The place was a shambles of dust and stone. Around them the Van Brunt dead laughed at the farce.
“Come on,” said Jason. “We can put it back.”
They had replaced the lids on seven boxes when Eliza rolled herself to the foot of the steps outside.
“You okay, Honey?” she called.
“Dandy,” Jason said. “Don’t come up, though. The graves aren’t, uh, decent yet.”
“Don’t stay in that dust too long,” she said. “You’ll catch asthma.” After a moment they heard her say, “I’m stuck. Honey! My wheels are stuck,” and begin to grumble to herself.
Jason was struggling with the half-lid of Brom’s coffin, so Joey went to her aid.
“Take a break, Jase,” he said as he left.
Eliza thanked Joey. The sound of their wheels and steps receded.
“Would you mind if I took some rubbings while we’re here?” said Eliza.
Jason couldn’t catch Joey’s reply.
Jason was alone yet not alone, a tourist in the Land of the Dead, surrounded by natives chattering together in a foreign tongue. He longed to return to the Land of the Living, where he knew the language and felt at home.
He turned his back to the boxes and set to work on Agathe’s bust.
She hadn’t withstood Hadewych’s attack very well. Her right eye was still watchful and gentle, but the left was a circle of chalk without pupil or lid. She’d been decapitated, too, and her head had popped off. A hexagonal bar thrust up from the neck where her spine would be. The head clung to the bar but her chin faced the door now.
Jason gripped Agathe’s ears and tried to restore her head to its original position, but when facing forward she wouldn’t lower back onto her metal spine. He turned her to the right again. Now the two halves of her neck fit snugly, the wound closed, but she still faced the door.
He frowned.
He kept her head on the rod and twisted her by the chin. She swiveled easily – too easily. She whipped all the way around to face the back of the tomb.
And clicked.
Something behind the wall made a clanking sound, metal on metal. Some piece of machinery had engaged.
Jason stepped back.
That sounded like a… combination lock?
He tried to turn Agathe to the right but she’d stuck again. He lifted her head. The spine twisted back around to its starting position, all the way to the right.
Turn the head towards the door. Lower it onto the bar. Turn it leftward. It clicks when you stop. Lift the head again, the bar yanks back. Like… like an old rotary phone. But what number would he dial?
He saw a small bronze plaque at the base of the bust.
AGATHE VAN BRUNT
1760 –
“I Look to Family.”
Jason felt a small thrill.
Oh, Brom, is this your doing?
Brom had built this tomb. He’d been the one to hide the Treasure. Of course he wouldn’t have made it easy. It would take more than a Crane and a Van Brunt collaborating. That just got you in here and, honestly, you could have accomplished that with a well-placed bribe. Not all cemetery directors were as honest as Osorio. The few sarcophagi that had been cracked open – Brom’s own, the Italian’s – indicated that others had searched this place, maybe at night.
But… had any of them discovered this lock?
He thought about calling for Hadewych, but what if this was another dead end? He thought about calling for Joey, but he was messing where he didn’t belong and his pride wanted him to solve this himself.
“I Look to Family…” he whispered.
Yes, the boxes were the numbers in the combination. The bust would have to turn and face particular boxes in some order. But if Brom built this tomb, the eligible boxes would be limited to the ones installed prior to Brom’s death, which ruled out anyone after the year – Jason checked the lid of Brom’s box – 1850. So, pre-1850 boxes only.
Jason went from inscription to inscription. He found three that met the criteria.
He turned the bust to face HERMANUS VAN BRUNT, Agathe’s husband, who died in 1800.
A definite click. He lifted the head and let the bar swivel back.
He turned the head to face JAMES VAN BRUNT, who died in 1810. Had this been an uncle of Brom’s? It didn’t matter.
Another click.
The last box would be that of Brom himself: ABRAHAM VAN BRUNT, who died in 1850. Jason turned the bust again towards the grey box at the center of the tomb. Surely Brom had designed his own resting place.
A third click.
Jason stepped back. Nothing happened. He frowned. Something had eluded him. He felt he had the order right. What would be the point of ordering the boxes in any way but chronologically? It felt right to start with Hermanus, Agathe’s husband. What about James? No, without him there were only two pre-1850 boxes and that didn’t seem like a proper combination. There was no point in adding a box dated later, since this was Brom’s puzzle. Who would be the fourth in line, anyway? Dylan…
“Jase? Why don’t you come out?”
Joey stood at the door. The sunlight had dimmed.
“I’m onto something,” Jason said.
“The funeral director said his workers would help me do the rest of these. Go home.”
Jason’s mind raced. Could he use his new ability to solve this? What if he took off his gloves and touched the bust – would he see the combination? Or should he just touch Brom’s skull and pull the answer out of there? That wasn’t going to happen, and how would he explain it to Joey?
“Eliza’s asking for her grandson,” said Joey.
Grandson… yes… Agathe’s grandson, Dylan. But he wasn’t buried here. Jason had seen a rubbing of Dylan’s angry-looking headstone the night Hadewych had proposed this crazy adventure. Dylan was buried someplace else.
But would Brom have known that? No. Brom might have made a sarcophagus here for his beloved son… It would be…
“Jase? What’s up with you?”
“Shut up a minute.”
…It would be… Van Brunt Quarry stone.…
Hermanus’s box had been of that grey stone, so was Brom’s, and so was… He saw it.
The lid had fallen on its side. The inscription read: EZRA VAN BRUNT and BABY BOY VAN BRUNT – a joint tomb. The occupants were a little girl and an infant. The box itself was grey but the lid was sandstone. The original must have been carved with Dylan’s name.
Three Quarry stone boxes. Hermanus, Brom, and the one intended for Dylan. James Van Brunt had a box of dull sandstone. Low quality. Cheap…
She didn’t like her brother-in-law…
Jason smiled. He seized Agathe’s head and twisted it.
Hermanus… Click.
He skipped James.
Brom… Click.
He turned to Joey triumphantly.
“Watch this,” he said with a grin, and twisted the bust to face Dylan’s never-used grave.
Dylan… Click.
A metallic boom echoed through the space. A hole cracked open in the floor. One of the marble slabs fell in, creating a black rectangle. Right where Joey stood.
Joey screamed and fell, disappearing into the floor.
“Joey?” gasped Jason.
A sandstone box hung over the hole, too; a sarcophagus installed decades after Brom’s time by someone who didn’t know about the secret lock. It teetered on the edge and, before Jason could seize it, the immense stone box fell in after his friend.
“Look out!” Jason screamed.
The tomb shook with the terrifying crash below. A column of dust flew upward and broke against the ceiling.
Jason threw himself at the opening and groped into the blackness.
“Joey? Joey?”
No one answered.
“Joey!”
19 ABSALOM
Jason shouted for help.
He waved dust away and swung a leg over the side, ready to leap down and save his friend. How far was it a
nyway? A flashlight lay on the floor nearby. He hit it against his hand and the light came on. He looked down the hole again and the floating particles dissipated before his beam.
He could make the jump. The floor was about eight feet below. He could climb down the marble slab partway. It was broken in half by the shattered pieces of the sarcophagus that lay on top of it. He was about to jump when the flashlight beam found a white hand protruding from the pile, lifelessly.
“Joey?”
He threw his arm over his eyes. He had killed his friend. But, maybe…
He leapt to his feet.
“I’m going for an ambulance.”
“Good,” said Joey. “You’re going to need one.”
Jason dropped onto his belly again, looking for the source of the voice. He found his friend standing to one side of the pile, rubbing an elbow, his face white with dust. Joey called Jason several bad names that he probably deserved.
“What were you thinking?” he said.
“I wasn’t.”
“Thank you for warning me…”
“I’m coming down.”
Jason slipped down into the hole. The stones shifted under his feet. He reached bottom and surveyed the pile.
“I thought this box had squashed you,” he said.
“It almost did.”
Joey kicked the marble slab.
“It landed at an angle,” said Joey. “There’s something underneath it back there. I rolled off before the box came down. All I got was my funny bone thunked. Hard. Which isn’t funny. Stop grinning.”
“I’m grinning because…” Jason said, earnestly, “…because it could have been worse.” He pointed his flashlight at the white hand protruding from the pile – skeletal remains of the occupant of the box.
“Yes. And I’m going to punch you now,” said Joey, raising a fist.
Jason nodded and offered a shoulder.
Joey brought his fist down in slow motion, miming the fall of a meteor, complete with a little explosion sound as it hit Jason’s shoulder; his palm opened like a cloud of debris and dropped away. It had been a purely ceremonial blow – not a gesture of anger but of forgiveness.
“So, where are we?” Joey said, turning.
“I don’t know.”
“You’re the Indiana Jones here.”
The walls of the chamber were of the same grey stone, but this space was more elegant, circular, with plaster moldings. A gear system clung to one wall, just beneath Agathe’s bust. Two rods connected it to the mechanism that had released the stone.
“What did the slab fall on top of?” Joey wondered, disappearing behind the rubble.
Jason didn’t follow. He was staring at a painted panel with an image of Agathe. She was beautiful, her long hair auburn like his own. She wore a smart suit that might have been a man’s. She stood in front of the fireplace of the Gory Brook house. Her hand caressed some object on the mantel. Someone had whitewashed that part of the image, crudely. Jason scratched at the whitewash with his gloved finger, and it came back glittering with specks of gold leaf.
“Jason… bring the light?” said Joey.
“What did you find?”
“I think… Absalom.”
The marble slab had fallen in onto two pedestals that framed the door of a separate antechamber. Two porcelain vases had been smashed to the ground. Jason hoped that nobody’s cremated remains had been inside them. Inside the antechamber, Joey stood next to an immense coffin that commanded the center of the room. The coffin had been fashioned of rough wood – American chestnut maybe. The long beams and steel bands suggested a pirate chest.
“The Horseman’s Treasure…” Jason said.
He brushed the dust from the coffin. He recognized the craftsmanship. It was the same make as the front door of Gory Brook: the same bristling nail heads and brute metal. Across the center strap an inscription read
ABSALOM CRANE
1850
Hi, Absalom…
The walls of the antechamber bore ropes of painted roses pulled by fat cherubs.
“Pretty girly,” said Joey. “Was Absalom somebody’s gay uncle?”
An inscription on the wall behind read “A.V.B.”
Jason understood.
“This must have been Agathe’s tomb,” he said. “Or it was supposed to be. Hadewych told me she vanished and her body was never found. Brom must have had his mom’s tomb built before that happened.”
Worried voices filtered down from above. McCaffrey and Eliza were calling the boys’ names. Charley barked.
“Do you want me to tell them?” said Joey.
“Yeah – ” said Jason. This was a group effort, after all, and he didn’t want to give his grandmother a heart attack.
“Give me your gloves,” said Joey.
“What?”
“Your gloves. So I can climb up.”
A cold spear went through Jason’s chest.
“I’d like to keep them,” Jason said.
“Five minutes. The stone is sharp.”
“I’ll climb up then.”
“What’s the matter?”
Jason did not want to be in this place with his hands exposed, but this wasn’t the moment to tell Joey about his visions. He pulled the gloves off and handed them to his friend.
“Back in a sec,” said Joey.
Jason felt naked. He glanced around, making note of the things he should not touch. The coffin, definitely. The walls, probably. He shouldn’t touch that pile of wood in the corner. Pile of wood? No, a rotted rocking chair tipped on its side. Drawing nearer, he could see the delicate upholstery. Alongside stood a tea tray on rollers. The top was enamel, and ink-stained.
A book rested there.
It was about four inches square, bound in green leather and thick with flaking pages. It bore no lettering on the cover or spine.
He could hear Hadewych’s voice above, shouting with delight.
Jason’s curiosity overwhelmed his good sense. He reached out and took hold of the book.
The room glowed bright with gaslights. The coffin vanished – replaced by a small chaise lounge, his living room, and the fireplace at Gory Brook Road.
An old woman sat before him, rocking in her chair, white head bowed. Ink stained her fingers and the ruffle at her wrist. The hand moved, drawing inscrutable, alien letters across the page…
“Jason?” Hadewych called from above.
Jason couldn’t answer. This vision, like all the others, held him immobile in its grasp. He couldn’t break from it until it had run its course.
Agathe looked into Jason’s eyes. She was an ancient thing – nothing like the beauty in the painting. Her chin almost met her nose, mark of the elderly and toothless. The lines across her sunken cheeks spread like the tributaries of dry riverbeds. Her eyes were watery and full of motion.
She raised a finger to her lips.
This, the gesture said, will be our little secret.
“Jason, are you there?” said Hadewych. He was scrambling down the stone. “Good God,” he said, “look at this place.”
Soon Hadewych would enter and discover Jason standing in the corner behind the coffin, arm raised and frozen to the leather of the book. It would be hard to explain.
Hurry up, he ordered the vision.
“Hurry up,” said a man’s voice.
By the fire stood a tall blond man with thick arching eyebrows and a dimple in his chin. He wore a high-collared shirt and a cream waistcoat with gold trim. He had the most intense features Jason had ever seen – vivid eyes, gaunt cheeks, and a jawbone like an animal’s.
“When can I read it?” he said.
“After I’m dead,” said Agathe, her voice fragile, yet full of life.
“That will be a long time,” said the man, flattering the old woman. She had to be ninety. He sat on the chaise, his fingers steepled against his lips.
“Soon enough,” she said. “And you’ll be strong, won’t you? It’s a burden.”
“I
’m ready now. I’m ready to hear it all. To hell with Father.”
“It will be Hell for all of us,” said the old woman. “This is… evil, Dylan.”
So this is Dylan, thought Jason, fascinated. Son of Brom and Katrina.
Dylan nodded, thoughtfully. But his face kept its intensity. He tucked his chin and looked at her from beneath his brows. His hair fell forward.
“I want to know everything you know.”
“Then stop pestering me,” she said with affection, “and let me write.”
Someone applauded.
“Well done, boy. Well done,” Hadewych said.
The vision broke. Agathe and Dylan evaporated. The gaslights went out. The rocking chair rotted to sticks.
Hadewych’s flashlight beam played across the coffin. Jason grabbed the book, spun, and stuffed the slim volume down the back of his pants.
“Now,” said Hadewych hungrily, “let’s see what’s inside.”
#
Jason watched McCaffrey’s men rope the coffin, bear it down the hill, and jab it into the van. They turned around and went back to help Joey, who had to restore the tomb and lay plastic over the hole in the floor in case of rain. Joey told Hadewych to expect a substantial bill, but Hadewych appeared as unconcerned as a millionaire buying a newspaper.
Jason thought of nothing except the lump under his shirt. He hadn’t mentioned the book to Hadewych. He’d slipped it to Joey with a promise to explain. That had been a good idea, because as they left the tomb Hadewych gave Jason a bear hug – in celebration, supposedly, but Jason knew he was being frisked. Once outside he’d retrieved the book from Joey. He told himself he would examine it in private – just to see what it was before it fell into Hadewych’s hands.
Hadewych grinned like a schoolboy pulling the wings off flies. He jumped up into the back of the van, waved, and rode away with the coffin. McCaffrey would pry off the bolts and bands back at the funeral home, where everyone would gather for the big reveal.
Jason walked down to the administration building, retrieved Eliza and Charley, and loaded them into the Mercedes. He opened the trunk, hid the book in his backpack, and drove out of the cemetery, turning left on Broadway.
Sleepy Hollow: Rise Headless and Ride Page 16