Crescent Dawn

might.

She heard a horrendous crash as the cabinet door burst open, sending a wave of bright light into the cavernous chute. Summer was momentarily blinded by the sudden change in light as she slid through the door, letting go of the chain as her momentum carried her across a smoothly polished surface.

Her vision clearing, she found herself lying on a large teak buffet. It sat in a small but brightly lit lounge that had been constructed from an original section of the manor’s kitchen. Summer was startled to see a half dozen elderly couples seated around the room having tea. They all silently stared at her as if she was an alien from Ursa Minor.

Slowly sliding off the buffet and onto her feet, she surveyed the source of the loud crash. Scattered about the floor were spoons, teacups, and saucers from a large formal tea set that had been sent flying when she kicked open the door.

Summer ruefully brushed herself off, hiding her grease-stained hands as she smiled at the collected gawkers.

“I do hate to miss teatime,” she said apologetically, then quickly scurried from the room.

She ran into Aldrich in the hall as he rushed toward the commotion and redirected him to help Julie. Together, they dashed down the stairs and unlocked the pantry door. A relieved Julie smiled at the sight of Summer.

“I heard a terrible crash. Is everything all right?” she asked.

“Yes,” Summer grinned, “but I might owe Aldrich a new tea set.”

“Poppycock!” the old man grunted. “Now, tell me again who locked you in here.”

Julie described Bannister and his motorcycle attire.

“Sounds like that fellow Baker,” Aldrich said. “Checked out this morning.”

“What do you know of him?” Summer asked.

“Not much, I’m afraid. Said he was a writer living in London who was down for a golf holiday. But I vaguely remember him visiting before, must be four or five years ago. I recall letting him into the archives. He’s quite knowledgeable about the Earl. In fact, he was the one who also inquired about Emily.”

Julie and Summer looked at each other knowingly, then Summer stepped back into the pantry.

“Would you like me to call the police?” Aldrich asked.

Julie thought for a moment. “No, I don’t suppose that will be necessary. He has what he came looking for, so I don’t think he’ll be bothering us again. Besides, I’m sure he gave you a phony name and address in London.”

“He’s going to get more than a piece of my mind if he shows up here again,” Aldrich huffed. “You poor dears. Please, come upstairs and have some tea.”

“Thank you, Aldrich. We’ll be right along.”

As Aldrich strutted off, Julie sat down on a Queen Anne bench beside some covered furniture and breathed heavily. Summer exited the pantry a second later, noting a paleness in Julie’s face.

“You all right?” Summer asked.

“Yes. Didn’t want to admit it, but I am a bit claustrophobic. I don’t care to experience that feeling again anytime soon.”

Summer turned and closed the heavy door behind her.

“No need for either of us to set foot in there again,” she said. “Where’s Aldrich?”

“He went upstairs to make us some tea.”

“I hope he can find some cups.”

Julie shook her head with a disappointed grimace.

“I can’t believe it. We had the clue to Kitchener’s death right in our hands and it was plucked away by that thief before we had the chance to figure out what it all meant.”

“Don’t look so depressed. All is not lost,” Summer replied consolingly.

“But we have so little left to go on. We’ll probably never find out the true meaning of the Manifest.”

“To quote Aldrich, poppycock,” Summer replied. “We’ve still got Sally,” she added, holding up the doll.

“What good is that?”

“Well, our friend may have stolen the left leg, but we’ve still got the right.”

She held the flayed doll toward Julie, yanking away a small piece of cotton stuffing. Peering inside, the historian could make out the tip of yet another scroll of paper, this one in the right leg.

She said nothing, her eyes ablaze, as Summer gently worked the object free from the doll’s interior. As Summer laid it on the bench and carefully unrolled it, they could both see that it was not a sheet of parchment or papyrus like the other scroll. Instead, it was simply a typewritten letter, with the heading “University of Cambridge Archaeology Department” emblazoned across the top.

32

“Divers are still down,” Gunn announced.

Standing on the bridge of the Aegean Explorer , he peered through a pair of binoculars at an empty Zodiac tied to a drop line that ran down to the Ottoman shipwreck. Every few seconds, he spotted a dual set of air bubbles breaking the surface a few feet from the buoyed line. Gunn swung the glasses past the Zodiac, refocusing the lenses on the large blue Italian yacht that was stationed close by. He noted curiously that its bow was facing him, which put the yacht perpendicular to the current. A partial glimpse of the rear deck showed some men scurrying about in activity, but Gunn’s view was quickly obscured by the vessel’s superstructure.

“Our nosy friend is still perusing the neighborhood,” he said.

“The Sultana ?” Pitt said, having earlier deciphered the Italian yacht’s name.

“Yes. Looks like she’s crept a little closer to the wreck site.”

Pitt looked up from the chart table, where he was examining some documents.

“He must be rather hard up for entertainment.”

“I can’t figure out what he’s up to,” Gunn said, setting down the binoculars. “He’s got his side thrusters on, positioning himself crossways to the current.”

“Why don’t you call him on the radio and ask him?”

“The captain tried a number of friendly calls last night. Couldn’t even get a response.”

Gunn stepped over and took a seat at the table opposite Pitt. Lying on the table were two tiny ceramic canisters that had been recovered from the wreck site. Pitt was comparing the items with an archaeological assessment of a merchant ship excavated by famed underwater archaeologist George Bass.

“Any luck dating these?” Gunn asked, picking up one of the canisters and eyeing it closely.

“They’re very similar to some pottery found on a merchant ship that sank near Yassi Ada in the fourth century,” Pitt said, showing Gunn a photograph from the report.

“So Al’s Roman crown isn’t a phony?”

“No, it would appear legitimate. We’ve got an Ottoman-era wreck that for some reason is carrying Roman artifacts.”

“A nice find any way you slice it,” Gunn said. “I wonder where the items originated?”

“Dr. Zeibig is assessing some grain samples that were embedded in one of the potsherds, which may indicate the vessel’s point of origin. Of course, if you’d have let us uncover the rest of your monolith, we might already have an answer.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Gunn protested. “That’s my find, and Rod said I could recover it with him on our next dive. You just keep Al away from it. Which reminds me,” he said, looking at his watch. “Iverson and Tang should be back up anytime now.”

“Then I better go rouse Al,” Pitt said, rising from the table. “We’re scheduled for the next dive.”

“I think I saw him napping next to his new toy,” Gunn said.

“Yes, he’s been anxious to test-dive the Bullet .”

As Pitt made his way across the bridge, Gunn gave one last warning.

“Now, remember. You two keep your hands off my monolith,” he cried, waving a finger at Pitt as he