“Ancient Greek or older,” he said. He frowned and pointed at her hand. “Where did you get that?”
“From Calliope. I thought it might make it easier to find what we’re looking for. So far, we’ve found the dove engraving on a tombstone and the wall in the bathhouse, but those are both rather large in comparison to the hilt of a sword.” She shrugged. “I wanted to be prepared.”
He smiled.
“Why, did you want to borrow it?” she asked. She held it out to him.
“I can see quite well on my own. I don’t need your lady’s tool to assist me.”
She braced her fists on her hips. “Let me know if you change your mind. You might run across another statue and need it”—she waved the magnifying glass—“for a closer examination of the breasts.”
Max laughed quietly. “Carry on,” he told her.
They looked for over an hour and had only scoured half the room. Max had seen pieces from what he believed to be the Byzantine Empire and perhaps even one of the early dynasties of China. Fascinating though the collection might be, he could see why the men of Solomon’s had decided to remove Mr. Flynn from their roster. He was not interested in any particular legend or myth, but rather was simply a collector of all kinds of weaponry. A fine hobby, but not the stuff of the legend hunters, as some outsiders referred to the men of Solomon’s. Also, he was known to use his collection regularly. The threat of violence was more than enough to disqualify him. He’d been asked to leave the club and had subsequently left London, and as far as Max knew, had never returned.
“Max,” Sabine whispered. “I think I’ve found something.”
He moved to where she stood, near one of the windows in front of a small display case. Inside was one single dagger, the hilt carved with a crude rendition of a bird. Engraved on the blade was an inscription in Greek:The Great army is commanded as the ten were done.
“That has to be it,” Sabine said.
Max eyed it carefully, then with his own much smaller knife, reached for the lock at the base of the display case.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” a voice called from behind them.
“We’re in grave danger, sir,” Sabine began. “And we need this weapon.” She pointed to the dagger encased in the glass box. “We will certainly return it when we are done.” It was probably futile to try to bargain with the man; he didn’t seem congenial in the least.
“I don’t bloody well care if you’re the queen, you’re not getting my knife,” the man growled. He was tall, taller than Max, though not as broad. His long, brown hair was scruffy and straggled past the man’s shoulders. His beard was full and gray, and covered worn, wrinkled skin that had seen far too many hours in the sun. Coarse wool on aged leather. “I found that one myself, dug it up from beneath a castle in Gloucester. Nearly lost my leg, I did.” Then, as if he’d realized he was conversing with them, he shook his rifle.
Max took a step forward. “Mr. Flynn, I can assure you—”
Flynn pointed his rifle directly at Max. His narrow eyes squinted until they were nothing but angry slits. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Max said.
Sabine watched Max’s demeanor change. Gone was the seductive charmer she was used to, and in his place was a deadly calm protector ready to negotiate and bargain their way out of this.
“From Solomon’s.” Flynn’s eyes narrowed, and he snarled. “They’ve always been after me. Did they send you for that piece in particular or were you planning to take everything the two of you could carry?”
Max nodded slowly. “I am a member of Solomon’s, but that is the only reason I even knew of your name and your collection. We were looking for a rare piece, but it doesn’t appear that you have it.” Max slid his hand into Sabine’s and pulled her closer to him. “We are terribly sorry for bothering you at such a late hour.” He moved them closer to the door. “We’ll be on our way now.” His smooth and steady delivery nearly convinced Flynn, or so it seemed. Max had even managed to direct Sabine a couple of feet closer to the door.
Then Flynn shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he said. He held his gun steady, aimed directly at them. “This way. You walk slowly and don’t try anything or I’ll shoot you first,” he said to Max, “then take my time with the girl and shoot her, too.”
Sabine swallowed and involuntarily squeezed Max’s hand, pulling it tight to her side. The warmth from his body offered no actual protection, yet gave her a measure of comfort, though she realized that if this armed man behind them chose to do just as he said, they’d have little defense to prevent him.
“Keep walking,” he said. Eventually he closed the distance between them enough so that he could alternately press the end of the rifle into Max’s back and then her own.
He marched them upstairs and into a bedchamber, where he shoved them inside. “I’ve already sent for the local magistrate. I saw you creeping across the lawn and knew you were up to no good. But I waited to see what you would take. He’s on his way to have you both hauled off to jail. I called for him first, so I can’t kill you myself,” he said, then slammed the door. The lock turned behind them. They heard something large scrape against the floor, then bump the door.
“He’s braced it with a piece of furniture or something. I’m surprised he didn’t toss us into the dungeon,” Sabine said.
Max looked away from the door, where he was currently trying to dismantle the lock, and smiled at her. “Now wouldn’t that have been an adventure.”
“Not one I would relish. I can assure you that,” she said.
“Check the windows,” Max said.
Sabine made her way to the opposite wall to the four windows. “They have bars on them.”