Cradle of Solitude by Alex Archer Page A

the loam
    Disturb him in his slumber
    Wake him from his rest
    To find that which you are seeking
    Use the key to unlock the chest
    Another puzzle. Annja was seriously starting to dislike this guy.
    â€œNot what you were expecting?” the abbot asked. Grimacing, Annja replied, “No, not quite. I’d been hoping for the answer but this is just another piece of the puzzle.”
    â€œBut one more than you had before, no?”
    The abbot was right; it was one more piece of information than she’d had before. For that she should be thankful.
    â€œYes,” she said, smiling at him. “You’re right. And I’d do well to remember it.”
    She thanked him for his time and asked if it would be all right if she kept the letter.
    â€œPlease, take the box, as well. It is yours now—my duty as caretaker has been fulfilled.”
    They put the puzzle box back inside the chest it had been stored in and wiped down the chest with a towel the abbot fetched from another room. Once she could carry it without getting her clothes covered with dust, she shook hands with the abbot, picked up the box and followed the monk he’d summoned to lead her back to the front door.
    As she got in her car, Annja was full of excitement over what she’d learned. The trip had been well worth the drive. With the information she now had, she could conclude that Parker had been in Paris to carry out some kind of secret negotiation on behalf of President Davis. Not only that, but she could also make a pretty good case that the money from the Confederate treasury hadn’t been stolen by brigands at all, but had actually been rerouted by Parker himself to assist with the mission assigned to him. It was the kind of discovery that could make someone a superstar in the field of archaeology practically overnight and Annja wasn’t at all displeased by the idea. People recognized her on the street thanks to her hosting gig on Chasing History’s Monsters, but she’d much rather gain the respect of her academic peers than the adoration of the viewing audience any day of the week.
    Then again, if she found the treasure itself, she could have both!
    She was so distracted by thoughts of the future that she nearly ran into a group of six monks walking behind her car as she backed out of the parking space. Thankfully, they were paying more attention than she was and were able to skip out of the way quickly enough.Embarrassed, she gave a little wave of apology, drove back to the gate and headed down the mountain.
    She’d been driving for about ten minutes when something started nagging at her. Something about the monks she’d nearly run over. It was right there, on the edge of her awareness. She reached for it…only to have it slip away.
    The feeling left her for a moment and she’d convinced herself that it was just a result of her lingering sense of embarrassment for having almost run them over, when the sense that something was terribly wrong overcame her again. The image of her sword flashed before her eyes, as if urging her to make the connection. She concentrated, trying to make the feeling come further into focus. Something about the monks…
    She had it!
    The scene unfurled before her again on the movie screen of her mind—the monk skipping back away from her car as she got too close, the hem of his dark brown robe riding up over his feet, revealing the pair of dark black boots he wore beneath.
    All of the monks she’d seen inside the monastery had been wearing hand-woven sandals.
    She slammed on the brakes, skidding to a stop. Fortunately, there was no one behind her. As soon as the car had stopped moving forward, she spun the wheel and stomped on the gas pedal, practically sending her little borrowed car into convulsions as the tires spun and she took off back in the direction she’d just come from.
    A terrible feeling unfurled in her gut, a sense that some invisible line had been