Holmes made a disapproving noise, but did not speak.
“Perhaps the ground is spoiled there,” Mr. Quarrie said. “Such things happen. Salt or mineral deposits. Poor drainage... Perhaps even the animal dung that fertilizes the roots?”
Dr. Van Resen regarded the older man evenly, but offered no more
“What has this to do with Lilly?” Miss James finally blurted.
“Everything,” the scientist said, appraising each of the castaways, begging for patience with his eyes.
“I spoke before of how I felt there was a special connection between the abandoned journal, the Cossack sword, and the decoration and design of this unique ‘shelter’...” Van Resen gestured to indicate these elements as he spoke. “And I alluded to my suspicion that whoever arranged these things might have done so as an exile who was clearly enamored with his past and the place he was forced to leave.”
“Yes, doctor,” Mr. Quarrie said, as his wife pressed his ruddy hand to her cheek. “What of it?”
“I spoke of them also in connection with the wild man ‘Gazda’ who so bravely rescued Miss James from a terrible fate,” Van Resen continued. “I felt that he also had a history with this place. The medallion that he wore fanned the flames of my suspicion but now I have no doubt that he belongs here.”
Miss James had drawn her hands up and clasped them over her heart. Her bosom rose and fell deeply; her skin flushed dark red.
Mr. Quarrie glanced at the Cossack sword. “He’s Hungarian?”
“Someone was, yes. I think it was the unfortunate fellow whose remains we found here. But Gazda...” Van Resen said, rubbing his palms together. “On his pendant was a most unusual symbol that to me seemed at once familiar and alien—for in fact, I had seen it before.”
The castaways waited for him to continue.
“When I entered the moringa grove, I found a forest of trees that had been warped and sickened by some dark design or malady,” the scientist explained. “And I believed at first that some essence among the branches was to blame for the stench we have all smelled, and for the hallucinations I experienced the deeper I ventured into the wood.”
The others shifted uncomfortably. Mr. Quarrie repeated the word “hallucination.”
“I believed this odor to be some natural agent: a flower’s perfume, pollen, even pestilential vapors released by the remains of some dead creature—until I found within the grove something that I now wish had remained forever lost,” Van Resen said, standing between the others and the table. “Miss James, you remember the medallion that Gazda wore, and the mark etched upon it?”
“What of it?” Mr. Quarrie asked protectively as the governess nodded.
Mrs. Quarrie covered her face and Phillip Holmes stepped forward expectantly.
“I found a great tree at the center of the grove that was dead, and by its side was a shallow grave,” Van Resen said sharply, turning to pick up a battered panel of rusted metal and corroded tiles. The scientist carried it toward the governess, holding it out like a shield.
“Miss James, can you identify the symbols on this grave marker?” he said, and the governess looked at it with disbelief for to either side of a grated vent set in the weathered surface was a circular dial etched with...
“The symbol on Gazda’s medallion!” she cried, drawing away. “A serpent...”
“So,” Mr. Quarrie puffed. “The wild man is a castaway!” The old fellow nodded, cheeks crimson as he peered at the grave marker. “And from a family of some bearing by the look.”
Van Resen set the marker by the fireplace and returned to the table.
He lifted something.
“I found this book wrapped in leather and buried in a box of a design and construction similar to the grave marker. Upon its armored facing was etched a serpent symbol like the others.” The scientist held the book out between the tips of his thumb and index finger. “But it was in this book that I confirmed the true nature of the serpent.”
“Does the book explain the symbol then?” Holmes asked.
“It may but I cannot read it.” Van Resen pointed at the faded leather cover. “However, it was this seal that led me to my terrible conclusion.”
The Quarries and the other castaways leaned in to look.
“What,” Mrs. Quarrie asked, “another puzzle?”
A shield-shaped device was pressed into the leather cover. The right side of it was unadorned, and the left was divided by horizontal lines set one over the other at even intervals.
“It is the emblem of a house of nobles in a land far from here. Basarab their line is called,” Van Resen said, before pointing at the grave marker. “Its members belonged to the holy order whose emblem is there, on the buried box, and upon the medallion hanging from Gazda’s neck. No serpent, it is Signum draconis.”
The castaways watched Van Resen as he lowered the book. “It signifies the Order of the Dragon. The house of nobles is that of Dracul.”
“How can you know this?” Miss James asked, her face pale and tense with strain.
“I have seen it before. Another scientist’s research held many diagrams.” Van Resen opened the book and pried from between the back cover and the pages a folded sheet of sturdy parchment, well-stained and tattered at the edges.
“What scientist?” Miss James’ eyes gleamed with desperation.
“This map confirmed the noble name for me,” he held the parchment up. There were lines upon it in ink, smeared iconography and annotations to indicate a legend. “Again, it is marked with runic symbols I do not know, or that have been made piecemeal from other languages or forms—some kind of cipher, I suspect. Regardless a pathway is clear to see wending over a countryside. Here it is crisscrossing roads and passing populated areas. Villages are marked as are streams here and here. And bridges...” Van Resen pursed his lips and pointed at the top of the map. “And this...”
“I see only a simple square, doctor!” Mr. Quarrie rasped.
“Yes, at the
