Once again, Sam recalled the mysterious list:
Could it involve a code? A code that Sam would be able to crack, but a less informed reader would see as only meaningless gibberish?
Yes, a code — that was the approach to take. A code that would have to yield four numbers. But the list consisted of eight lines and a lot of figures, especially in the dates, and they didn’t seem to follow in any clear order. From Meriweserre — a couple of thousand years before Christ — the list jumped to Caliph Al-Hakim in 1010, Xerxes in 484 b.c., and then 1400 and 1386. Allan certainly hadn’t stuck to the chronology of people and places. Was that confusion deliberate? Probably, assuming he had hidden a message in the text. So would it be enough to put things in the correct order? No, that produced an equally incomprehensible series of words and numbers.
What about the fifth line, the only one that didn’t have proper names, dates, or a huge dollar figure? “Let the beginning show the way.” Was it the way to the cage? The way of Time? What beginning? The bracelet clearly began with Meriweserre, but what followed that? Because the list had too many names and numbers, maybe he had to just concentrate on the beginning of each of the eight lines. The beginning — meaning the first letter.
Sam looked around for something to write with. A layer of fine dust lay on the floor of the room, so he bent down and wrote in it:
MC$XLVII
That still didn’t make a four-digit number, but something told Sam he was on the right track. First, he replaced the $ sign with D for dollar:
MCDXLVII
That was better. Back in the days before Sam went to live with his grandmother, he often used to watch movies with his dad. At the end of the credits, a series of seemingly random letters appeared. Allan explained that the letters — M, C, L, X, I, etc. — were actually Roman numerals, and that early in the twentieth century, producers started using that notation for the dates of their movies. Because people had trouble understanding dates written that way, it might have been a way to fool audiences and distributors, since the studios could release so-called new comedies or Westerns that were already five or ten years old. Whatever the reason, it became a tradition.
Allan had then given Sam a little class in what each letter meant — M = 1000, D = 500, C = 100, etc. — and how to combine them. The general principle was that you added a letter when it was equal to or greater than the following one. For example: MC = M + C = 1000 + 100 = 1100. You subtracted a letter when it was less than the following one. For example: CM = M - C = 1000 - 100 = 900. Sam quickly worked to remember the other letters: L was 50, X stood for 10, V translated to 5, and I equaled one.
Carefully he scratched in the dust:
Four digits, exactly what was needed for the combination lock!
“What if the combination has been changed since your father arrived?” whispered the little voice. But what if Vlad Tepes figured out how to use Meriweserre’s bracelet? Sam countered. A bloodthirsty madman rampaging through history would mean that all of humanity’s safety was at risk! Besides, couldn’t Sam trust his father at least as much as his father had trusted him?
He stood in front of the lock and turned the first cylinder to 1, the second to 4, the third also to 4, and the last one to 7. His hands were damp with sweat, and he could feel his pulse pounding at his temples. If he was wrong — or his father was wrong — the portcullis would come crashing down in a deafening clatter of chains and pulleys. The entire castle would be alerted and nothing could ever save him. But if he had guessed right…
He had to try.
Sam gently pushed the wolfs-head lever. It caught briefly, then slid smoothly all the way to the bottom. At first nothing happened, but a second later the iron jaw clicked open. A long creaking followed, and majestically the top of the cage unfolded. Meriweserre’s bracelet was his!
Sam reached in, carefully took the bracelet, and set it on his palm. Up close, the jewel was even more beautiful. Beyond its own radiance, it gave off the same comforting warmth as the disks of Re. This was better than a dream, yet it was reality: Sam had the second circle of gold in his hand! He had become Setni’s equal!
“Congratulations,” said a voice behind him.
23 Sam the Magician
Sam spun around and reached into his pocket. But when he recognized the figure standing in the doorway, he immediately changed his mind. He would be dead before he could draw his pistol. In doing research on Vlad Tepes, Sam had seen a number of pictures of the voivode, and there was no mistaking him now: somewhat stocky, with long curly hair, a huge mustache, a strong nose and jutting chin, and catlike green eyes that glittered with evil intelligence. Vlad was wearing a red cap sewn with pearls and a black fur coat over a long red tunic. He also had a crossbow pointed right at Sam.
“So the stranger wasn’t completely crazy,” Vlad muttered. “He said that someone would come.”
Sam clutched the golden circle, forcing himself not to move. He knew immediately that this man would never let him leave the castle alive, no matter what he said or did.
“I didn’t expect someone so young,” Vlad continued, waving the point of his crossbow. “Practically a child. And dressed like a peasant besides. Unless you are just a lucky little thief.” “I’m his son,” said Sam soberly.
“His son, eh? How did you get here?”
Sam thought fast. Telling a believable story would do no good because Vlad wouldn’t hesitate for a second to execute him. Sam had to impress the Impaler — or better yet, interest him.
“I travel where I please,” he said. “Walls can’t stop me.”
Vlad might easily have burst out laughing, but instead, he examined Sam more sharply. “That is not the case with your father, apparently. He has been rotting in jail for weeks.” His lips tightened. “Who gave you the numbers to open the cage?”
“I know things that others don’t,” said Sam, his mind racing.
“What sorts of things?”
Sam had read a lot about Vlad Tepes, but he had to hit a bull’s-eye with his first shot.
“I know you have a mark on your chest, for example — a secret mark put on the boys of your family, so people know you’re legitimate the day you ascend the throne. In your case, it’s a dragon.”
The voivode paused before answering. “Twenty courtiers of my retinue could have seen that dragon at my coronation. Any of them could have told you about it. Not to mention my women!”
Just the same, Sam felt he had scored a point. “I also know that you stole this bracelet in Izmit,” he continued. “In 1447.”
That was a gamble, but the voivode must have chosen that date for the combination lock because it had special importance, so why not one connected to the jewel?
“Izmit,” Vlad repeated thoughtfully. “Only one person could have spoken to you about Izmit. The very person I expected to see this afternoon: Klugg.”
Klugg, the Bruges alchemist! The man who had conducted experiments on the stone statue, hoping it would help him make gold! The man Sam had had to confront in his laboratory before he could return to his own time!
“We met once,” Sam admitted. “He is an alchemist.”
“Yes, an alchemist. And my father should have slit his throat the first time he granted him an audience! He offered to tutor me and my older brother. I was seven or eight at the time.”
Sam did a quick calculation. Dracula was born around 1428 and Sam had landed in Bruges in 1430, so the alchemist would have set off for Romania five or six years after their encounter, probably to continue his research on the stone.
“He said he would teach us Western court manners and Latin,” the voivode continued bitterly. “But he wanted only one thing: to visit Bran Castle at his leisure. He treated my brother and me badly, and we never learned all that he promised. But I learned something else. One night, when he had drunk too much Wallachian wine, he told me that the Turks possessed a priceless bracelet that allowed one to move around the world at the speed of lightning. And that by usi
ng this bracelet in a secret part of Bran Castle, one could find the treasure of treasures: a stone ring that gives its owner eternal life. He said the bracelet was in one of the sultans palaces in Izmit.”
Dracula was now looking at Sam without really seeing him, as if he was unburdening himself of a story he rarely had occasion to tell. Of course, that also meant that once his account was finished, he would have an additional reason to get rid of Sam.
“In the years that followed,” the voivode continued, “Klugg advised my father to befriend the Ottomans. He was hoping to obtain the bracelet, of course. And that’s when our troubles began. The Hungarians attacked Wallachia and the sultan betrayed us. I was sent to him as a hostage, and the Hungarians killed my father. All this because of that damned Klugg.”
With his free hand, Vlad stroked his mustache, which looked like the tail of a large black cat.
“I lived with the Turks for nearly four years. Refined people, who know how to resort to force when necessary. I learned a great deal, and I took the opportunity to ask about Izmit. To my great surprise, I was assured that the bracelet indeed existed, and that it had magic properties. But nobody could remember what they were, because the jewel had been brought there many centuries before. In 1447, my last year of captivity, I was able to steal the bracelet without the sultan suspecting. Which reminds me.” His voice deepened into a purr. “Put it back in its cage.”
To Sam, this felt like being forced to cut off one of his fingers, but he had no choice: He carefully set the jewel on its silver stand.
“Perfect. During the ten years I spent trying to reconquer Wallachia, I asked all manner of soothsayers and magicians about the bracelet’s powers. None was able to help me. I concluded that only Klugg had the necessary knowledge. After all this time, however, the mad dog had disappeared.
“The day I regained my title of voivode, I resolved to draw him here so I could force him to give me his secrets and kill him. It took me many months to reach an understanding with the lord of Bran, to obtain free use of the square tower and to build this high chamber. I was hoping that Klugg would fall into my trap, but your father came instead.”
Vlad’s mustache framed a predatory smile that revealed his long teeth.
“A poor fool, that one — grotesque and stubborn. Because he refused to talk, I was tempted to impale him at once. But once dead, he would be of no further use to me. I thought a few months in a dank pit would loosen his tongue. But then the affairs of the kingdom caught up with me, as always! One is always making war or preparing for it, isn’t that so? One of the sultans ambassadors is coming to negotiate some ‘back taxes,’ or so he claims, and I stopped by on my way to see him. And look what a pretty fledgling has flown into my cage!”
He took a step forward, the crossbow aimed straight at Sam’s heart.
“I know death well, my boy. I have caused it hundreds of times, and I have seen it take thousands of men and women. It is a curious spectacle. But though I have studied it closely, I always find it disappointing at the end. I do not want it for myself, do you understand? Never! That is why I must have the ring that will make me eternal. That is why I need Klugg. And if you refuse to tell me where he is hiding, I will start in on your father. I will cut off his ears, then his nose and lips, and feed them to the pigs. Then —”
“I’ve already freed my father,” interrupted Sam.
“Then you are not much smarter than he is,” Vlad guffawed. “I assume that Dragomir persuaded you to unchain him as well, right?
“Yes … Sam said slowly.
The Impaler now had tears of laughter in his eyes. “Dragomir is my most trusted adviser, you fool! Did you think you got here thanks to your miserable tricks? The bracelet began to glow this morning, so I knew something was afoot! I reduced the sentries’ rounds and Dragomir volunteered to keep an eye on your father in case Klugg tried to approach him. I still don’t know how you managed to get into the castle, but I’m sure Dragomir will tell me!”
Dragomir, an imposter! And Sam had sent his father with him to the secret stairway — whose existence Vlad hadn’t suspected. Sam had thrown him into the lions den!
“Our young wizard seems to have lost some of his arrogance,” the voivode jeered. “You have no choice, you little weasel. Either you tell me where Klugg is, or I’ll put a bolt through your chest.”
“Klugg went back to Bruges,” Sam guessed.
“Then that’s too bad for you. Unless you can tell me where to put this bracelet in order to get the immortality ring, I will kill you.”
Even though the voivode was about to shoot, Sam had no desire to tell him anything about the stone sculpture, especially since the ring of eternal life sounded like something Klugg had made up. Sam was terrified, but there was one last gambit he could try.
Speaking very distinctly, he said, “If I die now, you’ll never know the sultan’s intentions.”
Vlad raised an eyebrow. “What kind of witchcraft is this?”
“I told you that I knew certain things. In my pocket I have an object that allows me to tell the future. If you promise to let my father and me leave the castle, I’ll answer your questions about what the future holds.”
“And if I don’t keep my word?”
“That’s a risk I’ll have to take. Besides,” he continued, emboldened, “what do you have to fear? I’m at your mercy, and the bracelet is in its cage. You just have to give your word.”
“All right, I promise,” said Vlad, with a sly glint in his eyes that left little doubt about the value of his promise. “So what do you think the sultan’s ambitions are?”
“I need my cylinder. If you will allow me …” Very slowly, Sam took the tear gas cartridge from his pocket. He didn’t dare pull out the pistol; its musket-like shape would likely arouse the Impaler’s suspicions.
“What is this new devilry?”
“It’s the object I told you about.”
“I warn you: if you try to throw it at me or —”
Vlad had his finger on the crossbow trigger again and could fire the bolt at any instant.
“What is that writing?” he asked nervously.
The label on the metal cylinder read, “LACRYMO. Liquid defense gel, 20% CS (orthochlorobenzylidene)” and below that, “Range 5-10 feet? Just what I need, thought Sam jubilantly.
“Those are the incantations that must be recited to enter into communication with the cylinder,” he answered. “First, I must take off its cap and —”
“I’m warning you: If you lie to me, I swear I will skin you alive.”
Cautiously Sam uncovered the nozzle. Now all he had to do was to gain his listener’s trust. He stared deeply at the cylinder and began chanting softly. “Ortho-chloro-benzy-lidene, ortho-chloro-benzy-lidene …” It was ridiculous, but surely no worse than “Abracadabra!”
“Well?” asked Vlad urgently, sounding both sarcastic and troubled.
“The cylinder says the sultan is laying a trap for you,” said Sam, who remembered the episode from Vlad’s biography. “It’s traditional for the voivode to go back to the border with the ambassador, isn’t it? The Turks will be waiting there to capture you.”
“The cur!” the Impaler swore. “An ambush! And what will happen next?”
“That will depend on you. If your own men are stationed nearby —”
“Yes, of course,” said Vlad heatedly. “We will swoop down on them before they have time to pray to their god! And does your instrument also know how I can finish the sultan once and for all?”
Sam scrutinized the cartridge in search of inspiration, again monotonously repeating “Ortho-chloro-benzy-lidene.” The bottom of the label listed user precautions: “Warning! This paralyzing gas attacks the nerve endings, forcing the eyes to shut involuntarily, causing a burning sensation and rendering coordinated movement impossible. Keep away from children!” What about vampires?
“The cylinder says that by disguising yourself as a Turk, you will be able to slip into the Ottoma
n camp at night. You speak their language, don’t you? You will have no trouble finding their leader’s tent, and then —”
Again, this was historically accurate, except that in his daring attack, the Impaler picked the wrong tent and assassinated the vizier instead of the sultan!
“A brilliant idea,” admitted Vlad. “Disguise myself and surprise them in the night. Of course!” He paused, then snapped: “But how can your cylinder predict all these things? And how do you understand it?”
“It’s a magical object. I can’t explain how it works. It speaks to me in a kind of murmur.”
“Mmm!” grumbled the voivode, not entirely convinced. “If I managed to rid myself of the sultan, that means I would have no more enemies. My rule would be very long then, would it not? Twenty or thirty years? Forever?”
Just six years, buddy, and not a year more, thought Sam. But Tm not going to clue you in so easily.
“Ortho-chloro-benzy-lidene,” he recited obediently. “Ortho-chloro-benzy-lidene.”
The Impaler was getting excited. “Ask it how far beyond Wallachia I will be able to extend my conquests, while we’re at it.”
Sam paused suddenly, as if the cylinder was telling him something upsetting.
“Well?” asked Vlad impatiently.
“The cylinder believes that someone around you wants to take over the throne.”
“What? Someone around me? Who?”
Sam had never been so glad he’d learned a history lesson! In fact it was the voivode’s younger brother, Radu, who took the crown from Vlad in 1462.
“I get the impression it’s someone in your family,” said Sam hesitantly. “But I can’t understand the name. You might want to listen yourself.”
The Gate of Days - Book of Time 2 Page 19