“This way,” he said, turning his horse in the direction of the tower mill.
* * *
Nico’s blood ran hot enough to burn through the rope that bound him. He hated himself for allowing that one-handed fiend to get the drop on him, causing the capture of his cousin. He struggled with the rope, the coarse bonds binding his wrists to the point he could no longer feel his fingers.
“Calm down, Nico,” his grandmother advised.
“How can I, Grandmother? They will claim the inheritance.”
“Let them,” she said flatly.
He stilled himself and looked over his shoulder.
“Pardon? But, Grandmother, they . . .”
“Trust me, Nico. It shall all work out once Pierce finds it.”
He eyed her from the corner of his eye. “Grandmother, I think it’s time you tell me everything.”
“Oui,” she agreed earnestly. “It is.”
* * *
The shredded sailcloth clinging to the old tower mill’s lattice framework fluttered in the steady wind blowing inland from rapidly approaching storm clouds. The stone and wooden structure stood tall, ancient, and neglected.
The men dismounted, and Christopher went over to Pierce with his gun drawn. “Your grandmother mentioned you’d need certain pieces, yes?”
Clearly, the bloke had overheard that section of the conversation. With a crestfallen sigh, Pierce searched inside his saddlebag with the barrel of Christopher’s gun not too far from his head. He brought out the watch, the shells, and the strange looking throwing star-shaped thing and put them in his jacket pocket.
They approached the door. The deadbolt was nothing more than an annoying obstacle for Swansea, who kicked at it a couple of times before it caved. Christopher jabbed the barrel of his flintlock pistol against Pierce’s shoulder blade. “Go on,” he ordered.
Pierce didn’t fancy the idea of being in an enclosed area with these men, especially Swansea, who stood in the doorway, his sights pinned on him. Pierce refrained from allowing his fear to surface as he entered. Grey outside light melted into the dark shadows within. Swansea spied a lantern hanging from a column and put it on top of a crate so he could strike a match from the matchbox he had pulled from his coat pocket.
“Are you sure the money is in here?” Christopher asked, closing the broken door as best he could.
“No,” Pierce answered truthfully. “The clue only suggests it.”
The glow of the lantern brightened next to him. He turned and a cold shudder traveled up his spine at the sight of Swansea’s red-rimmed eyes.
“You and I have some unfinished business, eh?” Swansea whispered forebodingly.
His breath reeked of sauerkraut and tobacco.
“Swansea,” the lawyer snapped. “Leave him be.” He snatched the lantern off the crate and headed for the ladder.
“I’m going to cut you to ribbons, Landcross,” Swansea growled low.
“Grand,” Pierce muttered.
The tower mill had many different floors to search through. Old, yet sturdy, ladders with hand railings led straight up to each level. They climbed up to the keeper’s bedroom where only the metal frame of a bed and a rotted-out dresser sat. The next story up was empty, save for dozens of papers on the floor. The grain floor above, once used for storage, now only contained abandoned grain sacks. Rain had fallen by the time they reached the stone floor. The large, wooden spur gears that once helped rotate the sails, were now motionless. They searched but found nothing. The cap above was a closed-in room that gave the three men little personal space. The entire place reeked of dead wood.
Christopher panned the light and Pierce’s heart skipped a beat when he called out, “Over here.”
Pierce and Swansea came around the gear and bull wheel. Pierce rounded the shaft where the lawyer stood near a hole in the roof. Drops of rain, which had been dripping in for years, were seeping into the rotting floorboards directly below it. Christopher threw a tarp off something on the floor. Underneath was a medium-sized chest constructed of green and purple stained glass. The lawyer crouched in front of it and tried lifting the lid, but it stayed fastened shut.
“Break the damn thing open,” Swansea suggested.
“I can’t. It’s not made entirely out of glass,” the lawyer explained, peering closer at the exterior. “What a strange box.” He rose with a huff and said sternly, “Landcross.”
Pierce rolled his eyes as Christopher moved aside, allowing him to approach. He knelt and studied the box with glossy silver metal edges. The chest, indeed, had a stained glass outer layer, but also a metal second layer that he could see through the colorful panes. The box looked like any standard treasure chest, only it wasn’t standard in the least. In the center of the glass was a star-shaped indent with eight tiny holes at each point. Another larger hole was set in the middle of the star, where inside it appeared to be the inner workings of a lock. Around the star indent was a circular line cutting into the chest. Two holes in the form of crosses were located near the edge on the right side, one directly over the other, but facing in separate directions.
“Huh,” Pierce said, seeing the connection. “A bloody puzzle box, eh?”
Taisia had told him about Fan’s puzzle lock for her cellar, and how she had claimed it was far more secure. Apparently, the same security system was needed for the inheritance.
He brought out all the pieces from his jacket pocket. He set them all beside him except for the brass shells with the cross-shaped pegs. He fixed the pegs into the holes. To his relief, they snapped on with ease. One of the shells was upside down, the other right side up with the cog of the upper shell in between the lower shell’s pitch circles.
That was easy enough, he thought, then hoped he hadn’t jinxed himself.
“That one goes there,” bloody Christopher practically shouted in his ear.
He was pointing to the star piece, and then to the section on the box where it matched.
“Aye,” Pierce agreed peevishly. “I can fuckin’ well see that.”
He snapped the star in by lining up the little rivets with each hole. Once done, there was only a single piece left. Pierce studied the watch, still attached to the cylinder. His insides liquefied when he dis-covered it was too big.
“Bloody hell,” he moaned miserably.
“What is it?” the lawyer demanded. “Get it open, Landcross. Now!”
The loud shouting did nothing to soothe Pierce’s frayed nerves, and having the goddamned pistol suddenly jabbed behind his head didn’t help matters much, either.
“I will!” Pierce exclaimed, holding up a hand with an index finger raised. “All right, just give me a tick to figure this out.”
He believed the man would remove the gun. Instead, the twig-breaking click of the hammer being pulled back echoed in his ears.
“Hurry,” Christopher growled.
Pierce closed his eyes and took a breath. He knew the moment Christopher discovered the chest, they could have shot him dead and worked on opening it themselves. The most likely reason they hadn’t done so was because they planned on taking him to England and collecting the reward offered for him. For the first time, being a fugitive was actually saving his life—but not for long, if he couldn’t open the bloody box.
He examined the timepiece more closely. He hadn’t given it much thought since finding it—not enough to study the thing, that is. It had protective glass covering the watch face, and a thin gold body encircling it. He remembered when Taisia had forced it out of the heart-shaped box. The edges of the hole the watch had been in were coarse, as if crudely cut to modify it to the cylinder. The watch was part of the heart’s décor, but not the added steel base it rested on. He grabbed hold of the watch and tried pulling it free, yet found it a little more difficult to accomplish than he cared for.
“Your life is quickly coming to its end, Landcross,” Christopher threatened unhelpfully.
Pierce ignored him and continued pulling.
&
nbsp; Blast it all! What kind of glue is this?
At least, he hoped it was glued. If not, he’d have to find another way to pry it off—unless his brain met with a flintlock ball first. He was about to lose hope when the watch popped off, nearly flinging him backward. Thankfully, the gun hadn’t gone off.
“What is that?” Swansea inquired as Pierce tipped the cylinder part upside down onto his palm.
A heavy, round iron object tumbled out of the hollow base. It was a bit smaller than the watch, which was most likely the reason Nico had chosen to hide it inside the heart. Straight through the center of the object were three jagged openings, almost as if they were . . .
“Keyholes,” he whispered. “It’s a piece of the lock.”
He placed it within the center of the star, adjusting it until it clicked in place.
“Brilliant!” he said with exuberance.
Swansea, on the other hand, was not impressed. “I’m growing bored. Can we move this along?”
Pierce sorely wanted to punch him squarely in the nose and break it. No, more than that. After his attempt to force himself on him and slamming Taisia’s head against a tree, Pierce would not pass on another opportunity to put this sick bugger down. If given a second chance, it would be exactly what he’d do.
He stole a moment to admire the chest in its entirety and how well all the pieces complemented it. The puzzle box was truly a masterpiece.
Judging by the keyholes, Pierce only assumed he already had the key. He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled the copper item Grandmother Fey had given him. He slid it into the lock. It fit, but it did not turn.
Bugger!
“Unlock it,” the lawyer ordered, again jabbing that gun of his against the back of Pierce’s skull.
Pierce was highly tempted to try grabbing the pistol, shove it up the lawyer’s arse, and pull the trigger.
He needed to think fast.
“Turn the first piece counterclockwise,” he muttered under his breath, recalling the last bit of the clue.
Aye, that must be it. Padlocks always turned clockwise, but this was no ordinary lock. He twisted the key the other way, and thankfully, it turned.
The moment it clicked, the lawyer asked, “Is it open?”
“Not yet,” Pierce replied.
Turn the second piece clockwise.
He spread his fingers out over the star for a better grip and pressed against it. When turned, the cutout glass section rotated separately from the lock itself. A secondary lock that could only be unlocked by the first lock, he reckoned. It twisted in a full circle, and when it also clicked, the snail shells began to move on their own, running over each other’s cogs for traction. It wasn’t until they reached the end of their rotation that the box let out its final click.
“I . . . I think this is it,” Pierce announced.
He took hold of the trunk lid on both sides and lifted it.
* * *
Élie Fey’s hands hurt so badly she almost couldn’t stand it. The joints in her shoulders and elbows ached just as much. The stiff chair worked against her lower back like a torture rack. She honestly thought she was breaking apart. To end this misery, all she needed was for Pierce to release what she had given up years ago.
Soon.
Suddenly, the air in the room cooled, and when she breathed it in, her entire existence began changing. Her pains narrowed to pinpoints before vanishing completely. Her knee joints, so long in the clutches of arthritis, repaired themselves and became flexible once again. Her muscles, once weak and tender, filled with renewed strength. The damage of age and illness evaporated like water in the desert.
Now for these ropes.
The tight knots loosened upon her command, giving Nico the leverage he needed to pull his wrists free.
“I have it,” he announced, bending over to untie his ankles.
Élie slipped out of her bounds and was on her feet before her grandson. He turned, ready to help her, when, to his surprise, he saw her already freed.
“Grandmother?”
She admired herself in the mirror. The rejuvenation that had come over her had not diminished her age, but, then, she had never expected it would. However, it put life into the hollow places inside her body, which, in turn, made her radiant. Liver spots no longer dotted her face, her skin glowed, and her wrinkles had been greatly reduced. Her hair shined like pure silver.
“It’s true, then?” Nico said in awe. “What you told me?”
She removed her spectacles, seeing her grandson clearly without the assistance of eyewear. “Every word.”
Nico stood in utter disbelief for a long moment before he shook his head. “Pierce. I have to go after him.”
He charged out the front door, and she followed him just as a black-skinned woman on horseback rode up to the porch.
“I am looking for Pierce Landcross,” she stated, her body drenched by the downpour.
“They took him,” Nico told her. “A one-handed man and another man.”
A look of horror swept over the young woman. “Oh, God. Where did they go?”
“Over there,” he pointed. “Across the pond.”
She steered her mount that way and rode toward the forest on the other side.
“Wait, mademoiselle,” Nico shouted, running to his own horse. “I’ll come with you!”
Élie watched them ride off without a word.
* * *
When the chest lid creaked open, a strange breeze wafted out and brushed past Pierce’s face. His skin tingled and his hair stood on end as the air passed through him, making his head feel a bit fuzzy. The bizarre occurrence hadn’t affected Christopher, who shoved him aside.
“There isn’t anything in here!” he yelled out while staring down at the empty box.
Pierce recovered from the weird experience and stood. He peered into the chest. “Tsk, tsk. That’s a bleedin’ shame.”
Christopher was not amused, and Pierce wished he’d kept his smartarse mouth shut.
“Mr. Swansea,” Christopher snarled. “He’s all yours. I’ll meet you at the cottage.”
A sharp panic hit Pierce in the stomach and spread throughout his entire body as Swansea approached.
“Aye. I’ll see you in a few hours,” Swansea said, keeping his deadly stare on Pierce.
Pierce backed away to the hole in the roof until water tapped the top of his head. The wood beneath his feet creaked loudly, and when he looked down, the floorboards broke underneath him. He crashed straight through the entire rotted-out flooring and into the dust room below. The shock of the fall prevented him from even feeling the impact of the landing. He lay there a moment, covered in broken wood and rainwater.
Pierce, get up, said a voice in his ear. It sounded like Grandmother Fey. When he sat up, he saw nobody. He tilted his head up and saw his captives looking down at him through the hole he’d fallen through.
Run, Pierce!
He got to his feet, a sudden, sharp pain electrifying his left thigh. His leg hurt so badly it was difficult to use it as he thundered down the ladder. Ignoring the agony, he descended as fast as he could.
“Oi! Where do you think you’re going, Landcross?” Swansea bellowed.
He knew they were coming after him. If he didn’t keep moving, they’d catch up. With every floor he descended to, their steps grew even louder. The fact that Swansea had a revolver never left his mind. All he needed was to get a clear shot on Pierce and it would all be over. The journey down made his heart pound with fright and adrenaline. He couldn’t allow them to take him again, for they would surely murder him before doing the same to his grandmother and Nico.
When he reached the bottom level, Pierce flung open the broken door, dashed outside, and mounted his horse. He grabbed the reins of the other horses and swiftly rode off.
He didn’t look back, only heard shouting before gunshots rang out as he rounded the building.
* * *
Taisia’s chest hurt from her panting. That hor
rible man had tracked them down, and now he had Pierce. Goddamn her foolish temper that had caused him to leave without her and his gun. This made it the second time she had failed in her promise to protect him. If Pierce died, so would she—not due solely to her failure, but also because of the love she had for him. It owned so much of her heart that it would simply cease to beat without him in her life.
The cold rain, along with her tears of anger and dread, stung her eyes. She yanked on the reins, listening to her exhausted horse frothing at the mouth. The rainfall had dwindled to a slight drizzle and the afternoon sun was peering out, turning everything reddish-gold.
“Where does this path lead?” she asked the man, she assumed was Pierce’s cousin, Nico.
“The river, I believe.”
“Do you think it’s where they went?”
“I am not sure.”
Taisia had no idea which direction she should go. They could have gone anywhere, deeper into the forest or back toward town. She just didn’t know.
To the river.
“Did you say something?” she asked the youth.
Nico looked at her queerly. “No.”
The voice spoke clearly, as if someone had said it straight into her ear. Whether she had imagined it or not, listening to the disembodied voice was her best option. She set her sights on the trail ahead and kicked her horse.
Not long after they had resumed their pursuit, a horseman leading two other mounts approached. Taisia halted and slid her hand over the grip of Pierce’s gun strapped to her hip. When the rider drew closer, her panic melted into pure joy.
“Pierce!”
She practically leaped off her saddle and rushed toward him. Pierce also dismounted and ran toward her with a heavy limp. Her speed quickly closed the gap between them. They met under a single shaft of golden sunlight with sparkles of raindrops falling in its lighted path. Both threw their arms around each other, holding one another tightly. She kissed him all over his face while crying.
The Reunion Page 28