Desire Me

by Robyn DeHart

  Max looked down the alley. Farther up on the right sat an old three-story redbrick building with a rounded turret of windows. Something about the design, different from the Tudor-style buildings that housed the other shops, drew his attention. And there was that niggling feeling at the base of his stomach—instinct, the men at Solomon’s had called it. It had been his experience that if something stood out, was the exception to the rule, it often warranted inspection.

  “I think we should visit that building.” He pointed, and she nodded, then followed him down the alley.

  The cobblestones here were irregularly shaped and uneven, clearly older and less maintained, so navigating to the shop proved challenging. Max held his arm out for Sabine, and much to his surprise, she took it, her delicate fingers wrapped onto his forearm. Her touch, though innocent, sent desire charging through him.

  There were several different types of chairs crowding the landing of the shop. Though he would have sworn he saw a light burning in one of the upper-story windows, there was no other indication of life in the old place. Another sign hung over the front door that read The Ancient and Unique.

  “Ancient. This could be it,” Max said.

  Sabine stopped walking and looked up at the building with a perplexed expression. “This certainly looks nothing like any bathhouse I’ve seen.”

  Max pointed to the sign. “The riddle said something about where the ancients go.”

  “Ancient is a common name for antiquities shops,” she said as she climbed the steps. She looked unconvinced, but followed him nonetheless. “I suppose it is worth a look. Though I wouldn’t think it would be old enough for this clue.”

  “We don’t know when this hunt was established, though,” Max said.

  She thought a moment before speaking. “True. I suppose any of my ancestors could have hidden the dove for protection. Just as they did with the map.” They reached the front stoop and Sabine peered into the windows.

  There were no lights downstairs that he could see, and the front door was locked. But he never traveled anywhere without his tools, so he reached into his pocket and retrieved them.

  “Is that how you got into my shop?” Sabine asked from over his shoulder as he slid the first pick into the lock.

  “It is.” He smiled at her.

  “You are a criminal, Maxwell Barrett.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

  He chuckled, but continued working on the lock. “Do you have a better idea?”

  “No, I do not. But don’t you think someone might see us?” she asked.

  “I doubt it. We are in an alleyway, and most of the shops have closed for the evening.”

  “Probably,” she muttered. “Very comforting.” She continued to pace the porch and look out at the alleyway, checking for passersby.

  The lock gave way, and he was able to open the front door, though not all the way. Something blocked the door from the other side. With difficulty, each of them squeezed inside. A curio cabinet partially obstructed the door.

  “Obviously they don’t want people inside,” Sabine said.

  Max closed the door behind them. “Stay close,” he said.

  Ancient and Unique appeared to be an appropriate name for the store, Max thought, as they made their way through the front room. Every odd thing one could imagine filled every open space available. There was an entire shelf on one wall that appeared to be filled with different types of potions and restorative cures or some such nonsense, then a corner with an array of odd musical instruments. Another shelf housed navigational tools, including several different sizes of compasses. Copper pots and clay pottery cluttered a bottom shelf.

  They moved through the room and toward the back of the house. Each room was much of the same, filled to the brim with one oddity after another. Finally they came to a staircase at the very back of the building that went downward. Two of the wooden stairs were missing completely, so Max had to assist Sabine down to the bottom.

  “Do you think it’s merely a storeroom?” Sabine asked. “Should we search through all of the items in the shop to see if we can find something hidden there?”

  “I say we search the building first, see if we can find a chamber down below,” Max said. “If nothing comes of that, we can dig through all of these treasures. Though I’m not certain we’d find anything of worth. There’s nothing bath-related in all that stuff.”

  “Perhaps we’d find a bathing tub,” Sabine suggested. “Though I’m not sure how that would help. Perhaps we could drown the Chosen One.”

  Max stopped walking. “Sabine, did you just make a joke?”

  “Shut up.” She punched his arm. Then they kept moving.

  They reached the storeroom, but there was something different about it. For one thing, it was made entirely of stone, and for another, there was nothing stored inside. All of the rooms above were packed to the ceiling and yet this, a room typically designed for storage, was completely empty.

  Dampness seeped up from the floor, chilling the room. It smelled musty and stale. The walls were nearly bare except for an old bulletin advertising a Shakespearean play. Max walked the length of the room, running his hand over the wall as he did.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Looking for a lever or hidden notch that will open the chamber,” he explained. He kept moving. The stones beneath his fingertips were smooth and cold, but nothing out of the ordinary.

  He came to the last corner, and as he slid his hand over the stone, he realized he’d found a gap. “It is an optical illusion,” he told Sabine. “Look, it’s painted to appear to be another corner to form a perfectly square room.”

  She walked over and leaned to see the area behind his arm. “That’s a hallway. A long and narrow one, but a hallway nonetheless.” She smiled broadly.

  “Shall we?” Max asked. He held his hand out to Sabine and she followed.

  They continued moving through the underground tunnel, unsure of where they would end up. Max hoped he was correct in deciphering the riddle, and that they hadn’t simply stumbled upon a very strange house.

  They came to another set of stairs leading farther downward, though these were made of stone. It was not a long staircase, but it wound to their right until they were deposited into a large rectangular room. Columned archways lined the perimeter of a spacious pool, just like those in Bath.

  “You were right,” Sabine said, wonder filling her voice.

  “It would appear so. But you don’t have to sound quite so surprised.”

  The sunken pool was empty, the spring that fed the bath having long since dried up. Some statues remained intact, although a few had begun to crumble. Along one side of the pool were four stone women, naked from the waist up, leaning forward and pouring water from large amphoras into the bath. At the height of this Roman bath’s day, it would have been luxurious and decadent to have water fall into the pool in such a manner. Quite sophisticated engineering as well.

  “It’s beautiful,” Sabine said. She stepped around him, walking through the archway and near the edge of the pool. “The dove? Where would they hide it?” she whispered. She made her way over to the steps that led into what would once have been a refreshing pool of water.

  “Search all around,” he said. “It looks as if we have a large area to cover.” His voice echoed in the solid stone surroundings.

  She nodded and stepped down into the empty pool.

  Max glanced around and decided to start over by the four statues. He stood behind one, searching the marble carving for any clue. The cloth draped over the woman’s hips below her navel, then fell to her bare feet. It was an exquisite piece of work, with realistic details, from her toenails to the delicate curve of her cheekbones. Around the front of the woman’s body, he found a small harp dangling from a tie at her waist. Her hair fell in loose curls around her face, and a handful of them sat like marble springs over her round, pert breasts. Her slight smile was forever immortalized in the stone. But he found no sign o
f a dove or any other bird, so he moved on to the next statue.

  She was much the same, with only a few small differences. But he continued his perusal—one never knew where one would discover the unexpected. After several moments, he heard Sabine make an exasperated little huff. He turned to find her glare aimed right at him.

  “What?” he asked.

  She walked toward him, but stayed in the pool looking up at his face. “We are searching for a clue, and all you can do is ogle the naked women?” She pointed at the statues.

  He glanced back at the statue he’d been examining. “I was looking for the clue.”

  “By staring at their breasts?” Sabine nodded knowingly. “You’re certain to find the dove there,” she said drolly.

  “Are you embarrassed?” he asked. He cupped the statue’s breasts for emphasis.

  “Embarrassed about what, precisely?” She propped her hands on her hips in what Max considered the universal stance of disgruntled women. “Your juvenile behavior?”

  He jumped down from the edge into the empty pool. His boots made a great thump as he landed. “I can assure you I’ve seen more than my fair share of breasts, real ones,” he reminded her. “Not ones made of stone. And should I desire to again see them in the very near future”—he let his eyes drop to her own chest—“I will find no difficulty.” He had closed the distance between them and stood merely a breath away. A wolf with his prey, he had her cornered.

  She swallowed visibly. “Are you threatening me?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

  “I would never threaten the virtue of a woman.” He flashed her a smile.

  She took several steps away from him. “Clearly, my virtue, as it were, is no longer an issue. Though I never claimed to be a virgin.” She turned to examine the far end of the pool. Bending, she followed the engravings that lined the stone’s edge.

  He had wondered, but there were lines even he wouldn’t cross, so he’d never asked. It mattered not to him. He found her demure attitude while making such a bold admission intoxicating. She was a divine mixture. Saucy minx cleverly matched with her fierce determination. “So you admit that you have had lovers,” he said.

  “I admit no such thing. My personal life is of no concern to you,” she said tartly. “Which is precisely my point. You shouldn’t make assumptions.”

  “And you’ve never made assumptions about me?” He cocked one eyebrow. “How about just now when you assumed I was standing up here wasting time gawking at the statues?” She said nothing, but had the grace to look appropriately guilty. “Your veiled denial gives me plenty of information,” he said. “Someday perhaps you’ll tell me about those previous lovers.”

  She said nothing.

  “Shall we continue our search?” he asked.

  He stepped out of the pool and back over to the statues he’d been examining. He knew she still stared after him, but he pretended not to notice. He’d flustered her and that pleased him. More than he was willing to admit.

  But he also needed his distance from her. His focus on her breasts had begun a string of fantasies flowing through his mind. Images of Sabine naked and writhing beneath him, or beckoning him into a pool like the one she stood in now—only with water lapping at her naked breasts, flesh and not carved of marble. He felt himself grow heavy with desire. Damned if he wasn’t behaving as a randy schoolboy would.

  He turned around and found himself facing the fourth nude statue. A lute hung from her waist, and like her three sisters, she had been sculpted by a master’s hand. But again Max found no sign of a dove or bird of any kind.

  From his vantage point, he watched Sabine continue to study the engravings that lined the inner rim of the pool. She moved along the edge until she ended up where she’d begun. “Nothing,” she said. “No sign of a dove anywhere.”

  “It’s got to be here somewhere,” Max said.

  She climbed out of the sunken pool and walked to the far side of the room. “Unless you were wrong.” Sabine tossed him a sweet smile from over her shoulder that he knew meant quite the opposite.

  “I was right about there being a bathhouse here. And I do have experience finding objects other people have been looking for.” He winked at her. “You’ve said that yourself.”

  She glared at him, then stepped back through the arches to the next adjacent room. He followed her, and they found themselves in what he assumed had been a steam room where the water had been heated for a plunge bath. Another statue of a woman occupied this room, though she was larger than the four by the pool. She looked vaguely familiar. Again she stood draped with a sheet hanging seductively on her hips, the rest of her bare. But instead of an amphora, she held a scale.

  More carvings covered the stone walls. There were tributes to the gods and goddesses: Zeus, although the Romans would have called him Jupiter, on a chariot led by winged horses; Venus reclining while a throng of men fanned her and fed her grapes; Diana with her bow and arrow aimed at a boar. The walls were covered with such images from floor to ceiling.

  They moved through the room in opposite directions, each carefully scanning the images lining the walls. He was examining an image of Achilles toppled over with a spear in his ankle when Sabine gasped.

  “Max, I think I’ve found something,” Sabine said.

  He made his way over to her. She leaned in close to the stone wall and pointed. There, in another carving of the god of the underworld and Cerberus, his three-headed dog, was a crude rendition of a dove—the same rendition they’d seen on the tombstone.

  “That’s it,” he said. “It was clearly added later than the rest of these carvings. It’s not as expressive or detailed.”

  “There aren’t any words anywhere near here. Perhaps there isn’t another clue, and we’ve actually found it,” she said. “Do you have anything we can break the stone with?” She searched the area around her feet, scanning the floor for an item she could use.

  Max smiled at her. “We might want to be careful before we bust through the wall. We don’t want to be trapped down here indefinitely. One wrong move could bring the whole building down on us.”

  She looked up at the stone ceiling above them. A frown creased her forehead. “Excellent point.”

  Max felt on the wall around the dove carving, pressing into the stone, but nothing moved beneath his hands. “There has to be a compartment or something around here,” he muttered.

  She followed his lead and began running her hands over the stone. Her delicate hands ran inquisitively over the walls, and Max couldn’t help but imagine those same hands exploring his own body. The way she’d run her finger down his chest, her nails biting into his flesh, the way she kissed. His stomach tensed.

  Damnation!

  He stepped forward and pressed directly onto the dove. Nothing. He leaned into it and suddenly he felt the floor beneath his right foot shift. The stone where the dove sat slid downward, opening up a compartment.

  “Max!” Sabine said.

  In the compartment sat six bottles of different shapes and sizes.

  “Interesting,” Max said.

  “What do you suppose we’re supposed to do with them?”

  “I’m not sure.” He leaned closer to better examine the bottles. “Poison,” he muttered. “No, that can’t be it. There has to be something else.”

  “The last clue dealt with an Atlantean game.” Sabine turned around in the chamber. “Nothing here looks familiar to me, though.”

  Max followed Sabine’s lead and surveyed the room again. The statue and the bottles—there was nothing to be done there. He narrowed his attention to the scale. He’d seen that scale before—that’s what was familiar about that statue. He stepped over to it. “I know this scale.”

  “It looks like any other scale would,” Sabine said.

  “No, see the symbols here.” He pointed to the engravings at the apex between the two plates. “I’ve seen that. In a book?” No, that wasn’t right. He glanced back at the bottles in the secret compartmen
t, then back at the scale. “That’s it.”

  “What’s it?” Sabine asked.

  He gathered the bottles, one by one. “This image, the scale with bottles on it.” He met her eyes and smiled. “It’s from the map.”

  She motioned to his bag. “Well, get it out, and we can match this scale to the illustration.”

  He shook his head. “With all the people we’ve had chasing us, I didn’t think it would be safe. I left it at my home.”

  “Do you remember it then? The exact placement?” she asked.

  “It’s not just about the bottles. We have to fill them with water. The weight needs to be evenly distributed.”

  “So we have to find water,” Sabine said. “I wonder if that pump in the main room still works.” She turned and strode out of the chamber and into the pool room. Back behind the four statues sat an old pump.

  “Here, let me. You hold the bottles.” He handed them to her. It took several cranks to get the pump moving. The water creaked and moaned through the pipes beneath the floor, then shot through the pump.

  Sabine held each of the bottles under the flow, allowing them all to fill.

  Once they’d completed that task, they went back into the chamber. They stood before the statue with the scale. Max closed his eyes, trying to envision the image of the scale with the bottles. While these bottles were also all different sizes and therefore held different amounts of water, they were not exact replicas. The bottles on the map were all different colors. With his eyes closed, he could imagine them: a short red one and a tall purple one, a narrow green one. But the bottles here were all made from the same yellow glass.

  “Where do they go?” Sabine asked.

  “This one,” he said as he picked up the tallest one, “goes here.” He set it down on the left scale plate. The scale itself did not move, as it was carved of stone. But when he placed the second bottle, the sound of chains pulling through metal sounded from behind the statue.

  Sabine nodded. “So far, so good. Do you suppose if you get one wrong the flooring in here collapses as it did in my game of Thistle?”

  “Let’s not find out.” He lifted another bottle and eyed both sides of the scale, then finally set that one back down and retrieved another one.