Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Aship’s horn blares not too far from where we are. I look around me and make sure I packed everything I can carry. My hand tightens onto the leather handle of my valise—the only piece of luggage I’ll have with me—as I look around the room to ensure I packed the necessities.
Patting the right pocket of my tweed jacket, I fill the outline of my journal, and a rush of relief spreads over my body. I’ve written several pages of theories on the Eudaemon and the artifacts inside it. I’d feel lost if I didn’t have them with me.
Knowing I have what I need, I make my way over to the door, my hand turning the gold handle. I pause before I open the door and turn back around to take one last look at my cabin, giving it a silent farewell.
Walking along the quiet hallway, I head to the back of the ship, where the stern is.
Tied by rope to the S.S. Charlotte, rowboats bob against the hull, waiting to carry us into Venice.
I join the others on the stern’s deck, the Adriatic stretching dark and restless below.
An aura of mystery swirls in the air around us.
The crew moves as if everything is normal, as if our detour to Venice was part of the plan all along. But my attention keeps drifting to the tarp-covered golden chest at my side, already rigged to be lowered. The hairs on my neck spike, knowing someone had betrayed our team.
I walk over to Grandad, whispering, “The longer we stand here, the more attention we are drawing to ourselves and the chest.”
He looks at me in puzzlement, and I discreetly gesture toward the crew members whose eyes haven’t strayed from the chest. His brows draw inward, worry swimming in his gaze. Grandad nods curtly, understanding at once, and signals we are to depart.
I slip my sun goggles from my purse and put them on, protecting my eyes from the glare of sunlight reflecting off the water.
Grandad and I ride in a rowboat together, the chest positioned between us, while the others follow behind. I rest a hand on top as we are rowed toward Venice. We jostle slightly over the turquoise waters, heading deeper into a channel of passing boats.
Grandad takes hold of my hand. “Are you alright, dear?”
I shrug. “I will be.”
He lifts my hand to his lips, then rubs his thumbs over my knuckles.
Gondolas and vaporetto drift past us as we slip inside the city’s canals.
Pale pink brick buildings surround us, and we glide under the decorative white stone bridges that serve as the city’s streets.
Venetians sit along the platforms, legs dangling over the water as they chat with family and friends.
There’s a sense of joy and calm, one I wish we could share.
We soon approach the bright white stone building of the Magnolia Hotel, sitting starkly against its neighboring brick buildings.
A porter waits on the stone platform as our rowboat slows and drifts to a stop.
I stare at the elegant hotel, mesmerized, as more porters emerge to help unload our luggage.
“Oh, not this one. We will carry this in with us, thank you,” Grandad says when two of the hotel porters reach for the tarp-covered chest.
At the reception desk, Grandad checks us in while the rest of our luggage is brought inside. “The royal suite has six bedrooms and a living room? That’s perfect. We’ll take it.”
“Rooms acquired,” he says, raising the key. “Now, let’s get out of eyesight and head upstairs.”
On the top floor of the hotel, we find the hotel porters in our suite, unloading our luggage into the bedrooms. Entranced by the view, I step into the living room and linger by the wall-length window, gazing at the city.
Leaning against the trim, feeling its soft white linen drapes, I let the sea breeze brush across my face and hair, swaying the curtains around me.
Below, gondolas travel along the canals, filled with fellow Venetians going about their day.
Closing my eyes, I envision myself among them—free to experience all that Venice has to offer.
I jolt slightly at the feel of a hand on my shoulder. Turning around, I see Grandad.
“Clara, dear, they were able to reach your father. The hotel received a telegram from him a few moments ago.”
Disbelief runs through me.
“He would like to discuss our needs over the phone.” Grandad pulls out his pocket watch from his vest pocket, peering at the time. “He will be available shortly to talk. While I head downstairs to the lobby telephone booth, please do not leave the suite without anyone from the team with you.”
I loathe being treated like I’m an incapable person, but seeing the dark circles under Grandad’s eyes and the re-emergence of the fine lines on his forehead, I’d rather give him a piece of mind than fight with him on this.
I reach for his hand and offer a small smile. “Of course, Grandad.”
Relief softens his features. “I’ll be back before dinner,” he says, planting a kiss on my cheek.
I watch him leave the suite.
The porters are nearly done with unloading our luggage, and the others are in their rooms, unpacking only what they will need for our short stay.
The chest lingers a few feet away, but I pay it no mind.
I don’t want to give the porters any ideas that I’m guarding a rare piece of ancient world history.
Once the porters depart and everyone has finished unpacking, tea and pastries are served in the living room. We settle into the floral Chesterfield sofas by the fireplace to discuss our plan.
“Do we have an idea which universities to hedge our bets on for the archives we need?” Henry asks.
“I know Sorbonne, Toulouse, and Lyon are out of the question,” Dr. Alarie says. “I also wouldn’t count on Geneva, Barcelona, or Prague.”
“Ez-Zitouna doesn’t have the extensive collection needed either,” Amina adds, “but I know one in Constantinople has a massive collection on Greek mythology and ancient Greek history. I’d highly suggest one of us should go there.”
“I’ve been to the National and Kapodistrian University of Athens,” Henry notes. “They have an excellent archive on architecture, archaeology, and Mediterranean history. Maybe we should consider adding Athens to our list?”
“Alright. So, we have Athens and Constantinople currently on our list,” Amina says. “Any suggestions for our third and final location?”
“Grandad knows a historian in Rome,” I say, thinking out loud.
“He assisted us a few times in our research for the Seven Wonders over the years. If the artifacts are connected to the Seven Wonders in any way…I suppose Grandad can visit his colleague for help and utilize the archive at the University of Rome.”
“That sounds like a good idea to me,” Henry says. “Dr. Alarie? Dr. Baccar?”
They both nod, knowing they don’t have a better suggestion.
“The archives in Rome, Athens, and Constantinople are our best options then,” Amina confirms.
“Their collections are massive,” Dr. Alarie points out. “It could take us weeks—months even—to find what we are looking for.”
Months?
I hope that is not the case, as I’m not sure I’d be willing to be stuck guarding at my father’s military facility for that long.
I glance at the grandfather clock, noting that Grandad has been on the phone for quite some time now. I can only hope that their lengthy discussion means good news.
Soon enough, Grandad comes strolling back into the suite, putting my worries to rest. Fatigue seems to have consumed his body. His arms hang at his sides, expression unreadable.
“Well?” I ask, making my way toward the suite’s foyer. “Did he agree to help us?”
Grandad nods. “It took some convincing, but he eventually agreed.”
I place my hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze.
My father shocks me yet again. I will admit, I was convinced he wouldn’t agree. But he’s proven me wrong—twice in one day.
“Convincing?” Henry repeats. The others trail behind him. “Even when you told him Clara is in danger and we need his help, he still needed convincing?” Irritation rises in his voice. His expression pinched.
“He didn’t understand why she’s in danger, and given I couldn’t tell him the truth, I had to improvise a cover story he would concede to.
” Grandad looks between Henry and me. “If he asks, you two accidentally saw members of the Brexton gang stirring mayhem at the docks in Crete. They saw you witness their indiscretion, and now we fear they are looking for you both to tie up loose ends.”
Both Amina and Dr. Alarie exchange quizzical glances at Grandad.
“Who are the Brexton gang?” Amina asks.
“They’re a gang that formed and operates primarily in Brexton, England,” Grandad explains.
“But after the war ended, they spread their territory on a more international scale. They sell weaponry—from rifles to explosives, illegal opiates, and conduct illegal affairs for those who are willing to pay a hefty price. It’s easily believable that they would conduct dealings in a foreign island like Crete.
And I know it’s a threat he is well aware of and understands why we would need his protection. ”
Of course, I would have to be under the watch of England’s top domestic threat for my father to accept our request. If I know my father, he isn’t taking Henry and me out of the kindness of his heart.
He is looking to use this as an opportunity to help capture some of these supposed members.
Little does he know we aren’t on their radar, nor have we witnessed anything.
“You managed to convince him to help. That’s all that matters. What is the plan now for us?”