Pirate (28 page)

R
emi is absolutely correct,” Lazlo told them the following morning in a Skype call. Outside, the dark gray sky let loose with a sudden downpour, rain beating against the windows. Remi turned up the volume on her tablet, trying to hear what Lazlo was saying. After they'd fled the inn last night, Sam and Remi had driven straight to Nottingham, gotten a hotel suite under a new assumed name, and managed to get a few hours of sleep before making the early-morning call. “Wolf's Head,” Lazlo continued, “is a name that Robin Hood has been known by. At least in the very early legends. And the missing
f
fits perfect. Had it been there to begin with, I might have been able to save you the trouble.”

“I'm sure you could have,” Sam said, steering Lazlo back to the point. “About the map ciphers.”

“Right-o. Wolf's den and Nottingham. It's brilliant. I can't believe I didn't think of it.”

Selma cleared her throat as she placed her hand on Lazlo's shoulder. “Here's what we found,” Selma said. “There
is
a connection between Sir Edmund Herbert and Nottingham. Specifically, the events surrounding his half brother, Roger Mortimer, and Queen Isabella after her husband abdicated the throne to their son. Mortimer was arrested and held in Nottingham Castle while Queen Isabella was banished to Castle Rising.”

Remi looked at the map spread out on the table as Sam asked, “So what does this have to do with Robin Hood and King John's Treasure?”

“That,” Lazlo said, “is a good question. Especially considering how many legends of Robin Hood exist. Definitely some that place him in the time of King John, though usually at odds with the king. But our research is starting to come together. The key to our map is there.”

“Where?” Sam and Remi asked together.

“Nottingham. Or, to be precise, somewhere
within
Nottingham,” Lazlo replied. “Something about the ‘four chambers' and ‘death below.' Still working on that part. And that's assuming that I'm translating this correctly. Since that portion of the wheel was also washed out in the photo, I'm making an educated guess.”

Sam's phone buzzed on the table. He looked at the screen, his face registering surprise as he turned on the speaker function. “Nigel?”

“I don't have long. He might come back any second, and my battery's near dead.”

“Where are you?”

“No idea except somewhere near Nottingham. Got one hand free and managed to get my phone from the coat pocket of the
guy watching me. He's—they were talking about the four chambers. I told them they must mean the four
caverns
. That's where we're going. If they can find it.”

“Four caverns?” Sam said.

“I hear them,” he whispered. “Go to Professor Aldridge.”

The line beeped.

Sam stared at the phone a moment, then looked at Selma on the screen of Remi's tablet. “You catch that?”

“Every word,” Selma said. They heard the sound of her clicking away on her computer keyboard. “There's a Professor Aldridge at Nottingham University.”

Sam eyed Lazlo, saying, “Could the four chambers be the four caverns Nigel was talking about?”

“Could be. ‘Den of the wolf' might indicate caves as long as one overlooks that Robin Hood was known to hide out in Sherwood Forest.”

Selma added, “I've got a contact number for Aldridge. I'll see if I can't get ahold of him.”

“Perfect,” Remi said. “Let's give him a call.”

Professor Cedric Aldridge, a white-haired man in his late sixties, met them at his office at the History Department.

Once they were seated, Sam got right down to business. “I hope this doesn't sound odd, but has anyone besides us ever contacted you about King John and his treasure?”

“Funny you should ask,” Professor Aldridge said. “I've only ever had one other person ask and that was quite some time ago.
Former student of mine from King's Lynn. Nigel Ridgewell. Wanted to know if it was possible that the story of King John's Treasure being lost in the fens could be a ruse. Protect the treasure from enemy hands or some such. Can't recall what it was for. A book or something, possibly. Never heard from him after that, though.”

The professor seemed oblivious to the scandal over Nigel stealing Madge Crowley's papers, which was just as well, Remi thought. “What was your answer?”

“I know I'm in the minority,” the professor said, “but why not? I'm the first to admit we don't know everything about history. Piecing it together from this historian or that. Sometimes we're lucky and an event is documented so well, there's no denying what happened. What we do know for certain is that the king died. Whether from dysentery, as believed, or something else altogether, hard to say. We know there are reports he separated from the caravan because of his illness. It's what happened
to
the caravan afterward that is not so well known. Everything after that point is speculation based on stories passed down. So who's to say that someone didn't steal it after making up the story of it being lost in the fens just to throw off suspicion?” He furrowed his brow, pausing for a moment. “Eliminate witnesses, and you can make up any story you want.”

“Let's say these rumors are true,” Sam said. “That the treasure wasn't lost in the fens . . .” He left it open, to see the professor's reaction.

“You mean as Nigel theorized?”

“Yes.”

“It would be the historical find of the century.” He gave a slight shrug. “Assuming the treasure was located, that is. An archaeologist's dream.”

Remi smiled at the professor. “Not your dream?”

“Mine?” he asked, smiling back at her. “Never gave it much thought. My fascination lies with the students facing me in the classroom. Seeing their expressions and hearing their theories. But you're not here to talk about me. Unless I misunderstood, you're looking for information on the origin of Wolf's Head, or, as we call him around here, Robin Hood. According to some historians, he lived during the same time period as King John. According to others, centuries off—in both directions. Ever since my colleague Professor Percival Wendorf retired, I've added the history of Robin Hood to my syllabus. It's one of my more popular classes. My students walk away with a greater understanding of the Middle Ages, using the hunt for Robin Hood as a backdrop.”

Remi had always admired professors who could muster interest with their students. “Definitely a class I would have taken. Was he as heroic as the movies have portrayed him?”

“A good question. This whole rob from the rich to give to the poor is legendary, but with an emphasis on legend. More pirate than hero, according to Percy. Hence the term
Wolf's Head
.”

“How disappointing,” Remi said.

“Quite. The probable truth is that men like him were nothing more than highway robbers.”

“Landlocked pirate?” Sam asked. “Could he, or another like him, have set up the theft of King John's Treasure?”

“An interesting theory, to be sure. That sort of secret would
be hard to keep.
Except
the legends that
have
survived the centuries, via ballads or fireside tales, seem to be based on some kernel of truth, even Robin Hood. And the general consensus is that King John's Treasure went down in the fens along with the men who were entrusted with it. It's what became of the treasure afterward that leaves much to the imagination. Why hasn't it been found? In fact, the only account of any physical trace of it was the rumor, several centuries later, that it had been found by Robert Tiptoft, Third Baron Tibetot.”

“Tibetot?” Remi asked. “What rumor is that?”

“That the baron is said to have come into a sudden and unexplained fortune quite possibly because he found the king's treasure on his land. Most historians discount that telling.”

“Back to Robin Hood,” Sam said. “Is it possible that there's some history relating to him that isn't mainstream? Say, if he were to steal the treasure, would there be a place he might hide it? And any experts who might speculate on a location? Something called the four caverns?”

“There are two experts in the area that I know of offhand. The foremost is the retired professor I mentioned, Percy Wendorf. Back in the day, I would have pointed you to him in a heartbeat. Now . . .”

“Now?” Remi asked, wondering what he wasn't saying.

“Just . . .” He gave a slight shrug, before meeting Remi's gaze. “My friend is—
was
—a walking encyclopedia of anything to do with Nottinghamshire and the Middle Ages, including Robin Hood, the castles, King John, and, well, anything else you could think of. Lately, though, Percy's been . . . a bit forgetful. It's why he retired.”

Before Remi had a chance to comment, Sam asked, “And this other expert?”

“Malcolm Swift. Knowledgeable, to be sure. Just lacking that obscure knowledge that Percy always seemed to have a handle on. I wouldn't hesitate to recommend either. Being a bit prejudiced in his favor, I invited Percy to join us so that you could meet him yourself. Knowing Percy, I probably should have had someone pick him up. Like I said, his memory is getting a bit spotty.”

He looked at his watch, then took out his cell phone. “I'll ring up his wife. He was supposed to meet her first, then walk over here after.” He made the call. “Agatha? It's Cedric. Any chance Percy's still there . . . ? I see. What sort of problem . . . ?” His brows went up as he listened. “No. We can drop by . . . It's no trouble . . . Yes. I'll ring you up as soon as I get there.”

He disconnected, his expression one of concern. “Apparently he left a message for his wife that he'll have to reschedule. Bit of a problem.”

“What sort of problem?” Sam asked.

“That's just it. He didn't say. She hasn't been able to get ahold of him since. Doesn't answer his mobile or his texts.”

“We have a car,” Sam replied. “We'd be glad to give you a lift.”

“Brilliant. Thank you.”

Percy Wendorf lived about ten minutes from the university. Professor Aldridge, sitting in the backseat, leaned toward the center, pointing. “Just up there. Next turn.”

But when they arrived, a uniformed officer stood at the intersection. “Sorry. Road's closed,” he told Sam through the open window. Unfortunately, the road curved, and they couldn't see a
thing except a thick cloud of black smoke swirling up above the rooftops before disappearing into the dark clouds that threatened more rain.

“What's going on?”

“House fire.”

“We're trying to get ahold of a friend who lives there. Can you tell us how long?”

“No idea. Once they have it under control, they'll open up again.”

Which told them nothing. He looked back at the professor. “Sorry. I guess this is the best I can do.”

“There's a footpath through the park that should get us closer. I doubt they'll have it closed off. And if they do, we can at least see what's going on from up there.” He directed them to the next street up the hill, where they eventually took a paved footpath between two cottages that allowed the area residents access to a small playground situated across the street from Percy's house—which happened to be the one burning. A number of residents had gathered in the park to watch the firefighters in action, and the three joined them. The house, a two-story brick structure, appeared relatively intact from the outside, the rising smoke lighter than it had been when they first arrived. Remi hoped the fire was out.

A tall, bald-headed man with wire-rimmed spectacles stood off to one side, alone, watching the firefighters. Aldridge pointed. “That's Percy.”

S
am checked the neighborhood for any sign of Fisk and his men. Only then did he let the others cross over to talk to Percy Wendorf. The man stood, transfixed, as the firefighters traipsed through his yard, dragging their heavy hoses back to their firetrucks. “My pansies . . .”

Professor Aldridge clasped his hand on Percy's shoulder. “Flowers will grow back. At least your house is still there.”

“I suppose.” He turned toward them, eyeing Sam and Remi.

Aldridge introduced them and Sam shook hands with him, saying, “Wish we were meeting under better circumstances.”

“Agreed.” Percy gave a tired sigh. “Though they tell me it's mostly contained to the kitchen and front parlor.”

Sam watched the firefighters rolling up their hoses. “Did they give any indication on what started it?”

“It just blew up. Flames shot out. Lucky I wasn't any closer.”

After several minutes, one of the firefighters walked over. “Mr. Wendorf?”


“Yes.”

“We'll be finished shortly. A bit of a mess in there. Water and such. Do you have insurance?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“Give them a ring. They can recommend who to send for cleanup.”

“Very good.” He stared at his home, clearly still in shock.

Sam, realizing that Percy wasn't in any frame of mind to ask any important questions, stepped forward to address the firefighter. “Sorry to interrupt, but do you have any idea how the fire started?”

“From what he described when we got here, it looks like a chimney fire. Creosote buildup.”

“You're certain?”

The man removed his helmet and then pushed back his hood, running his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair. “Quite.”

Definitely good news—as long as they overlooked the damage to his home. Even so, Sam wasn't about to dismiss any involvement from Avery or his men until he saw the evidence himself.

When they finally allowed Percy and the others into his home, Percy stood speechless, eyeing what was left of his parlor. The heavy scent of smoke hung in the air, and Professor Aldridge started opening windows. Sam walked over to the hearth, his feet sloshing in the wet, gray sludge on the floor. The initial burn marks appeared just outside the hearth, the stones blackened, the
wooden floor adjacent to it charred. All that remained of an oriental rug was a dark, soggy mess beneath a charred upholstered chair, which sat several feet away from the hearth.

The fireman was right, Sam realized. It appeared to have started at the fireplace and worked its way into the room from there. Though possible, he didn't think Avery's men would take such care in an arson to make it look as if it were the result of an accident.

“Sam?” Remi stood in the arched doorway that led to the dining room. “There's a to-do list,” she said quietly, “on the table. The first thing on there is to call the chimney sweep.”

“That seems to be the clincher. Accident over arson.”

“We can all breathe a bit easier.”

“Except for the part about Nigel still being missing.”

Remi glanced at Percy, who stood looking around at the fire damage, refusing to leave when Professor Aldridge tried to lead him from the room toward Sam and Remi. “If we're going to ask him to help, he certainly can't stay here,” Remi said.

“No,” Sam replied. “We could put him and his wife up at our hotel. At least until this place is cleaned.”

They posed the idea to Aldridge, who immediately declined the offer. “As generous as it is, I'm not sure that's the best course of action for him.”

Before he had a chance to explain, a woman, mid-sixties, walked into the house, then stopped just a few feet in as she looked around. Undoubtedly Percy's wife, Agatha. “Oh no . . .” She held her hand to her mouth as she took in the damage. “Percy. You didn't light a fire, did you?”

“Of course I did. Why wouldn't I?”

“I left a note to call the chimney sweep. I told—” She gave a deep sigh. “Never mind,” she said, her gaze lighting on Sam, Remi, then Professor Aldridge. “I see you have guests.” She walked over, took Percy by the arm, and Sam was certain the sparkle in her eyes was from being near tears. “Let's all go into the kitchen where it's cleaner, shall we?”

“Yes,” Percy said. “Good idea.”

The look that passed between Agatha and Professor Aldridge told Sam that today's fire was not totally unexpected. Aldridge eyed the wet floor. “I'll go see if I can find a mop and broom and start sweeping out some of this water. First, I'll introduce you to Percy's wife.”

They followed him into the kitchen. Percy was seated at the table. Agatha smiled at them as they walked in. “How frightfully rude of me for leaving you standing there. And with guests. I'm not normally this inconsiderate.”

“Nonsense, Agatha,” Aldridge said. He turned toward Sam and Remi. “Percy's wife Agatha.” As they shook hands with her, he said, “Agatha, this is Sam and Remi Fargo. They're here looking for information on some archaeological artifacts, and, well, Percy was supposed to meet us. He never made it.”

“Understandable,” she said, glancing toward her husband. “Normally, Percy's very good with lists. Perhaps I should have written ‘Don't light the fire' and called the chimney sweep myself.”

“I simply forgot,” Percy said.

Agatha gave a tired smile. “I know.”

“Maybe,” Aldridge said in a quiet voice, “it's time for live-in help?”

Agatha's eyes glistened and she turned away, busying herself with the dishes in the sink. Eventually she took a seat at the table, giving another tired smile. “Rather like sitting around a campfire, what with the smoky scent all about.”

Percy looked at his wife. “I forgot to call the chimney sweep.”

“I see,” Agatha said, patting his hand and smiling at him. “So what sort of artifacts are you discussing, Percy?”

“Artifacts?” Percy eyed Sam and Remi. “I . . . Aldridge? Are these the people?”

“The couple I told you about.”

“Right . . . We were supposed to meet. Slipped my mind. Almost burning down one's house will do that.”

“Indeed,” Aldridge replied. “But they're here now.”

“Yes,” Percy said to Sam and Remi. “I expect you'll want to have a look for yourself.”

Sam felt Remi tapping his foot with her own. “Maybe,” he said, “we should reschedule.”

Remi gave a sympathetic smile. “You probably have enough on your plate right now.”

“Actually,” Agatha said, “it'll be best if he's out from underfoot. I expect I'll have a lot of calls to make while you're all off doing whatever it is you're doing.”

“Very good,” Aldridge said. “It's settled, then.”

As they left the house and walked through the park toward their car, Sam told Remi quietly, “We'll catch up to you,” then slowed his pace, signaling for Professor Aldridge to follow suit. Sam waited until Remi and Percy were out of earshot. “In light of Percy's memory issues, maybe we should go with this other expert?”

“Normally, I'd say yes,” Aldridge replied. “This is beyond his usual forgetfulness. But he seems to have more trouble when he is out of his element. When something happens to throw him off his game. Like starting a chimney fire.”

“But if this other expert is willing to help . . .”

“Maybe give Percy a chance. He lives for this sort of thing. And I know Agatha agrees with me. I ran it by her first. She's the one who insisted. He's happiest when he's in his element, and the tunnels below Nottingham, well, are definitely his element.”

“Is it possible he can just point us to the cavern entrance?”

“I suppose so. Though he does enjoy walking through them. I'm sure that'll be fine. In fact, I believe he's mapped most of them out on some chart, if that'll work.”

“That'll work perfectly.” Sam watched as Percy pointed something out to Remi in the hedge, some bird, as both started laughing when it flew off. He hoped he wasn't making a mistake. “Let's go find this chart.”