Pirate

Forty

Remi?” Sam said quietly. “Do you have—”

She handed him a small canister of pepper spray.

“Run,” he said.

Remi and Nigel turned and ran. Sam aimed the canister, but the dog, as though sensing trouble, backed off. Instead, Sam sprayed a shot toward the man, then ran after the others, not waiting to see if he hit his mark. The dog started barking just before Sam heard the sound of heavy footfalls as someone chased after them. Either he missed the dog handler or the man had an accomplice.

Remi and Nigel were up ahead, racing beneath the same arch they’d gone under earlier in the day, Devil’s Alley.

Aptly named, Sam thought, as he caught up to his wife. He glanced back but couldn’t see anyone in the fog.

“This way,” Nigel said, turning to the right. “The police station isn’t that far.”

In less than five minutes, they were pushing through the door of the police station, then reporting the attack. The officer on duty took Nigel back to an interview room while Sam and Remi waited in the lobby.

Remi took a seat in one of the chairs. “A good thing we happened along when we did.”

Sam paced the room, keeping an eye out the door. “What are the chances the one man we’re waiting to see is robbed?”

“Too much of a coincidence.”

“After everything that’s happened to us so far? Definitely.” He stopped and looked at her. “That whole Black Shuck story from Devil’s Alley…”

“You think Fisk or Avery wrangled some old lady to stop and tell us some legend about the Devil’s dog just to set up this whole robbery? That part could be coincidence. But the robbery…”

“What good does robbing him do?”

“Stop him from talking to us.”

Remi gave a tired sigh. “Who knew associating with us could be so hazardous?”

Eventually the officer came out and took a statement from Sam and Remi as well. When Sam mentioned the man with the dog, the officer shook his head. “Black Shuck and the Devil, right? Can’t tell you how many complaints we have anytime anyone walks their dogs on the quay. Last year, it was Rupert Middlefield walking his mastiff. Seemed to think it was funny. Lucky he doesn’t get shot, I say.” The officer closed his notebook and gave a bland smile. “If there’s nothing else?”

They thanked him for his time and left. Outside, after receiving assurances that Nigel did not need medical assistance, Sam offered to buy him that stiff drink. They ended up at a nearby pub, finding a fairly quiet corner to sit and talk.

Sam waited until their drinks were served before moving on to the real purpose of their visit. “About that translation. Have you had a chance to take a look?”

“I have,” Nigel said, placing his scotch on the table, then reaching into his inside suit coat pocket. A worried look came over his face and he checked another pocket, then stood, reaching into his pants pockets. “Maybe my wallet wasn’t the only thing taken.”

Sam and Remi exchanged glances. No doubt in Sam’s mind who was behind Nigel’s attack. “Were you contacted by anyone else about translating Old English phrases?”

“How did you know?”

“A guess,” Sam said. “It’s likely the robbery was a cover-up to get to your notebook.”

“But it wouldn’t take me that long to translate it again. The original text is on the email that Lazlo sent. So why steal it to begin with?”

“Maybe to keep us from getting it.”

Remi asked, “Do you remember any of it offhand? The translation?”

“Something about castles, rocks, holes… I can’t remember exactly what it was. Some of it didn’t make any sense. But it seemed harmless enough.” He shrugged. “Definitely not something I’d expect to be robbed for. So what exactly is going on? Why me?”

“Are you familiar with Madge Crowley’s alternative history on King John’s Treasure?”

Nigel reached for his drink, sipped it, then finally met Sam’s gaze. “Not my finest moment, taking her papers. Put it this way. I was young and stupid and very arrogant. But, short answer, yes. What’s that have to do with what happened to me?”

“Someone else we know believes this alternative history. Enough to go after anyone who has what they want or who gets in their way.”

“I’m sorry. You’re saying that the translation I was asked to do by your friend — no. That’s ridiculous. Madge’s theory, though clever, is all wrong. The treasure was lost in the wash. Everyone knows it.”

“And what if everyone was wrong?” Remi asked. “What if it was really out there? Hidden somewhere on purpose?”

“That’s… You can’t be serious.” He waited for Remi to say something, deny it, and, when she didn’t, he turned to Sam. “King John’s Treasure?”

Sam nodded. “Bottom line, we have no idea if it’s out there. But there seems to be enough evidence on this alternative history that makes it worth looking into. And it seems that your translation of the Old English phrases found on this map could be of value to our search.”

The waitress returned, asking if they needed anything. Nigel held up his near-empty glass, and Sam ordered another round for the table. When she left, Sam said, “We’ll understand if you’d rather not involve yourself. Obviously, we’re dealing with some unsavory characters. But this may be the opportunity of a lifetime.”

“May be?” Nigel said. “It is the opportunity of a lifetime. I’m in. What, exactly, do you need from me?”

“To start with,” Sam said, “the translation of what Lazlo sent.”

“If you have some paper, I have the original email on my mobile. There were a few words I couldn’t get, but several of them I knew right off.” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and started scrolling through his messages while Remi looked through her purse for paper. He glanced up suddenly. “One question. I’m not the only expert in Old English. Definitely not the foremost. And given my history with Madge, what made you pick me?”

Remi handed him pen and paper. “Luck of the draw, mostly. You happened to be in the area.”

It didn’t take him long. The passage that Lazlo had sent was short. “Something to keep in mind,” Nigel said, “is that there’s plenty of room for error. We seem to be working with a mix of Old English and Middle English. Spelling varied over the centuries, as did the meanings of words and the order in which they were written. What I’m trying to say is, hand this to someone else, they may come up with something different.” He slid the paper across the table toward Sam. “These are the words. The first three are pretty simple. Anyone with an Internet connection could’ve looked them up and translated them.”

Sam read the list. The first three words translated to hole or well, castle, rock or hill. “No idea about these?” Sam asked, not able to make anything out of them himself. Wul hol and wul eshea od…

“That’s the part I had difficulty with. Sorry. No idea.”

Remi studied the list for a moment. “So we have a few of the words. Now what?”

“Context,” Nigel said, “is everything. It might help to know where they originated, and when they were written, especially regarding any word that might have a dual meaning. Like that last one which could be rock or hill.”

Remi returned the list to Sam, who said, “They were found on an old map that we believe dates from 1696. But the original wording was probably transcribed from something written around the time of King John’s death.”

Nigel’s brows went up. “You’re saying this list is a key to the missing treasure? That it’s here in King’s Lynn?”

“That, I don’t know. It’s taken from a coded message that’s not completely deciphered.”

Nigel held out his hand. “May I have another look?”

Sam handed the list to him.

He studied it as the waitress brought their drinks. When she left, he said, “When it comes right down to it, any one of these words could be describing a hiding place. The problem arises in narrowing down a location — assuming they’ve been properly translated.”

“Anything around here fit?” Remi asked.

“Yes. But there’s nothing around here that hasn’t been searched a million times by others looking for the same thing.”

“Maybe so,” Sam said. “But they’re not us. So what’s your take on locations?”

“Hole or well could be a description of King John’s Hole. That’s about halfway between here and Long Sutton. And, if true, buried beneath about thirty feet of silt. Except—”

“Except what?” Sam asked when Nigel didn’t continue.

“Except why have these other indicators with it? Castle and hill, for instance? Maybe a well in a castle? Or a castle hill? There are plenty of those about.”

“Anything dating from that era in the general vicinity?”

“Castle Rising.”

“Looks like we have a bit of exploring to do in the morning.”

Remi raised her glass in a toast. “Here’s to good hunting.”