Книга - The Buried Cities

The Buried Cities
James Frey


The final story in a heart-stopping novella trilogy that follows a forbidden love that threatens Endgame in post-World War II Germany and takes place prior to the events in the New York Times bestseller, Endgame: The Calling.Humanity rests on the shoulders of twelve Players. But when the lives of a Cahokian Player and a Minoan Player intertwine over the search for an ancient weapon in post-World War II Berlin, the last thing they expect is to let their guard down and fall in love. Now Boone and Ariadne must journey deep into the ancient buried cities of Cappadocia, to find the remaining pieces of the weapon - before it's too late.But this is Endgame. And only one can win.This heart-stopping novella arc takes place prior to the events in the New York Times bestseller Endgame: The Calling.





















First published in ebook in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books 2017

HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

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London SE1 9GF

Visit us on the web at www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)

Endgame: The Fugitive Archives Volume 3: The Buried Cities © 2017 by Third Floor Fun, LLC

Cover design and logo by Rodrigo Corral Design

Additional logo and icon design by John Dismukes

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780062332752

Ebook Edition © 2017 ISBN: 9780007585335

Version: 2017-04-25


Contents

Cover (#u14276642-d8c0-520d-bda4-2cecfcc85712)

Title Page (#ud35a1a7d-1d96-5bef-b7db-04a9f0379d7d)

Copyright (#ub1a7695b-6fc1-5805-9a9f-8f8015dbed7f)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

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Other Books in the Endgame series

About the Publisher




CHAPTER 1 (#u5f9c1cec-5121-5824-a428-253250d8cd31)

Boone


The town we are walking into isn’t on any map.

All around us, volcanic rock formations tower to the skies, many of them ending in rounded points, like giant stone mushrooms growing out of the earth. The surrounding landscape is harsh but beautiful, rocky and treeless, covered in a thin blanket of snow that crunches beneath our boots as we ascend a hill. It feels like we’re walking on the moon.

“What’s the name of this place?” I ask Oswald Brecht. The scientist is walking ahead of me, humming to himself. After years spent in a Soviet prison, he is now a free man, thanks to me and Ariadne, and he seems excited to be out of there.

“It has no name,” he says. “Not officially. The people who showed it to us call it yildiz erkekler şehir, the city of the star men.”

Hearing him say yildiz, the woman who is leading us turns and flashes a smile. Her name is also Yildiz. She’s very old. Ancient. I wouldn’t be surprised if somebody told me that she’d helped Noah load the animals onto his ark. Her face is a nest of wrinkles, her eyes cloudy, her mouth toothless. Her hair is white and her body is bent. Yet she walks as quickly as any of us.

“Yildiz,” she says. She points to the sky, which like her eyes is also gray and cloudy. “Star.”

Ahead of her is a girl of 12 or 13. Her name is Kelebek, and she’s skinny as a laundry line and serious as Warren Spahn standing on the pitcher’s mound facing a batter. Her dark eyes watch everything, and I haven’t seen her smile once since we met her six hours ago. She’s related to Yildiz in some way that I haven’t quite figured out yet. She calls her “grandmother,” but this doesn’t seem likely given the great difference in their ages.

“I was surprised to find her still living,” Brecht says to me in a low voice, nodding at Yildiz. “She was one of the guides when we first came here, in the summer of 1944. I did not expect to find her again. We are lucky.”

We found Yildiz in a Turkish city called Malatya, where Brecht had directed us so that we could look for a guide who knew this part of Cappadocia. Too much time had passed since his last visit here for him to remember how to find this place again on his own, and anyway he had been brought here and returned by an SS military escort, and so had only a vague recollection of where it was. When he admitted this, I worried we might not find the city at all. But then he discovered Yildiz sitting in the same shop where he had last seen her, selling cups of tea. Kelebek was with her. The girl spoke English well enough that, between that and the Turkish that we know, negotiations were undertaken and an agreement reached for them to escort us here.

“Have you ever seen anything like this?” I ask Ari, who is walking beside me. I really want to take her hand and hold it, but we’ve decided it’s best to keep our feelings for each other to ourselves. Well, Ari has decided, and I’m going along with her, although really I would kiss her right in front of everyone and not care what any of them think about it.

She shakes her head. “It’s beautiful. It reminds me of the wildest parts of Greece, but even stranger.”

“It’s kind of like the badlands of North Dakota,” I tell her. “We did a session there when I was training. I felt like I was on another planet.”

“The landscape was formed by volcanos,” Brecht tells us. “Over the centuries, wind and rain wore away the deposits, leaving these towers behind.”

“It is not the only place like it,” Ott says, as if he’s seen a million of these cities. I shoot him a look, but he’s too busy drinking from the flask of water he’s carrying to notice.

“That is so,” says Brecht. “There are a number of these underground cities scattered throughout Cappadocia.”

“Underground?” I say, looking at the rock towers that go up.

“These so-called fairy towers are spectacular,” says Brecht. “But the truly remarkable parts are underground. The rock is fairly easy to dig away, and the cities extend to great depths beneath the surface, in some instances hundreds of meters.”

“Who built them?” I ask.

Brecht smiles. “That depends who you ask. Most archaeologists will tell you they were built by early Christians, to be used as places of refuge from persecution. And many of the underground cities do feature churches, some with beautiful frescoes painted inside them. But this place is different.”

“Different how?” Ari asks.

Brecht raises his eyebrows and grins like an excited kid. “It’s best to show you.”

We keep walking. We have been traveling for several days, ever since we left Moscow after springing Brecht from Taganka Prison. The journey has been a difficult one, made more difficult, at least for me, by the presence of Karl Ott. Since he betrayed us in Moscow, attempting to turn us over to Charles Kenney in exchange for a reward, I have been even more suspicious of him than I was to begin with. Kenney himself is another worry. Claiming to be working for my own council, he turned out to be a rogue operative who had somehow found out about Endgame and decided he could make a profit by doing business with the lines. But which lines he made contact with, and what kind of deals he made with them, we don’t know. And since I pushed him off the roof of a building, he can’t tell us.

I don’t really want Ott with us at all. We needed him in Moscow, where his connections helped us get into Taganka Prison, and he helped us because we were also supposed to be freeing his father. Unfortunately, his father was killed in the attempt, and Ott turned on us. At first, he wanted to return to France on his own to check on his family. He was worried that someone else looking for the weapon might harm them or kidnap them to use as a bargaining chip. If I didn’t think he might be running back to try to make another deal with someone else, I might have let him go. Then, after Brecht said he wanted to see his daughter again and make sure she and his grandson were safe, I thought we might all be going back to France. And since his daughter was married to my brother and his grandson is my nephew, I get being worried about them. But Endgame doesn’t stop so you can check in on your family, so after some back and forth Ari and I convinced them that finding the second set of weapon plans would be the best way to make sure they got to see their loved ones again. The plan now is that once we find what we’ve come for, we’ll go back to France and figure out our next moves.

So all of us are still together, although uneasily. Even though Kenney is dead, we don’t know what information he might already have relayed back to the Minoans. Nor do we know if it is true that the Minoans, or someone else with whom Kenney was working, have taken Lottie and Bernard. Since we have no way of contacting them, we can’t know for certain. We may be racing against a clock we cannot see. All we can do is hope that we’ve made the right choice.

One thing that I am not at all surprised about is that the Minoans have put a price on Ari’s head. I’m sure Kenney wasn’t lying about that. What worries me more is that Cassandra didn’t make an appearance in Moscow. I’d have thought that once she knew where Ari and I were going, she would have made it a point to come after us. Since we haven’t seen her, that means that she either didn’t arrive in time to confront us, or that she has another plan. One way or another, I sense that we will meet again, and soon.

“If people know about this place, why hasn’t it been studied like the other underground cities?” Ari asks.

“It’s thought to be unlucky,” Brecht answers. “Although people still reside in many of the underground cities, this one was abandoned centuries ago. The locals avoid it, and as you saw, there are no populated towns for many kilometers in every direction. That is not by accident. They fear this place. They say it’s cursed.”

“Cursed?” Ari says. “How so?”

“It’s said that if anyone disturbs the secrets hidden here, he will suffer greatly.”

“Just like in The Mummy,” I say.

Yildiz turns again. “Boris Karloff!” she says, and gives me a thumbs-up. I return the gesture, and she cackles happily. Kelebek, watching us, scowls.

“Rather like that, yes,” says Brecht. “Well, more like the real-life Lord Carnarvon, who financed the expedition to find Tut’s tomb and died shortly after it was opened.”

“Carnarvon died from a mosquito bite, not a curse,” Ott says, snorting. “I suppose Hollywood didn’t find that interesting enough.”

I ignore him. “But you’ve already opened this particular place, haven’t you?” I ask Brecht.

“Yes and no. We did a bit of excavation. But we were … interrupted.”

I stop walking, which forces Ari and Ott to stop as well. Brecht turns and looks at us. Ahead of him, Yildiz and Kelebek keep going. “What?” Brecht says, wiping his brow with a handkerchief. Despite the cold, he is sweating.

“What have you not told us?” I say.

“Nothing,” he says. “I told you that the second half of the weapon plans are here.”

“Yes,” I say. “And do you know where, exactly, they are?”

“No,” he admits. “Not exactly.”

Ari and I look at each other. Ott curses. Hearing him, Yildiz and Kelebek stop and wait to see what is happening.

“You might have mentioned this earlier,” I tell Brecht.

“I told you the truth in Moscow,” he says. “Just not, perhaps, the whole of it.”

“What makes you so sure the plans are here, then?” Ott asks, voicing what we are all wondering.

“Information gathered at the site where the first set of plans was found,” he says. “There was a map. It showed the location of this city, as well as details of the underground rooms.”

This is better news. “And you recall the details of this map.”

“Regrettably, it was destroyed,” he says. “Shortly after we arrived here to begin our search.”

“Destroyed?” Ari says.

“By one of the other guides,” Brecht explains. “He claimed he was doing it to prevent us from causing a disaster. He was shot for his troubles, but the damage was done. The map was gone.”

“And there was no copy?” I say.

“None. And no further work was done.”

“Why not?” I ask.

“The tide of the war was turning against our employers,” Brecht explains. “All available minds and bodies were recalled to Germany in an attempt to defend what remained of the Reich.”

“Then how are we going to find the plans now?” Ari says.

“By doing what archaeologists and adventurers have done since the first robber broke into the first tomb,” Brecht says. “Following the clues.”

My heart sinks. “You’ve had four days to tell us this.”

“If I had, you wouldn’t have come,” he says. “And I couldn’t risk losing my daughter and grandson.”

This I understand—although he’s wrong. Even if he’d told us that we were coming on an expedition with no guaranteed outcome, I would have come. Ari and I have agreed that we need to do whatever we can to make sure the weapon doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.

Next to me, Ari makes a noise suggesting she is less than happy with this new revelation. I put my arm around her. She tenses for a moment, then relaxes against me. “Come on,” I say. “It will be like a Tintin adventure.”

“You know the Tintin books?” She sounds surprised.

“How do you think I learned French?” I say. Then I address Brecht. “Where do we start?”

“Up there,” he says, pointing to one of the rock towers.

We begin walking again, following Yildiz as she climbs a flight of steep steps carved out of the rock and passes through a small doorway. She enters easily, but most of us have to duck to avoid striking our heads on the lintel. Inside, another set of stairs curls up the side of the tower. Yildiz is mounting them, with Kelebek behind her. Brecht follows her, then Ari, then Ott. I bring up the rear. We slowly rise up the tower, our speed dictated by Yildiz’s pace, corkscrewing around and around until we empty out into a small chamber at the very top. Narrow windows spaced around one half of the room let in light and air. The other wall space is taken up by a series of crude paintings. I examine them along with the others. There is a central figure painted in white and blue. It is humanoid in shape, but without discernible features. Around it are many smaller figures, painted in brown and yellow.

“They look as if they’re worshipping it,” I say. “Is it a god?”

Yildiz says something in her language. Kelebek says, “It is one of the star men.”

I look at Ari, and an unspoken question passes between us: Does she mean the Makers?

Yildiz says something more, and again Kelebek translates. “The stories say the star men first came many centuries ago. They brought with them secrets that they shared with the people here. They taught them to build cities.”

“Has she ever seen one?” I ask.

Kelebek says something to Yildiz. Yildiz shakes her head and replies.

“No,” Kelebek says. “She says she is not that old. They stopped coming long before that. But she has seen lights. When she was a girl. Lights from their ships in the heavens.”

I don’t contradict the old woman. Perhaps she has seen lights. Many people have. I doubt very much they belonged to spaceships of any kind.

“Why are we looking at this?” Ott asks, sounding impatient.

“We’re looking at this,” Brecht says, walking to another part of the painting. He points to another group of brown-and-yellow figures. Some of them are holding what appear to be weapons, which are aimed at one of the tall blue-and-white figures. Yellow light appears to be bursting from the weapons and surrounding the taller figure.

Yildiz speaks.

“The people turned against the star men,” Kelebek says. “They called them demons and killed them with the star men’s own weapons. But then they turned against one another as well, arguing about what should be done with the weapons and the other technology the star men left behind. Many died. And so some of them who were wiser than the others destroyed the weapons to stop the fighting.”

Again Yildiz says something. Her voice never wavers, as if she has told the story many times before.

“But two of the people—sisters—hid what was left of the weapons, each putting some of the parts in a secret place known only to her,” Kelebek translates. “Along with the instructions for building it. In case it should be needed again. One of the sisters was our ancestor, and her story has been passed down from mother to daughter until now.”

“I believe one set of pieces was hidden in the other city, where we found the first set of plans,” Brecht tells us when Kelebek is finished. “I believe the second set is here, hidden somewhere below.”

“But how do we find it without a map?” Ott says.

“A map would be helpful, yes,” Brecht says. “But perhaps we don’t need one. Before the map was destroyed, I was able to identify one point of interest, what I believe is a door. But I couldn’t figure out how to open it.”

“And now you have?” I ask.

“I had a lot of time to think while I was in Taganka,” Brecht says. “And it occurred to me that the answer might be right in front of us. Do you have the box with the pieces?”

I nod. We’ve brought it with us, and I’m carrying it in a pack on my back. Now I set the pack down, open it, and remove the box.

“Open it, please,” Brecht says.

I unlatch the lid and raise it. Inside, the pieces of the weapon rest inside their compartments. Brecht comes over and looks at them, then takes one out.

“All this time, we thought these were pieces of the weapon,” he says. “But I think this one may be more than that.”

“What do you think it is?” I ask.

Brecht turns the piece in his fingers. “I believe it is a key.”




CHAPTER 2 (#u5f9c1cec-5121-5824-a428-253250d8cd31)

Ariadne


“You believe it is a key?”

I look at Brecht, who is gazing at the piece in his hand with a peculiar expression. I wonder what he’s thinking. Myself, I am thinking that we might have come a long way for nothing. I hope I am wrong.

Brecht holds the key up as if it’s a holy relic. “I do,” he says. “Of course, we won’t know until we put it in the door.”

“Which is where?” Boone asks him. He sounds impatient, and I can tell he is annoyed. As am I. Brecht has just made our mission even more difficult.

Brecht points a finger toward the floor. “Down there,” he informs us. “In the underground city.”

Boone sighs wearily. “Don’t tell me,” he says. “You’re not sure exactly where it is.”

Brecht shrugs. “I have an idea,” he says. “The map was not entirely specific, so we might have to try a number of possibilities.”

Suddenly I feel very weary. These are questions Boone and I should have asked before we even began the journey here. That we didn’t is worrying to me. It suggests that we are losing our edge as Players. Or perhaps we are afraid to admit that we are running out of options, and are hoping that if we only keep moving forward, everything will be all right. More and more, I am finding it difficult to separate my personal feelings from what I should do as a Player of Endgame. Then I remind myself that as far as my line is concerned, I am not a Player anymore. Now I am Playing for myself alone, or perhaps for myself and Boone. Maybe even for humanity itself. But to what end? I still don’t know. But something keeps me Playing. I want to win, even if I don’t know what winning means anymore.

“I know where it is.”

We all look at the girl, Kelebek. She is standing beside the old woman.

“The door,” she says, in case we have not understood her meaning. “I know where it is.”

Yildiz says something in rapid-fire Turkish. I don’t understand all of it, but I get that she’s telling the girl to be quiet. She sounds almost fearful. Kelebek silences her with a curt nod of her head, then says, “My friends and I have spent many hours here. I can take you to the door.”

“You play here?” Brecht says. “Despite the legends?”

“I am not afraid of legends,” Kelebek says.

Brecht laughs. “Brave girl,” he says. “Very well, then. Let’s be on our way.”

Kelebek shakes her head. “It is getting dark,” she says. “We must wait until morning.”

“What difference does it make?” Ott asks. “Underground it’s always dark. We’ll have to use flashlights whether it’s day or night.”

“We won’t,” the girl says. “You’ll see. Tomorrow. Tonight, we camp.”

She doesn’t wait for a reply from any of us, but turns and walks out of the room and down the stairs. Brecht laughs again. “I suppose we have no choice,” he says, and starts off after Kelebek.

Ott looks at me and Boone. “Are we taking orders from a child now?”

“Unless you know where the door is, I think we are,” he says.

Ott grunts. I look over at Yildiz, who still seems upset by what’s happened. “Are you all right?” I ask her in Turkish.

She nods, but the worried expression is still on her face. She leaves the room, followed by a still-fuming Ott. Boone and I are alone. “Do you think she really knows where this door is?” I ask him. “Or that there’s really anything down there anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Boone says. “I guess we’ll find out.”

This doesn’t make me feel any better. I’m used to Boone being the optimistic one, the one who believes everything will work out. In only a short time, I’ve come to welcome his particularly American attitude. Or maybe all the months I spent with the dour Russians rubbed off more than I realized. Whatever it is, I suddenly need him to tell me it will be all right. I take his hands and hold them tightly in mine, staring into his eyes.

“Don’t worry,” he says, giving me one of his lopsided smiles, which, despite my worries, makes my heart skip a beat. “We’re on an adventure, remember? Like Tintin.”

I nod. “In search of buried treasure,” I say.

He kisses me. I do feel better, at least a little. Mostly, I realize, I’m tired. So much has changed in the past weeks, both in my life and in how I think about things. Huge changes that have broken my world apart. I’m here now to, what, try to find a way to piece it back together? Truthfully, I don’t know. My goal has been to find the second set of plans for the weapon. What happens after that, I’m not sure.

“Come on,” Boone says, taking my hand and leading me out of the room. “If we stay up here any longer, everyone will wonder what we’re up to.”

Part of me resists leaving. I know we can’t stay in the fairy tower forever, but just for a moment I want to pretend that we can, that we can live in the sky with only the sun and the moon and the stars. I want to forget about weapons, and fighting, and especially about Endgame. I want life to be normal. But I don’t even know what that looks like, and so I go with Boone, leaving the mural and the narrow windows behind and returning to the real world.

Outside, the others are waiting. The sun is low in the sky, the early winter dark coming on quickly. The temperature is dropping now that the sun is fading, and soon it will be night. We need to figure out our shelter.

Kelebek, it seems, has already thought about this. “Come with me,” she says, and starts walking toward a cone of rock that rises out of the ground ahead of us. There is a single opening in the volcanic rock wall, a black mouth into which the girl disappears. We follow her inside and find ourselves in a spacious room. Just how large it is becomes apparent when Kelebek strikes a flint and lights some tinder placed inside a fireplace that is carved into the rock. The smoke disappears up a hidden flue.

Brecht looks into the fireplace. “It must vent outside somewhere above.”

He and I dart outside for a moment and look up. Sure enough, approximately 25 meters above, we see tiny plumes of smoke exiting from a seemingly solid spire of rock.

“Ingenious,” he says. “And all done without modern technology. The builders must have scraped that chimney out one spoonful at a time.”

We go back inside. Kelebek and Yildiz are kneeling by the hearth, opening packs and taking out food. Already, dishes of dates and olives are laid out. Small paper-wrapped parcels follow, and are unwrapped to reveal dolmas—grape leaves stuffed with a mixture of ground lamb, spices, mint, and raisins. Smelling them, my mouth begins to water, and I realize how famished I am after our trek.

We sit cross-legged on the floor, eating with our hands and drinking water from our flasks.

“Don’t worry about water,” Kelebek says when she notices me taking small sips. “There are wells here. The water is good.”

“You’ve explored here often?” I ask her. She reminds me a bit of myself—wary of letting too much of herself show—and I hope to earn her trust by getting her to talk.

She nods, but says nothing further.

I lean over. “I used to go into the caves by my home when I was your age,” I whisper, as if I am telling her a great secret. “My grandmother told me they were filled with monsters. She thought that would keep me away, but it only made me want to see them for myself.”

This story earns me a smile. Kelebek glances at Yildiz. “She does not like it that I come here.”

Yildiz looks up and frowns. Kelebek and I laugh together.

“What do you think is hidden here?” Kelebek asks me.

I don’t know what to tell her, and so I say, “I am not sure. What do you think it is?”

“Something important,” she says. “Something worth a lot. I remember the last time people came. During the war.” She looks at Brecht, and her face hardens. I wonder what she’s remembering. I think for a moment she will tell me, but she doesn’t. Suddenly she’s as wary as she was before.

“We are not like those people,” I assure her, but she only shrugs and resumes eating.

When we are done, Brecht goes outside again. This time it’s to smoke a cigarette. I find him sitting atop a tall rock, the flat surface of which is reached by a set of steps carved into the back. I climb up and join him. Above us, the cloudy afternoon sky has cleared, and the stars are visible against the cold blackness of space.

“One of the things I missed most while in Taganka was being able to see the night sky,” Brecht says. “The daytime sky is more or less always the same, except for clouds. And they are random. But the night sky, it changes in an orderly fashion as the stars move across it. When I was a boy, my grandfather taught me the names of the constellations. Often he would wake me in the middle of the night and take me out into the yard to look up at the sky, so that I would learn what it looked like at different hours and in different seasons. My mother always knew when he did it because the next day I would be late getting up for school.”

He takes a puff on his cigarette and blows the smoke out. “I hope to do the same with Bernard.” Then he turns his head to look at me. “And what do you hope for?”

I think about it. “I don’t know,” I tell him. “For now, finding the second set of plans.”

“Yes,” he says. “But what then?”

This is, of course, the question hanging over all of us. We have each come here for our own reasons, reasons that may ultimately be at odds with one another. Brecht, I think, is mostly driven by scientific curiosity, a wish to finish what was started when he and Evrard Sauer realized what they had found. Also, I think, he hopes that the weapon might be used to buy the safety of his daughter and grandson, if that becomes necessary. Ott, too, I think, believes that the weapon can be used as a bargaining chip. He hides this behind talk of using it to prevent another war, but I believe he would be just as happy to use it to start another one.

When I don’t answer Brecht’s question, he tries another tack. “The world is filled with legends about items with unbelievable power. Items that have been hidden to prevent greedy men from finding them and using them for their own ends. Always someone finds them, and always the outcome is ruin.”

“You think we should leave whatever is hidden here alone?”

“Everyone who goes in search of power believes that they will be the exception,” he says. “That they will be the one with the wisdom to use the power for the right purpose.” He stands up. “But what do I know? I am a scientist, not a philosopher.”

He leaves me alone on the rock, looking up at the stars. But I am not alone for long. A few minutes later, Boone joins me. He sits down beside me and takes my hand. Alone in the dark, we can do this without worry, and I lean against him.

“What were you and Brecht talking about?”

“Opening Pandora’s box,” I say. “Finding the lost Ark of the Covenant. Wearing the Ring of Gyges.”

Boone whistles. “That sounds like some conversation.”

“He asked me what we plan on doing with the weapon.”

“Ah,” Boone says. “And what did you tell him?”

“Nothing,” I say. “What would you have told him?”

“No fair,” he says. “You’re trying to get me to answer the question for you.”

He’s right. And I do want him to answer it. He doesn’t.

“Are we still Playing Endgame?” I ask.

“I’m still the Cahokian Player,” he replies.

“And I am still not Cahokian,” I remind him.

He pulls me closer. “One thing at a time,” he says. “Let’s see if this key of Brecht’s really is a key, and if the door is even a door. And what the hell is the Ring of Gyges, anyway?”

“It’s from Plato,” I tell him. “Don’t they teach you anything in your American schools?”

“Just readin’, ritin’, and ’rithmetic,” he says. “So, what does it do?”

“Makes the wearer invisible, so that he can do anything he likes without being caught. The story asks us whether or not people will behave morally if they don’t fear being caught or found out.”

“And what’s the answer?”

“Plato says it depends on the nature of the man.”

“The weapon could change everything,” Boone says after a moment. “For us. For the lines. For everyone.”

Before I can reply to this, Brecht appears behind us. Instinctively, we pull apart.

“You need to come down,” Brecht says. “There is a problem.”

“What’s happened?” I ask as Boone and I get to our feet.

“It’s Ott,” he says. “He’s disappeared. And so has the girl.”




CHAPTER 3 (#u5f9c1cec-5121-5824-a428-253250d8cd31)

Boone


When we get back inside, Yildiz runs up to us, speaking wildly in Turkish. She’s talking so fast that I can’t understand a word she’s saying, but Ari does.

“She says Kelebek went to get water. A few minutes later, she realized that Ott was gone as well.”

“Maybe he just went out to smoke,” I suggest. “Or walk around.”

“The key is gone too,” Brecht tells me. He holds up the box containing the weapon pieces. It was tucked into my pack, but someone has obviously removed it.

I look at Ari. We should never have left the box unattended. It was a stupid thing to do.

“We have to find him,” I say. I turn to Yildiz. “Do you know where the well is?”

She nods enthusiastically, and beckons with her hand. “Come,” she says.

The three of us follow the old woman as she leaves the room and goes outside. She hobbles quickly in the opposite direction of the stargazing rock, heading for the doorway of another fairy tower. Once inside, she begins to descend a set of stairs that spiral down into the earth. It’s dark, so Ari, Brecht, and I turn on our flashlights. The beams cross one another as we hurry behind Yildiz, casting looming shadows on the stone walls.

The stairs corkscrew down, as if a giant has plunged them into the dirt. I estimate we descend about 50 feet before they stop and we find ourselves in a tunnel just tall enough for me to walk in without having to bend over. It’s maybe four feet wide, and we have to walk single file.

“They designed these tunnels so that enemies would have to enter one at a time,” Brecht says from behind me. “It made them easier to pick off.”

“That’s very reassuring,” I tell him. “Anything else we should watch out for?”

“Oh, all manner of traps,” he says. He sounds excited. “Pitfalls. Falling rocks. In the other city Sauer and I explored, there was a room that filled with sand, burying anyone who became locked inside it. The architects of these places were very clever.”

Ahead of me, Yildiz begins calling out Kelebek’s name. I try to quiet her, in case Ott is hiding somewhere, but she ignores me, her frantic cries echoing through the stone tunnel. There is no answer, and she calls out some more.

My fear is that Ott took the key and followed the girl, then forced her to show him the door and open it. But since we don’t know where the door is, we could be going in the totally wrong direction. All I can do is continue to follow Yildiz as she races through the tunnel. When we come to a fork, she does not hesitate as she takes the path to the left. Then there are more stairs, another tunnel. The whole time we are moving, she continues to call out Kelebek’s name.

Finally she gets an answer. The girl’s voice comes back, echoing through the tunnel. She doesn’t sound scared, which makes me feel a little less worried. When we emerge from the tunnel into a small room, we find her standing calmly in front of what looks like a trough carved into the rock. It’s filled with water. Then I hear the muffled sound of someone loudly cursing. It seems to be coming from beneath the floor.

“Is that Ott?” I ask.

Kelebek nods. “He threatened to harm me,” she says coolly.

“How did he get down there?”

Kelebek steps on one of the stones, and it tips beneath her foot, pivoting on an unseen hinge. Ott’s voice becomes louder for a moment, then is dampened again as the stone slides back into place. I kneel beside the stone and test it with my hand. Once again it tips. This time I stop it from closing by holding it open. I shine my flashlight into the darkness below. Ott’s face is illuminated as he looks up at me from the bottom of a narrow pit about 15 feet deep. He shields his eyes with his hand.

“Get me out of here,” he says. “I think my damn leg is broken.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have tried to force the girl to open the door for you,” I suggest.

“I didn’t,” he says. “I went after her when I realized she’d taken the key.”

I look at Kelebek.

“He’s lying,” she says instantly.

“Search her,” I tell Ari.

Ari moves toward the girl, who backs away and pulls a small knife out of somewhere in her clothes. “Don’t touch me!”

“Looks like he’s telling the truth,” I say as the girl pokes her knife at Ari.

“Of course I’m telling the truth,” Ott snaps. “Now get me out of here.”

“We’ll need to get some rope,” I tell him. “And something to make a harness out of.”

I hear a grunt, then some more cursing. This time, it comes from Kelebek. Ari has disarmed her easily, and now has her arms around the girl, who is thrashing wildly and clawing uselessly at Ari. Yildiz is talking to her in Turkish, trying to calm her down, but the girl is too busy being angry to listen.

“Stop it!” Ari says. “Nobody is going to hurt you.”

Kelebek, probably more worn out than she is ready to listen, stops struggling. When she’s no longer trying to break away from Ari’s grasp, Ari slips a hand into the girl’s pockets. She pulls out the key from the weapon case.

“Why did you take it?” she asks.

“I didn’t,” the girl says. “I took it from him.”

“Before you tricked him into stepping on the stone?” Ari says.

Kelebek nods. “I told him I would open the door for him. He gave me the key.”

“She’s lying!” Ott bellows. “I was going to take the key from her, but I stepped on that damn trapdoor and fell in here.”

I look at Ari. I honestly don’t know which of them to believe. Based on what I know of him, it’s far more likely that Ott took the key and tried to get the girl to open the door for him. But something about the way the girl is acting makes me think she might not be telling the truth. Normally I would say that she’s just frightened and intimidated, but I’m not sure those are feelings she’s capable of.

Ari lets go of the girl, who immediately steps away and glares at all of us like an angry cat. When Yildiz attempts to put an arm around her, Kelebek shrugs her away and stands with her arms crossed over her chest.

“I’ll go back and get some rope from our packs,” I tell Ari. I look down at Ott and say, “Sorry, but you’ll have to sit in the dark for a little longer.” I let go of the rock, and as it slides back into place, once again sealing him in the pit, I hear him muttering in German.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” I say.

It’s easy enough to find my way back through the tunnels. I memorized the route on the way in, and now I just reverse it. Ott is in no immediate danger, and I know Ari can handle whatever might happen, so this time I go a little more slowly and appreciate the enormous amount of work that went into creating this place. I try to imagine how it was built, how long it took to carve the stairs and tunnels out of rock, to go so deep into the ground. It’s an amazing feat of engineering. I think about how much Jackson would love this place. Then I remember that my brother is dead, his body lying in a crypt beneath a church in France. I push that thought from my mind and climb the last set of stairs, back to the surface.

As I walk outside and toward the room where our gear is, I’m startled by someone coming out of the door. For a moment, my flashlight shines on the face of a boy. I have just enough time to see that there is a thick scar running across it, and that his right eye is missing. Then he turns and takes off at a run.





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