from an Egyptian tomb.
The museum housed an assortment of bizarre items. Most of the exhibits in the chambers here on the main floor were frauds and forgeries. Many, such as the magnetism machine in the corner, were the creations of charlatans and quacks, crafted to deceive the gullible.
The museum owner walked past a flat, carved stone that was an imitation of one taken from a Roman crypt. It was covered with astrological signs.
The candlelight fell on the face of the water clock. It was nearly two in the morning. An excellent time to view the museum contents. A good time to think.
There was, as it happened, a great deal of clever thinking to be done that evening. There had been very few mistakes thus far, but Lord Glassonby's death had been a disaster. The Forbidden Rings of Aphrodite had slipped out of reach once more.
So close. So bloody close.
Breathe deeply. Calm your mind. There is still time to flnd the Rings. All is not lost.
A m a n d a
Q u i c k
The owner walked to a cabinet, opened the door, and reached inside with a gloved hand to turn a hidden lever. Gears ground beneath the stone floor. The entire case swung ponderously outward to reveal a flight of stone steps.
The owner went down the staircase into the windowless chamber below. The curiosity seekers who paid to enter the museum were never allowed into this tomblike room.
It was here that the genuine artifacts in the museum's collection were housed. The new owner glanced around with a sense of satisfaction. An aura of antiquity and power seemed to fill the room.
Most of the relics in there had been acquired only a few months before. They had come from the collection of Morgan Judd, a man who understood the true nature and value of power.
Judd had died in a mysterious fire that had destroyed his country mansion. Few people knew that his collection of antiquities had survived the blaze. Even fewer were aware that some of them had wound up in this chamber.
The candlelight glanced across the surface of a strange vessel fashioned of an odd metal that gleamed dully. The previous proprietor of the museum had maintained that the artifact had once belonged to an alchemist. There was no reason to doubt the claim.
At the foot of the staircase the museum owner turned and walked past a glass cabinet. Inside were several leatherbound volumes that Judd had stolen from the forbiddenbooks room of an Italian monastery library. The medieval monks who had 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 flrst 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
W i t h
R i n g
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
The museum housed an assortment of bizarre items. Most of the exhibits in the chambers here on the main floor were frauds and forgeries. Many, such as the magnetism machine in the corner, were the creations of charlatans and quacks, crafted to deceive the gullible.
The museum owner walked past a flat, carved stone that was an imitation of one taken from a Roman crypt. It was covered with astrological signs.
The candlelight fell on the face of the water clock. It was nearly two in the morning. An excellent time to view the museum contents. A good time to think.
There was, as it happened, a great deal of clever thinking to be done that evening. There had been very few mistakes thus far, but Lord Glassonby's death had been a disaster. The Forbidden Rings of Aphrodite had slipped out of reach once more.
So close. So bloody close.
Breathe deeply. Calm your mind. There is still time to flnd the Rings. All is not lost.
A m a n d a
Q u i c k
The owner walked to a cabinet, opened the door, and reached inside with a gloved hand to turn a hidden lever. Gears ground beneath the stone floor. The entire case swung ponderously outward to reveal a flight of stone steps.
The owner went down the staircase into the windowless chamber below. The curiosity seekers who paid to enter the museum were never allowed into this tomblike room.
It was here that the genuine artifacts in the museum's collection were housed. The new owner glanced around with a sense of satisfaction. An aura of antiquity and power seemed to fill the room.
Most of the relics in there had been acquired only a few months before. They had come from the collection of Morgan Judd, a man who understood the true nature and value of power.
Judd had died in a mysterious fire that had destroyed his country mansion. Few people knew that his collection of antiquities had survived the blaze. Even fewer were aware that some of them had wound up in this chamber.
The candlelight glanced across the surface of a strange vessel fashioned of an odd metal that gleamed dully. The previous proprietor of the museum had maintained that the artifact had once belonged to an alchemist. There was no reason to doubt the claim.
At the foot of the staircase the museum owner turned and walked past a glass cabinet. Inside were several leatherbound volumes that Judd had stolen from the forbiddenbooks room of an Italian monastery library. The medieval monks who had 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 flrst 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
W i t h
R i n g
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
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