Suddenly, Einstein smacked a hand to his forehead. "Of course! That confounded girl must have cleaned again. Lord Carstairs, please follow me."
Unlatching a small door at the rear of the room, Professor Einstein led the way, and the two men walked along a dimly lit corridor. Numerous side passages led off in several directions.
"She?" Lord Carstairs asked. "Your wife, perhaps?"
"My niece," the professor explained. "Mary Einstein. She has been threatening to straighten my workshop for some time. It is my feeling that she's actually gone and done it!"
Placing a hand to his heart, Lord Carstairs appeared properly scandalized. His staff was under strict orders, upon pain of dismissal, never to touch anything in his work area. The only exception was his manservant, Crainpoole, who labored single-handedly to prevent the lord from being buried alive under several growing tons of prehistoric debris.
As the explorers reached a door completely covered in cork, the professor violently shoved it aside and shouted, "You cleaned my workroom!"
Bent low over a filing cabinet, a young woman dressed in a starched red-and-white striped blouse and a long dark skirt continued sorting folders. Her magnificent auburn hair was gathered into a simple but elegant coil.
"I have done no such thing, Uncle Felix," she replied, standing straight and rifling the folders cradled in her arms. "Whatever you've lost is probably exactly where you left it six months ago."
"But you must have, Mary," the professor insisted, entering the office. "You said you were going to do it, and now I can't find a very important document!"
Raising a hand, the woman halted the outpouring. "I suggested straightening that rat's nest you call a workroom exactly once, over seven years ago, when I first came here. Your subsequent hysterics immediately convinced me to never broach the subject again."
Juggling the folders, Mary slid the last one into a drawer and pushed it closed. "Now what was it you were searching for?" she asked, turning around.
Unable to breathe, Lord Carstairs found himself drawn into the most magnificent pair of blue eyes he had ever seen. Mary Einstein was a goddess. Her features were flawless, culminating in a jaw that displayed strength of character that would have put off a lesser man, but which Carstairs found deliciously refreshing.
Caught unawares, Mary blushed under the frank appraisal. "Forgive me. I didn't know that we had guests, Uncle."
Crossing the room, Professor Einstein started rummaging in the drawers of the desk, opening and slamming them shut in rapid order. "Guests? What guests…oh yes. Mary, this is Lord Benjamin Carstairs. Your lordship, may I present my niece, Mary Elizabeth Victoria Einstein. She's responsible for the actual day-to-day running of the museum."
Wide-eyed, feeling as if she were dressed in rags, Mary studied the handsome stranger. After a long moment, she gracefully extended a hand.
"Welcome to our home," Mary said with unaccustomed shyness.
Lord Carstairs started to shake a greeting, and then changed his mind. Gallantly, he raised her hand to his lips.
" Enchanté ," he murmured, holding her hand fractionally longer than convention required.
"Sir," she replied softly, her blush deepening.
From behind the desk, Professor Einstein gave a rude snort. "Mary, I can't locate that bracelet I was working on this morning."
Nervously checking the lace at her throat, Mary took a moment to organize her thoughts. "Do you mean that hideous copper band that resembled a squid with indigestion? Try the red wooden box."
"I did. It's not there!"
"Oh."
Not exactly sure what to do with his large hands, Lord Carstairs stuffed them into his pockets. "Perhaps your lad, Owen, moved it," he suggested.
Scowling darkly, the professor slammed a drawer shut so hard that the table lamp rocked. "Good lord, no! Billy is most conscientious," Einstein stated. "Then again, where the devil is he, anyway? I rang for that boy ages ago."
"Come to think of it, so did I," Mary added, biting a thumbnail. "I had forgotten. He was supposed to move that old exhibit down into the basement. He must still be working."
"Lazy blighter," the professor muttered. "How long can it take to shift a dozen swords?"
Mary arched a scolding eyebrow. "Knowing the exhibit in question, Uncle," she said, "I think it would depend on whether or not they wanted to go."
In recollection, Einstein's dark face brightened. "Ah, that does explain the matter. Well, it's not that important. I transcribed the symbols from the bracelet when I first purchased the thing. We can just as easily work from that."
"Would you and Lord Carstairs care for some refreshments?" Mary asked, moving towards the door.
"Thank you, my dear," the professor smiled, his stomach rumbling at the mere mention of food. "That would be capital!"
As the woman left the room, Professor Einstein went to a filing cabinet and opened the top drawer. With brisk efficiency, he went through the folders, paused, and then repeated the search slowly. Stepping away, he assumed an expression of vexation.
"Strange," Professor Einstein mumbled, half to himself. "I could have sworn the Dutarian map was filed under 'D'."
"Mayhap you have it under 'E' for Empire of Dutar," Lord Carstairs suggested, attempting to be helpful.
Professor Einstein seemed doubtful, but burrowed into another drawer with the same lack of success.
"Wherever could it be?" the professor demanded, and then gave a finger snap. "Of course! "Under 'M' for Maps!" Going to that drawer, he ruffled the manila folders with strong hands, as if they were a deck of cards.
"No," Professor Einstein reported sullenly, easing the drawer shut. "It's not there either. Miscellaneous, perhaps?"
"I will check 'S', for Squid God," Carstairs said, joining the search and pulling open the appropriate drawer.
"Good man. I'll try 'G' for God and 'T' for Temple."
"Righto!"
A few minutes later, Mary returned, wheeling in a serving cart filled with the necessaries of high tea: a pot of steaming hot water, six types of tea, milk boat, cups, saucers, spoons, napkins, scones, muffins, biscuits, butter, and an assortment of jams. It was several times the amount of food she usually served, but she assumed that Lord Carstairs must support a Herculean appetite.
"I thought we might as well eat as we work," Mary began gaily, her voice fading away, only to come back strong. "What in the Lord's holy name is going on here?"
Papers fluttered in the air, and the usually neat office was a total shambles, with manila folders and envelopes strewn everywhere. Einstein and Carstairs were both elbow-deep in the files, haphazardly throwing documents over their shoulders as each new search proved fruitless.
"Have you tried 'P' for Puzzles?" the professor shouted, his nose buried in a collection of travel brochures.
"Of course," the lord retorted hotly from behind a mass of nautical charts. "Plus 'U' for Unsolved, 'A' for Amsterdam, 'F' for Flea Market and 'L' for Lost!"
Professionally incensed, Mary walked around the cart with its array of steaming food. "If you are referring to the Dutarian cipher you transcribed off of the bracelet, I filed it under 'D' for Dutar. Is the transcription alone missing, or the whole folder?"
"Transcription, folder, and my collection of notes," Einstein snorted in ill temper. "Including my telegrams, correspondence, and calculations on the turning of the bloody moon!"
From behind the sheath of charts, Carstairs jerked his head into view. "Please, Professor, your language! There's a lady present."
"Really? Where?" Einstein asked in confusion. "Oh, you mean my niece? Bah, she's heard worse, lad. Been with me on a dozen expeditions to India, Africa, and even New Jersey."
Waving a hand to brush aside the minor concern, Mary smiled benignly. "Your concern is appreciated, Lord Carstairs, but my sensibilities are not that delicate."
"As you say then, miss," Carstairs acknowledged courteously, returning to his task.
Stepping to the desk,
Mary began shifting through the mountains of paper to see if the men had accidentally overlooked the goal of their search. "Uncle, is there any chance that Billy has done something with the transcript?"
"None," the professor cried, slamming a metal drawer shut and almost catching a finger. "He knows it would mean the sack."
"Are you quite sure the folder was here in the office?" Lord Carstairs asked, probing for possibilities. "Do you have any other files? In the library perhaps? Or your reading room?"
"Of course not!" the professor fumed. "That information was far too important for me to leave just lying about like a pair of old shoes. Odbotkins! You should only know what I went through to get that map!"
"Wait a minute, Uncle," Mary interjected, pausing in the excavation. "What about the vault downstairs in the cellar? That's where you keep the duplicates, isn't it? Might you not have placed everything there for safekeeping?"
"Feasible," Professor Einstein admitted hesitantly, toying with his lucky shark tooth. "Eminently so. Let's find out. Bring the desk lamp!" Turning on a heel, the professor hurried from the office.
"An actual vault?" Lord Carstairs queried, gathering the heavy oil lamp. "An unusual practice. Do you keep silver plate in the house?"
"A little. Some of our exhibits have to be purchased in hard cash," Mary replied, trying to control her breathing. Odd how warm the room was. "But mainly it's for the daily receipts from the museum. Aside from assisting my uncle on his expeditions, I also run the financial aspect of the museum, which is quite considerable."
"Indeed, miss," Carstairs spoke, very impressed. He made bold enough to step closer. "Archeologist, secretary, and accountant. You are a woman of many talents."
Tingling at his nearness, Mary Einstein made no effort to step away, until a familiar voice from down the hallway called for their attendance.
"We have to go now…Benjamin," she dared to add, almost in askance, owing to the overt brazenness.
"I am yours to command, milady," he acknowledged sotto voce .
Blushing uncontrollably, she blessed him with her eyes.
Proceeding along the hall, the couple encountered an open doorway with painted wooden stairs leading downward. Letting Mary go first, Carstairs held the lantern high to illuminate the way. Beneath the floor beams, the cellar walls were constructed of block stone on the style of old Roman forts.
"How very interesting," Carstairs muttered, momentarily lost in curiosity. The museum was actually an exhibit itself. Then a muffled scream reclaimed his attention.
In a flash, Lord Carstairs vaulted over the railing and landed beside a pale Mary. Surrounded by stacks of crates and barrels, Professor Einstein was kneeling on the earthen floor examining the sprawled body of a man who lay face down in the dirt. An oddly shaped knife protruded from the dead man's neck, and the soil was darkly red. Lord Carstairs set the large oil lantern down next to a small bulls-eye lantern lying on its side in the dirt, its glass flue a spiderweb of cracks. Near the still body was a strongbox, its sides bound with wide iron straps. The lid was ajar, with a padlock and thick chain dangling. Both were broken and bent.
"Owen?" Lord Carstairs asked softly.
The professor nodded. "Dead, but not for long."
Suddenly, the lord was starkly alert, feeling as if he was back in the deep jungle with savage natives on every side.
"Professor, is there any other way out of this cellar?" Carstairs whispered, glancing around in the darkness.
In a rush of comprehension, Einstein felt cold adrenaline flood his body. Good God, there isn't! "Mary, my dear," he said in a strained voice, while trying to sound perfectly normal, "do please go upstairs and call the police."
At those words, there was a curse in the shadows. Out rushed a gang of hooded figures brandishing long, curved knives. The wicked blades gleamed evilly in the harsh light of the oil lamp.
"Ambush!" Lord Carstairs shouted, stepping in front of his friends and raising both fists.
As the first wave of the attackers came close, the lord grabbed hold of the overhead rafters. Lifting himself off the floor, he shot both his feet forward. When his hand-cobbled shoes rammed into a pair of hooded faces, blood sprayed from the brutal impact. Gurgling horribly, the two figures dropped limply to the floor. Impossibly, they rose again. Lord Carstairs bitterly cursed as he recognized the reactions from his days in India. The blighters were some form of hashisheen: murdering fiends drugged into a wild frenzy that made them nigh on invincible to pain and fatigue. Summoning his resolve, Carstairs grimly waded into the masked figures, his mighty fists punching and jabbing like steam pistons.
Two more of the cloaked killers darted around the imposing lord and charged at the elderly Professor Einstein just as he drew his pistol. The weapon was knocked aside and vanished in the blackness. With a smooth motion, the professor knelt, yanked the blade from the warm body of his manservant, and swung it in a glittering arc to parry a knife slash aimed at his throat. Swiveling his own blade inward to protect his vulnerable wrist, Einstein thrust his arm forward, the razor sharp edge slicing one attacker across the cheek, the pommel thumping between the eyes of the other. Reeling drunkenly, the masked man rotated once and fell down with a thump.
Squealing as theatrically as possible, Mary dashed across the cellar, hoping that at least one of the mysterious intruders would stupidly follow her. Three of them did, howling for blood. As Mary reached the far wall, instead of collapsing in a faint or cringing in fear, she threw open a closet door and yanked out a broom. With the wooden shaft twirling like a baton, the woman began expertly pounding on the attackers, their bones cracking under each whistling blow of the makeshift quarterstaff. However, her foes seemed impervious to the disabling wounds and steadily advanced, their blades cutting ever closer until snippets of cloth fell from her clothing.
Sidestepping the swing of an axe, Lord Carstairs rudely smashed the jaw of the assassin with an expert jab. As the tooth-spitting figure stumbled off, Carstairs grabbed the wrist of another cloaked figure, twisted it to the breaking point, and then yanked the screaming fanatic over his shoulder in a Judo throw: the ancient secret art of Japanese wrestling. The body hit the ground with a grisly thump, bounced back onto its feet, and insanely came at the lord again.
Wasting no more time on simple maiming tactics, Carstairs slammed his right fist directly into the dimly seen face of his enemy with every ounce of strength he possessed. The attacker flew backwards from the trip-hammer blow, the dark cloak spreading out like wings, fully revealing the person beneath. In stark horror, the lord saw that his adamantine foe was a woman! Sickened at the thought of striking a female, Lord Carstairs nevertheless knocked the woman back down again. He then pinned her to the floor with a packing crate marked 'Meteorites'. Although trapped, the woman tried to wiggle free.
Startled by the sight, Carstairs almost did not hear the rush of footsteps from behind. He turned barely in time to sidekick a cloaked figure charging at him with an eighteenth-century pike. The attacker went airborne minus most of his teeth, but the lord frowned deeply. It was damned inconsiderate of the professor to store dangerous weapons in the cellar. With a soldier's grace, the lord nimbly dodged another deadly thrust. Then again, it was also a pity that Einstein hadn't thought to store just a few more of them for friends to use!
In the meanwhile, Professor Einstein had dived forward and managed to bury his knife blade into the stomach of one of the cloaked figures. He pulled it out, trying for a deadly lateral rip in the abdominal muscles, but failed, merely slicing open the rib cage. Dancing about, Einstein cursed his clumsiness. He had grown soft sitting on his hindquarters and lazing about in the museum for too long. It had been years since his last real fight. Dodging a knife thrust that would have removed his throat, the professor put his boot into the fellow's groin and proceeded to kick the man mercilessly in the torso, trying to shatter as many bones as possible, while slicing another attacker with a deft backhand slice .
By God, I'm weak. Old
and weak and feeble. Perhaps I could join a gymnasium.
With the sound of splintering wood, Mary's broom handle broke over a hooded skull. Temporarily defenseless, she retreated to the wall. As a snarling figure brandished a knife and moved in for the kill, she nimbly dodged out of the way. The blade shattered as it struck the stone wall. Vaulting over a steamer trunk full of her childhood toys, Mary pulled a shovel from the mountainous pile of coal alongside the furnace, and whirled the heavy iron implement over her head in the manner of a Viking war hammer. The cloaked figure stumbled over another to avoid the makeshift weapon, and a chance blow from the shovel tore a fist-sized hunk out of a nearby wooden support beam.
Shouting something in a foreign language that none of the English scholars could understand, a tall masked figure snatched the desk lamp off the barrel and hurtled it to the floor. Fire erupted from the crash. The pool of burning oil rapidly expanded across the hard-packed dirt.
With a roaring whoosh, a pile of Christmas decorations ignited, sending angry tongues of orange flame licking at the wooden ceiling. Within seconds, thick smoke was everywhere and the masked invaders could be dimly seen struggling to reach the safety of the stairs.
"Come on, lad," Professor Einstein cried, grabbing the fallen pike. "We've got them on the run!"
"Tally ho!" Lord Carstairs lustily answered, his broad face flushed with battle fury.
"Stop! Let them go!" Mary shouted, tossing aside the shovel. "This fire could spread to the museum!"
That horrifying thought galvanized both of the men into instant action. Ripping off their jackets, Einstein and Carstairs started beating at the flames while Mary began shoveling dirt upon the growing inferno.
***
Stumbling more than running, the seven cloaked figures burst into the main hall of the museum, as the bang of the brass door echoed throughout the corridors and galley. Instantly alert, sounding a rumbling purr of delight, a trio of Bengal tigers darted out of concealment to flow across the floor of the museum like striped blurs.
THAT DARN SQUID GOD Page 4