The Rosetta Key

She stepped distastefully away.

“My sister,” Jericho growled.

“Sister!” Tom stepped back as if he’d been given a jolt of electricity.

“You take your sister on a treasure hunt? What the devil for?”

“She sees things,” I said.

“The hell she does,” Ned said. “And who’s that back there?” t h e

r o s e t t a k e y

7 7

“Our Jewish guide.”

“A Jew, too?”

“Molls are bad luck,” Tom said.

“Nor are we carrying her,” his companion added.

“As if I’d let you,” Miriam snapped.

“Be careful, Ned,” I warned. “Her knee knows where your cockles are.”

“Does it now?” He looked at her with more interest.

By the lawns of Lexington, wasn’t this a fine mess? I couldn’t have made a worse stew if I’d invited anarchists to draw up a constitution.

So, thoroughly unsettled, we stepped into the shallow pool and waded knee-deep water to its end. Current issued from a cavelike opening secured by an iron grate.

“Built to keep out children and animals,” Jericho said, hefting his iron pry bar. “Not us.” He applied muscle and leverage and there was a snap, the rusty grill swinging inward with a screech. Once inside, our ironmonger closed the gate behind us, securing it with his own new padlock. “For this one I have a key.” I looked behind at the well’s long rim. Had someone ducked out of sight? “Did you see anything?” I whispered to Farhi.

“I haven’t been able to see since we left Jericho’s house,” the old banker grumbled. “This is not my habit, splashing in the dark.” Soon the water was thigh-deep, cool but not cold. The tunnel passage we were wading into was as wide as my outstretched arms and from ten to fifteen feet high, bearing the texture of ancient picks.

This was a man-made tube built to bring natural spring water into King David’s old city, Farhi told us. Its bottom was uneven, making us stumble. When we were far enough into the tunnel for Jericho to risk lighting the first lantern, I splashed up to Tentwhistle. “There’s no chance you were followed down here, was there?” I asked.

“We paid our guides to keep their mouths shut,” the lieutenant said.

“Aye, and didn’t breathe a word in Jerusalem, neither,” Ned put in.

“Wait. The four of you English sailors went inside the city?”

“Just to get some tack.”

7 8

w i l l i a m d i e t r i c h

“I told you to lie low until dark!” Jericho hissed with exasperation.

“We were in Arab sheets, and kept to ourselves,” Tentwhistle said defensively. “By the pulpit, I’m not getting all the way to Jerusalem and not have a look around. Famous town, it is.”

“Arab sheets!” I exclaimed. “All of you look as Arab as Father Christmas! Your beet-red faces couldn’t be any more obvious if you’d marched in with the Union Jack!”

“So we was s’posed to starve ourselves until nightfall and then dig you a hole?” Big Ned countered. “Meet us with some tucker if you’re so determined to keep us out of your precious city.” Well, what could we do about it now? I turned to Jericho, his face gloomy in the amber lantern light. “I think we’d better hurry.”

“I left a strong padlock at the grate. But you’re our rear guard, with your rifle.”

Suddenly Miriam yelped from the shadows. “Don’t touch me!”

“Sorry, did I brush against?” Little Tom said salaciously.

“Here, doll, I’ll keep you safe,” Ned added.

Jericho started to raise his pick, but I stayed his hand. “I’ll handle this.” As I pushed my way back to the rear of the file, I let the barrel of my new rifle drive into Ned’s groin. “Bloody hell!” he gasped.

“My clumsiness,” I said, swinging the stock away so abruptly that it nicely clipped the side of Little Tom’s face.

“Bastard!”

“I’m sure if we all keep our distance, we won’t bump.”

“I’ll stand where I bloody well . . .” Then Tom yelped and jumped.

“That bitch snuck up behind!”

“Sorry, did I brush against?” Miriam was holding a pry bar.

“I warned you, gentlemen. Keep distant if you value your man-hood.”