The Emperor's Tomb

TWENTY-SEVEN

ANTWERP

CASSIOPEIA PASSED THROUGH ANOTHER OF THE MUSEUM’S many parlors, recalling its layout from her first visit. The ground-floor rooms were arranged around a central hall from which a marble staircase rose in broad flights. She passed the same English long clock and two Chinese-style cases that held expensive curios. A porcelain gallery opened to her right, the 18th-century tables littered with ivories, enamels, and some 19th-century Adelgade Glasvaerker collectibles. Through a main hall, divided by four Ionic columns, she found a rear staircase, most likely once used by the household staff.

She started to climb.

Her entry had been easy. She knew that many of these old places were not alarmed. Instead, interior motion sensors were the security of choice, but on her first visit she hadn’t noticed any. Perhaps it was thought that there was nothing here thieves would waste time stealing, or maybe it was a matter of cost.

She kept her steps light, her senses alert, the gun at her side. She stopped at the first landing and glanced down to the ground floor, her ears attuned to every sound. But she heard nothing.

She shook away her apprehension.

Just get the lamp and get out.

MALONE HAD NO IDEA WHERE HE WAS HEADED, BUT THE THREE men ahead of him did not suffer the same problem. They moved through the rooms in a deliberate path, following the tracker, which the one man still held. He stayed back and used furniture for cover, careful with his rubber soles on the marble floor. He was inside a gallery, probably light and airy during the day thanks to bay windows that opened to the rear garden.

He peered into the gloomy cavern and saw ceilings of enamel and carved wood. To his left opened a wainscoted room lined with walls that appeared to be leather. He could still smell the roses, lilacs, and hawthorn outside the terrace doors. He was crouched behind a high-backed upholstered chair, waiting for the three to head farther inside.

To his left, movement drew his attention.

Three more men entered through the terrace door.

He stayed low and used the darkness to his advantage.

Two of the newcomers stood tall. One moved with the slowness of age, and in the tiny bursts of light that came from outside, he caught the face. Definitely an older man.

One of the men toted a bow and a quiver of arrows slung across his shoulder.

Don’t see that every day.

All three crept in silence, then stopped, the older man directing the one with the bow, who quickly disappeared into the mansion. The remaining two hesitated, then advanced.

Malone fled the room through a second portal, away from where the others had gone, and headed toward the front, finding the main entrance.

Behind a small writing desk, which seemed to act as the admission table, opened a gift shop. He stepped inside, careful to keep his attention on what might be happening behind him, but he heard nothing.

He spotted a booklet that described the mansion in several languages, one of which was English. He grabbed it and stepped to a window. On the inside rear cover was a map of the four floors. He noted three staircases and many rooms. On the third level was a space labeled CHINESE BOUDOIR. No other room carried a similar designation.

Was that where Cassiopeia had hidden the lamp?

He grabbed his bearings and decided to use one of the secondary staircases.

CASSIOPEIA CAME TO THE TOP OF THE STAIRS AND QUICKLY made her way toward the Chinese boudoir. Gilt-edged mirrors lined the walls and a rich parquet sheathed the floor. Oriental porcelain sat atop carved chests. It had been one of those, a red lacquered cabinet with a refined finish, that had solved her problem. Surely, she’d reasoned, the cabinets weren’t inspected on a regular basis. From all she’d been able to learn this was a minor museum, of little consequence, something that merely preserved the formality and taste of a once-wealthy owner, which at least for a few days could provide a convenient hiding place.

Quickly she reentered the boudoir, stepped to the cabinet and opened the doors. The lamp lay exactly where she’d placed it. She had nothing to carry it in. She’d find a bag later, she figured, and taking a train directly to Copenhagen was beginning to sound like a good idea. Once there, she could decide on her next move.

She lifted out the lamp.

A dragon’s head, on a tiger’s body, with wings. She’d noticed at Pau Wen’s residence that the lamp contained some sort of liquid, its mouth sealed with wax.

A noise rose from behind.

She whirled.

Everything in the darkness seemed frozen.

Three meters away two forms appeared in the archway that led out to the hall. A third form materialized and blocked the other exit to her right.

Silhouettes of guns materialized, pointed her way.

“Lay the lamp down,” one of the two men said in English.

She considered shooting her way out, then decided that was foolishness.

She could not evade all three.

“The gun, too,” the voice said.