copied the manuscripts from much older texts had
carved warnings into the thick leather bindings. Beware. Let no man open this book who has not first
fortified himself with much fasting and prayer.
The owner rounded the end of the bookcase and went down an aisle created by two long display
cabinets. Behind the locked doors of the cases were a number of devices that had once been used for
occult purposes by the ancient peoples of an island in the South Seas.
At the end of the aisle, the owner came to a halt in front of a large wooden cabinet. The doors were
intricately carved with a series of symbols and numbers and secured with a stout lock.
The owner inserted an old iron key into the lock and opened the cabinet doors. The flame of the candle
flickered on the figure inside. It was hewn from a mysterious green substance-not quite stone and not yet
metal-that defied the impact of hammer and chisel. So far as the owner was concerned, it was the most
important artifact in the entire collection.
"Trull never knew your great secret, did he? But I recognized you at once."
The alchemist's Aphrodite was not large. If it stood on the floor, it would reach only as high as a man's
waist. It was a graceful nude that featured the goddess in a classical pose rising from the sea. The curves
of her billowing hair echoed the waves at her feet. Alchemical symbols were etched around the base.
The museum owner stroked the cold green bosom. "It was only a small setback, my dear. A minor
miscalculation. But I swear that I will find the Rings very soon."
Aphrodite gazed unseeingly into the darkened chamber.
"In the end, you will yield your secrets."
The candlelight flickered on the statue's serene and silent features.
"Soon, my cold little goddess. There will be no more mistakes."
The gloom-filled shop in Cunning Lane boasted a faded sign over the entrance that declared it to be the
premises of one A. Sibson, dealer in antiquities. In truth, the front portion of the musty, shabby
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
establishment bore a close resemblance to a pawnshop.
The clientele was a mixed lot. It was composed chiefly of footpads seeking to fence stolen loot, and
desperate, impoverished ladies wishing to dispose of family heirlooms. It also included the occasional
collector of antiquities who had heard the rumors about Sibson's back room.
The bell over the door chimed weakly when Leo entered. There was no sign of anyone about inside. He
made his way through a maze of dusty display cases filled with grimy jewelry, antique coins, and chipped
vases. When he reached the counter he stopped.
"Sibson?"
"Be with you in a moment." The voice emanated from behind the drawn curtain that masked the rear
portion of the establishment.
Leo leaned negligently against the counter and surveyed the small shop. Very little had changed since the
last time he was there. A fine film of grit shrouded the fake Greek statues in the corners. The pile of
rune-inscribed stones on the floor did not look as if they had been disturbed in years.
As an old client, Leo was well aware that the goods in the front of the shop were for show. Sibson kept
his most interesting offerings in his back room.
"Now, then, what can I do for you, sir?" Sibson pushed aside the curtain and peered out. He gave a
nervous start when he saw Leo. His whiskers twitched and his ferretlike eyes darted back and forth as
though seeking escape. "Monkcrest."
"Hello, Sibson. It's been a while, has it not? I haven't seen you since the day you tried to sell me that
fraudulent Zamarian temple scroll."
"See here, now. I had every reason to think that scroll was genuine."
"Of course you did. You'd paid a great deal of money to that old forger Trull to create it. And I must say,
he did an excellent job. I especially admired the delicacy of the dolphin-and-shell decoration."
"Heard you were in town, m'lord. So kind of you to pay
carved warnings into the thick leather bindings. Beware. Let no man open this book who has not first
fortified himself with much fasting and prayer.
The owner rounded the end of the bookcase and went down an aisle created by two long display
cabinets. Behind the locked doors of the cases were a number of devices that had once been used for
occult purposes by the ancient peoples of an island in the South Seas.
At the end of the aisle, the owner came to a halt in front of a large wooden cabinet. The doors were
intricately carved with a series of symbols and numbers and secured with a stout lock.
The owner inserted an old iron key into the lock and opened the cabinet doors. The flame of the candle
flickered on the figure inside. It was hewn from a mysterious green substance-not quite stone and not yet
metal-that defied the impact of hammer and chisel. So far as the owner was concerned, it was the most
important artifact in the entire collection.
"Trull never knew your great secret, did he? But I recognized you at once."
The alchemist's Aphrodite was not large. If it stood on the floor, it would reach only as high as a man's
waist. It was a graceful nude that featured the goddess in a classical pose rising from the sea. The curves
of her billowing hair echoed the waves at her feet. Alchemical symbols were etched around the base.
The museum owner stroked the cold green bosom. "It was only a small setback, my dear. A minor
miscalculation. But I swear that I will find the Rings very soon."
Aphrodite gazed unseeingly into the darkened chamber.
"In the end, you will yield your secrets."
The candlelight flickered on the statue's serene and silent features.
"Soon, my cold little goddess. There will be no more mistakes."
The gloom-filled shop in Cunning Lane boasted a faded sign over the entrance that declared it to be the
premises of one A. Sibson, dealer in antiquities. In truth, the front portion of the musty, shabby
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
establishment bore a close resemblance to a pawnshop.
The clientele was a mixed lot. It was composed chiefly of footpads seeking to fence stolen loot, and
desperate, impoverished ladies wishing to dispose of family heirlooms. It also included the occasional
collector of antiquities who had heard the rumors about Sibson's back room.
The bell over the door chimed weakly when Leo entered. There was no sign of anyone about inside. He
made his way through a maze of dusty display cases filled with grimy jewelry, antique coins, and chipped
vases. When he reached the counter he stopped.
"Sibson?"
"Be with you in a moment." The voice emanated from behind the drawn curtain that masked the rear
portion of the establishment.
Leo leaned negligently against the counter and surveyed the small shop. Very little had changed since the
last time he was there. A fine film of grit shrouded the fake Greek statues in the corners. The pile of
rune-inscribed stones on the floor did not look as if they had been disturbed in years.
As an old client, Leo was well aware that the goods in the front of the shop were for show. Sibson kept
his most interesting offerings in his back room.
"Now, then, what can I do for you, sir?" Sibson pushed aside the curtain and peered out. He gave a
nervous start when he saw Leo. His whiskers twitched and his ferretlike eyes darted back and forth as
though seeking escape. "Monkcrest."
"Hello, Sibson. It's been a while, has it not? I haven't seen you since the day you tried to sell me that
fraudulent Zamarian temple scroll."
"See here, now. I had every reason to think that scroll was genuine."
"Of course you did. You'd paid a great deal of money to that old forger Trull to create it. And I must say,
he did an excellent job. I especially admired the delicacy of the dolphin-and-shell decoration."
"Heard you were in town, m'lord. So kind of you to pay
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