Jonas nodded, frowning. “Yeah, but the impression I got was that it happened a long time ago. Maybe a couple of centuries or more. It wasn’t anything recent.”
“There have probably been other treasure hunters going through this heap over the years, trying to find the missing gold, or jewels, or whatever they think was hidden in here.” Verity scowled. “You know, Jonas, I may have made a teensy mistake when I negotiated your fee for this job. I elected to take a flat rate, figuring there probably wasn’t going to be any real treasure left after all this time. But what if we find something? It might have been smarter to negotiate for a percentage of the treasure in addition to the consulting fee for the authentication report.”
Jonas chuckled at her concerned expression. “Ah, the stress and worry of higher management. Sure glad that all I have to do is the physical labor.” He sat up abruptly and tossed aside the covers. “I’d like to know what happened to that crystal,” he remarked, yanking on his jeans. He walked across the room to the tapestry hanging on the wall. “Hazelhurst makes it clear in his diary that he considered it the key to finding the treasure.” He reached out and lightly touched the frayed, woven wall hanging. Then he pushed against the tapestry, touching the wall underneath.
Verity felt the air around her shimmer slightly. She got out of bed and pulled on her robe. “Okay, master historical scholar. What’s with that section of wall?”
“I’m not sure yet. Whatever it is, it’s not enough by itself to trigger a trip into the psychic corridor. But there’s something here. Let’s take a look behind this tapestry.” He lifted the old fabric carefully and peered at the wall. “You with me?”
“I’m here.” She walked over to stand near him.
“All I’m getting are a few faint vibrations. I can keep them under control.”
Verity nodded and sucked her lower lip between her front teeth. She could feel herself beginning to perspire again.
Jonas put his hand at on the wall and moved it slowly along the stone surface.
“Watch out for booby traps,” Verity muttered.
“I think we’ll sense them before we spring them.”
“Only if they’ve already been sprung by some other unfortunate treasure hunter,” Verity pointed out. Jonas’s psychic talent was linked to violence. If the traps had been used in a deadly manner at some point in the past, he would sense it. But if they had never been sprung, there would be no previous history of violence to alert him.
“All I’m getting is a vague feeling of danger--almost like a warning. It was the same way when I opened the stone where the crystal had been kept. It’s strange, Verity. It’s as if someone managed to plant mental warnings around his secrets, not just a few hidden stilettos.”
His hand continued to glide over the stones. When he touched a chink in the mortar there was a distant dull thud that sounded like ancient machinery moving inside the wall. Verity shivered inside her robe.
“I think I’m onto something here,” Jonas said softly. Verity heard the controlled excitement in his voice.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“I think I could get into treasure hunting. It’ll never replace dishwashing as a satisfying career, but it might make a hell of an interesting hobby. What do you think?”
“I’m beginning to think I was nuts to have you take this job.”
“But this is a hobby we can share together. Some people ski together; others play tennis. You and me, we’ll be part-time treasure hunters.”
Verity was considering the pros and cons of this when a large section of the wall creaked loudly, groaned, and then swung inward. A wave of musty air billowed out.
“Whew!” Jonas stepped back quickly.
“It smells awful in there.” Verity peered into the dark passage that had been revealed. “Probably full of rats.”
Jonas went back across the room and returned with the flashlight and his knife.
“What’s that for?” Verity demanded, eyeing the knife.
“You never know. The door is so heavy I don’t think it can close again unless it’s pushed, but I’ll prop this chair against it, just in case. Wouldn’t want to get trapped inside this passage.” He hauled a heavy chair to the opening in the wall and placed it firmly across the threshold. All right. Stay behind me and don’t touch anything.”
“Don’t tell me, let me guess,” Verity said. “In spite of what common sense dictates, we’re going to explore this secret passage, right?”
“We’re after treasure, remember? This is the sort of place people bury treasure. At least, it’s the sort of place they would have buried it four hundred years ago.”
“Are you still getting some vibrations Jonas?” Verity hurried over to where she had left her shoes. Jonas was already stepping into his boots and buttoning his shirt.
“All I’m getting are a lot of old echoes. Nothing specific, and nothing to worry about.”
“If you say so.” She followed him into the dark corridor. The passageway was narrow. The stone ceiling was just barely tall enough for her to stand upright. Jonas had to duck his head.
“Men were a little shorter four hundred years ago,” he remarked.
The flashlight beam revealed an empty stone tunnel that seemed to follow the inside wall of the bedroom. At the point where the adjoining wall connected, the interior corridor turned to follow it.
“Do you suppose this passage connects the entire villa the way the main hall does?” Verity asked.
“Possible.”
“Yuck. Look at the dust.” Verity lifted the hem of her nightgown and then gasped. “Jonas—look at the footprints in the dust! Someone’s already been in here.”
Jonas bent to examine one footprint. “There’s a thick layer of dust inside it, so it’s safe to say it’s been a long time since someone walked through here.”
“Maybe it was Digby Hazelhurst.”
“Could have been. The prints are too mixed up to tell if there was more than one person in here. Digby probably made several trips down this passage once he discovered it. I’ll bet he was excited.” Jonas stood up and started down the corridor.
“It’s cold in here. You should have brought your jacket, Jonas.”
“Yes, dear.” He glided on down the passageway.
Verity raised her eyes toward the dark ceiling of the stone tunnel and swallowed a retort.
“You know, I don’t think I like this place, Jonas.”
“Want to go back to the bedroom and wait for me?”
“No, I most certainly do not.”
“Then stick close and stop complaining.”
“I was not complaining. I was making an observation, and I do not want…Oops.” Verity stopped and looked down.
“What’s wrong?” Jonas swung around, playing the flashlight over her.
“I hit something with my foot.”
“Let me see that. Looks like part of an old sword.” Jonas picked up the dark, tarnished chunk of metal. It fit into his palm as if made for it.
“Wait!” Verity cried out as the stone corridor immediately began to give way to another kind of corridor, one that she knew existed only in her mind and Jonas’s.
She was too late to stop the transition. Jonas was gripping the broken sword firmly, and the walls of the psychic time tunnel coalesced around them. She held her breath as reality shifted and a second reality was superimposed on the first. When she opened her eyes she was standing beside Jonas in an endless tunnel, staring at an apparition that hovered in midair in front of them.
The image was of a grim-faced, powerfully built man who appeared to be in his late forties or early fifties. He was seated at an intricately carved wooden desk littered with ancient tomes and writing instruments. The man was dressed in a wine-colored velvet doublet and hose, and he wore a waist-length fur-trimmed cloak. Several
heavily embossed rings adorned the apparition’s fingers, and the hilt of a jewel-encrusted sword was just visible under the fold of his cloak.
There was a small black case on the desk that appeared to have been carved out of some dark, shiny stone. It was open to reveal an egg-shaped chunk of green crystal.
The man and the desk were in a small, stone room. Behind him was a long, black, ornately carved chest. Its lid was raised, revealing a heap of gold coins and glittering jewels.
Verity stared at the figure frozen in time. The wraith stared back at her. “Something’s wrong,” she whispered tautly. “Something’s different about this image. I’ve been in this psychic corridor with you several times now, Jonas, but I’ve never seen a phantom vision like this.”
“Nothing’s moving, that’s what’s wrong.” Jonas took a few steps forward. “There’s no action.” The scene in front of them remained still, as if it had been rendered in marble.
“I don’t like the green glow coming from the crystal.” Verity took a wary step backward. “There’s something really wrong here, Jonas. I’m sure of it. Why doesn’t this image move like all the others? Why aren’t we witnessing a scene of violence connected to that sword hilt you’re holding? That’s the way the time corridor always worked in the past.”
“I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m sure it’s harmless, Verity. I’ve told you a hundred times the scenes in this corridor are just visions. They can’t hurt you.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” Her brows came together in a sudden scowl. “Where are the ribbons? There should be ribbons.”
Always before when she had entered the psychic corridor with Jonas there had been an immediate rush of strange, writhing ribbons. They converged on Verity as if drawn by some invisible force. It was her ability to harness those dangerous tentacles of emotion that enabled Jonas to control his psychic abilities. Without her, he could be overwhelmed by the hungry ribbons of seething emotional energy that sought to escape through him to the real world.
“I don’t know,” Jonas said softly. He walked slowly toward the image of the man seated at the desk.
Verity stared at the figure in the scene. “Jonas, I think his eyes are following you.”
“Just an optical illusion.”
“I’m not so sure. Jonas...”
“You’re right about this vision being different in several ways, Verity. The scenes in the time corridor have always been scenes of violence connected to whatever object sends me in here. I’m still holding the sword hilt, but there’s no action, no violence.”
“Do you think that piece of crystal on the desk is the one Digby Hazelhurst found a few years ago?” Verity asked softly.
“It’s possible. It fits the description.” Jonas studied the frozen image for a few more minutes. Then he moved back to stand beside Verity. “It’s just not a normal corridor image.”
She shivered. “How can you say that anything in this corridor is normal?”
“It has its own rules and its own physical laws, you know that. You’ve been in here often enough with me. This vision doesn’t fit the rules we’ve learned. We’re not looking at a scene of violent action. Nothing is moving within the image, and there are none of those energy snakes that always pour out of the scene and try to lock onto me.”
“It’s as if whoever is sitting there has reversed the usual way things work in here,” Verity agreed.
“Christ, I learn something new every time I step into this crazy place.” Jonas shook his head in bemusement. “Wish I knew what the hell this all means.”
“I think,” Verity offered slowly, “that if that’s the crystal Digby eventually found, there might be some truth to the legends of a treasure buried here in this villa. Look at the chest behind that man. It’s heaping with gold and jewels. Maybe that guy in the cloak is the one who originally owned the treasure.”
“I wonder if this piece of metal I’m holding was the hilt of that sword the man in the image is wearing. In the past, the object that took me into the corridor has always appeared in the vision. Something is very, very different here, honey.”
Verity’s intuition was prodding her. “I think we ought to get out of here, Jonas. I really do not like this whole set-up, not one bit. This psychic thing has always been pretty weird, but this is stranger than ever.”
“Okay. I want to see where this passageway goes. Guess we’d better get going.” He dropped the hilt of the sword.
It clattered on the stone floor of the real-time corridor, and the psychic corridor vanished. A cold draft made Verity tighten the sash of her robe again.
“You take the sword hilt,” Jonas said. “It’s got a strong pull. If I pick it up again, we’ll jump right back into the corridor.
Verity scooped it up. “Got it.” She was about to comment on the dirt encrusting the ancient metal when the faint shaft of light that had been seeping into the passage from the bedroom dimmed. An ominous creaking sound from around the corner of the passage warned her too late of what was happening.
“Jonas, I think the door is closing!”
“Shit.” Jonas raced passed her, his face grim behind the flashlight.
Verity limped after him, her heart pounding as the distant angle of light narrowed, then vanished completely. They rounded the corner of the passageway in time to see the heavy door slide into place with a very final thud.
Something clattered eerily in the darkness behind the closing door. It sounded like a handful of kindling being tossed against rock.
Or bones being dragged across stone.
Jonas raised the flashlight and Verity sucked in her breath at the sight of the skeleton. It lay just behind the massive door. The bones were bound together by the remnants of what had once been a natty pair of pleated trousers, an oxford cloth shirt, and a corduroy sport coat with suede patches on the elbows. A pair of gold-rimmed spectacles glittered in the dust near the skull. The sleeve of the jacket had gotten caught under the closing door and had jarred the bones, thus causing the unnerving rattle.
“Oh, my God, Jonas. It was there all the time! We didn’t see it because the door was open.”
Jonas ran the flashlight beam over the inside wall. There was no handle, knob, or other obvious means of reopening the stone gate. “We’ll have to assume that whoever built this place didn’t want to get accidentally trapped inside here himself. There’s got to be a simple way out.”
“Apparently our friend here didn’t succeed in finding it,” Verity said grimly.
Jonas looked down at the tangle of cloth and bones. Metal shone dully as the flashlight wandered over the remains of the body. Jonas knelt beside the bones and studied the blade that was projecting through the corduroy sport coat.
“I don’t think our pal died of natural causes. And it doesn’t look as if he starved to death in this corridor.” He probed the pocket of the pleated trousers.
“What are you doing?” Verity demanded.
“I was just wondering who he is—or was. Ah, here we go.” Jonas tugged a stiff, scratched leather wallet out of the trouser pocket. He flipped it open and studied the driver’s license photo of the bald, smiling man wearing gold-rimmed glasses.
“Well?” Verity prompted. “I don’t think I can stand any more suspense. Anyone we know?”
“It’s Digby Hazelhurst.”
“Good heavens! He’s supposed to have disappeared while swimming or something.”
“Sailing.”
“That poor man. What an awful way to die! I think I’ve got a new definition of Hazelhurst’s Horror. Imagine being trapped in this passageway…” Verity broke off as reality hit her. “Uh, Jonas, you do think you can find the mechanism that opens the door from the inside, don’t you?”
“I’m good at manual labor, remember? Relax, boss. We’ll get out. But I don’t want to make the same mistake Hazelhurst m
ade.”
“What mistake? Oh, you mean that blade sticking out of him? You think it might have been another booby trap?”
“It’s possible. The metal is old and heavy. Probably early sixteenth century. Let’s see if we can get a clue as to which direction it came from.” He reached down and picked up the blade.
“Jonas, I’m not sure I’m ready for another one of these trips,” Verity began hurriedly, but it was too late. The flat stone walls around her were already curving into the familiar vision of the endless time corridor.
“Verity?”
“Right here, Jonas.” She turned at the sound of his voice. In the dimension existing inside the psychic corridor he was standing a short distance away. With an effort Verity could control both realities simultaneously. She could keep her awareness of the real, solid passageway, and at the same time concentrate on the psychic tunnel. It was a somewhat disorienting sensation, but she was getting better at maintaining the two realities.
“There. Straight ahead.” Jonas took a step closer to her, indicating a misty vision materializing ahead of them in the psychic corridor. His expression was grim. “It’s pretty vague, isn’t it? Probably because it’s relatively recent in time.”
Verity followed his gaze, aware that the visions were sharper when he dealt with older events, especially those of the Renaissance. This was definitely a recent act of violence. “Oh, no,” she whispered helplessly as the short, violent drama unfolded in front of her.
There was nothing to be done and she knew it. It was like watching a film—a never-ending instant replay of the sudden demise of Digby Hazelhurst, gentleman scholar and lifelong treasure hunter.
The scene wavered indistinctly, as if it lacked sufficient power to project itself. In the weak vision, the man whose picture they’d seen in the wallet was clawing at the wall of the stone corridor. He had a look of breathless terror on his features. His fingernails raked along a line of mortar between two stones just as a dark, tarnished blade was plunged into his back. A hand was clutched around the hilt of the stiletto, and on one finger of the hand was a magnificent ruby ring.