Perkins had just handed him. "What do you mean, both men have disappeared? Benefits is still sending out monthly checks to each of them, right?"
Perkins twitched a few times, glanced uneasily at Verwood, who stood by the windows, and adjusted his spectacles with fingers that trembled ever so slightly. "Well, yes and no."
Emmett closed the file and dropped it on the desk behind him. "Explain."
"Yes, Benefits is still cutting the checks and putting them in the mail each month," Perkins said patiently. "But, ah, when I tried to verify the addresses to which the checks were sent I learned that both men had signed forms indicating that they wished their monthly retirement pay to be donated directly to a charity. That is exactly what Benefits has been doing for the past few months."
"These two guys decided to contribute the entire amount of their hunter benefits to charity?" Emmett shook his head once. "I'm not buying that."
"It is a little odd, I must admit," Perkins said. "But that appears to be the case."
"What's the name of this charity?"
"I made a note." Perkins pulled out a small notebook and opened it. "Here it is. The Order of the Acolytes of Amatheon."
"The Greenies?" Emmett straightened slowly, unable to believe what he had just heard. "Those two signed over their monthly retirement benefits to a cult?"
"Apparently that would be the case, sir," Perkins said.
"It may not be as strange as it sounds, Boss." Verwood rubbed the back of his neck. "I finally got a couple of leads on those two guys. They both disappeared into the cult a couple of months after that formal inquiry at the university."
"What does disappeared mean?" Emmett asked evenly.
"Well, seems like when you enter the Inner Circle of the Order you leave behind all the stuff that ties you to your old life." Verwood shrugged. "You ditch your friends, relatives, personal possessions, that kind of thing. You know how cults work."
Emmett set his back teeth. "And in this case, you sign over all of your assets to the organization."
"You got it." Verwood snorted in disgust. "Not a bad racket if you're the one running the cult. I did some checking. The Greenies opened up for business about three years ago. They've been growing steadi
ly in numbers ever since. Got a couple of thousand members here in Cadence. Same in the other cities."
"Who the hell is running the cult?" Emmett asked.
"Guy named Herbert J. Slattery. Leastways that used to be his name. Now calls himself Master Herbert. Claims to channel some old alien philosopher named Amatheon."
"Got an address for Slattery?"
"Just the cult's office downtown. But Perkins, here, could get Slattery's personal address pretty damn quick if you want it. He's good at that."
"Thank you, Mr. Verwood," Perkins said, pleased by the praise.
A lot of things were suddenly starting to resonate in what might prove to be a pattern, Emmett thought. He glanced at his watch. It was almost 6:30. Lydia was probably still at Shrimpton's. She had left a message earlier today telling him that she had a special after-hours tour scheduled for that afternoon. With luck she would be finishing up right about now. He leaned over his desk and grabbed the phone.
"Sir?" Verwood's broad features tightened in a frown of bewilderment. "I don't get it. What do those screwball Greenies have to do with this?"
"Maybe everything."
He punched out Lydia's number. There was no answer. He cut the connection and called her on the little phone she carried in her purse. When he got no response, he tried the town house. Then he dialed her apartment number. Too damn many phones these days.
Out of options, he pulled out the short list of phone numbers he carried in his wallet and dialed Melanie's home number. She answered on the first ring.
"I left the museum just as she was getting ready to conduct the special tour," Melanie said. "She should have finished by now. Why? Something wrong?"
"I can't get hold of her at any of the usual numbers."
"She's probably in a place where the signal won't resonate. Give her a few minutes and try again." Melanie chuckled. "Don't worry, I doubt that she ran off to join the Greenies."
He went cold. "What made you say that, Mel?"
"Hey, it's just a joke. Sorry."
"I'm serious. Why the joke about Greenies?"
"I guess it popped into my head because that special tour she escorted after hours today was for half a dozen Greenies. I told her they'd probably be interested in the Tomb Wing, just like the Hunter-Scout troops."