The Rosetta Key by William Dietrich Page A

barricade gleam of a memorably wide and hostile smile of piano-key teeth.
    “You owes me a tussle, after this,” the owner said.
    “And our money back besides.”
    But of course. It was Big Ned and Little Tom.
     
CHAPTER 8
     
    “Y ou should be honored, guv’nor,” Big Ned said.
    “This is the only mission we’s ever volunteered for,” said Little Tom.
    “Sir Sidney thought it best for us all to work together.”
    “It’s because of
you
we’re along.”
    “Flattered, I’m sure,” I said weakly. “You couldn’t advise me of this, Jericho?”
    “Sir Sidney teaches: the fewer to speak, the better.”
    Indeed. Old Ben himself said, “Three may keep a secret if two of them are dead.”
    “So he sent four more along?”
    “The way we figured it, there must be money at stake to draw in a weasel like you,” Little Tom said cheerfully. “Then they issued us picks and we say to each other, well, it must be buried treasure! And this Yankee, he can settle with Ned here as he promised on the frigate — or he can give us his share.”
    “We’re not as simple as you think,” Big Ned added.
    “Clearly. Well,” I said, looking at the decidedly unfriendly squad of sailors, trying to ignore my instinct that this was all going to turn out badly, “it’s good to have allies, lads, who’ve met over friendly games of chance. Now then. There’s a bit of danger here, and we must be quiet as mice, but there’s a real chance to make history, too. No treasure, but a chance to find a secret corridor into the heart of the enemy, should Boney seize this town. That’s our mission. My philosophy is that what’s past is past, and what comes, comes best to men who stand with each other, don’t you think? Every penny I have goes into the Crown’s business, after all.”
    “Crown’s business? And what’s that fine firearm you’re bearing, then?” Little Tom pointed.
    “This rifle?” It did gleam ostentatiously. “Why, a foremost example. For your protection, since it’s my responsibility that none of you come to harm.”
    “Costly little piece, it looks to me. As made up as a high-class tart, that gun is. Lot of our money went into that, I’ll wager.”
    “It cost hardly a trifle here in Jerusalem,” I insisted. “Eastern manufacture, no knowledge of real gunnery…. Pretty piece of rubbish, actually.” I avoided Jericho’s glare. “Now, I can’t promise we’ll find anything of value. But if we do, then of course you lads can have my share and I’ll just content myself with the odd scroll or two. That’s the spirit of cooperation I’d like to enter with, eh? All cats are gray in the dark, as Ben Franklin liked to say.”
    “Who said?” asked Tom.
    “Bloody rebel who should have hanged,” Big Ned rumbled.
    “And what the devil does it mean?”
    “That we’re a bag of bloody cats, or something.”
    “That we’re all one until the mission is over,” Tentwhistle corrected.
    “And who’s this damsel, then?” Little Tom said, poking at Miriam. She stepped distastefully away.
    “My sister,” Jericho growled.
    “Sister!” Tom stepped back as if he’d been given a jolt of electricity.
    “You take your
sister
on a treasure hunt? What the devil for?”
    “She sees things,” I said.
    “The hell she does,” Ned said. “And who’s that back there?”
    “Our Jewish guide.”
    “A Jew, too?”
    “Molls are bad luck,” Tom said.
    “Nor are we carrying her,” his companion added.
    “As if I’d let you,” Miriam snapped.
    “Be careful, Ned,” I warned. “Her knee knows where your cockles are.”
    “Does it now?” He looked at her with more interest.
    By the lawns of Lexington, wasn’t this a fine mess? I couldn’t have made a worse stew if I’d invited anarchists to draw up a constitution. So, thoroughly unsettled, we stepped into the shallow pool and waded knee-deep water to its end. Current issued from a cavelike opening secured by an iron grate.
    “Built to keep out children