The Charlemagne Pursuit

EIGHTY-SEVEN

MALONE AND DOROTHEA LEFT THE CENTRAL PLAZA AND VENTURED deeper into the cluster, the buildings packed tight like dominoes in a box. Some of the structures were shops with one or two rooms, opening directly to the street with no other obvious function. Others were set back, accessed by walkways leading between the shops to front doors. He noticed no cornices, eaves, or guttering. The architecture seemed eager to use right angles, diagonals, and pyramidal forms-curves appeared in restraint. Ceramic pipes, married with thick gray joints, ran house to house, and up and down the exterior walls-each beautifully painted-part of the decor, but also, he surmised, practical.

He and Dorothea investigated one of the dwellings, entering through a sculpted bronze door. A mosaic-paved central courtyard was surrounded by four square rooms, each carved from stone with clear depth and precision. Onyx and topaz columns seemed more for decoration than support. Stairs led to an upper story. No windows. Instead, the ceiling consisted of more quartz, the pieces arched together with mortar. The weak light from outside refracted through and was magnified, making the rooms more resplendent.

"They're all empty," Dorothea said. "As if they took everything and left."

"Which may be exactly what happened."

Images sheathed the walls. Groups of well-dressed woman seated on either side of a table, surrounded by more people. Beyond, a killer whale-a male, he knew from the tall dorsal fin-swam in a blue sea. Jagged icebergs floated nearby, dotted with colonies of penguins. A boat cruised the surface-long, thin, with two masts and the symbol from the plaza, emblazoned in red, on square sails. Realism seemed a concern. Everything was well proportioned. The wall reflected the flashlight beam, which drew him closer to caress the surface.

More of the ceramic pipes ran floor to ceiling in every room, their exterior painted to blend with the images.

He examined them with unconcealed wonder.

"Has to be some sort of heating system. They had to have a way to keep warm."

"The source?" she asked.

"Geothermal. These people were smart, but not mechanically sophisticated. My guess is that pit in the central plaza was a geothermal vent that would have heated the whole place. They channeled more heat into these pipes and sent it all over the city." He rubbed the shiny exterior. "But once the heat source faded, they would have been in trouble. Life here would have been a daily battle."

A fissure marred one of the interior walls and he traced it with his light. "This place has taken some earthquake hits over the centuries. Amazing it's still standing."

No reply had been offered to either of his observations, so he turned.

Dorothea Lindauer stood across the room, a gun pointed at him.

STEPHANIE STUDIED THE HOUSE THAT DANNY DANIELS' DIRECTIONS had led them to find. Old, dilapidated, isolated in the Maryland countryside, surrounded by dense woods and meadows. A barn stood to its rear. No other cars were in sight. They'd both come armed, so they stepped from the vehicle, weapons in hand. Neither of them said a word.

They approached the front door, which hung open. Most of the windows were shattered clear. The house was, she estimated, two to three thousand square feet, its glory having faded long ago.

They entered cautiously.

The day was clear and cold and bright sunshine flooded in through the exposed windows. They stood in a foyer, parlors opening to their left and right, another corridor ahead. The house was single-story and rambling, connected by wide hallways. Furniture filled the rooms, draped in filthy cloths, the wall coverings peeling, the wood floors buckling.

She caught a sound, like scraping. Then a soft tap, tap, tap. Something moving? Walking?

She heard a snarl and growl.

Her eyes focused down one of the halls. Davis brushed past and led the way. They came to a doorway into one of the bedrooms. Davis dropped behind her but kept his gun aimed. She knew what he wanted her to do, so she eased close to the jamb, peeked inside, and saw two dogs. One tawny and white, the other a pale gray, both busy eating something. They were each a good size and sinewy. One of them sensed her presence and raised its head. Its mouth and nose were bloodstained.

The animal growled.

His partner sensed danger and came alert, too.

Davis moved up behind her.

"Do you see it?" he asked.

She did.

Beneath the dogs, lying on the floor, was their meal.

A human hand, severed at the wrist, three fingers missing.