There was the connection.
It had to be.
He told them what he thought.
“I agree,” Fenn said, excitement in his voice. “Part of the mystery to all this was the need to have the component parts.”
He turned his attention to the other numbers.16 19 2. His grandfather taught him that books had many times been used to conceal a cipher key. A particular word somewhere inside, among the tens of thousands of words, which could be altered with each cipher. Books were not an unfamiliar item on the battlefield in the 1860s. He opened to page sixteen, then counted down to line nineteen and over to the second word.
Ehre.
Honor.
“That’s the key,” he said.
“Lucky for us,” Fenn said, “that you know what you are doing.”
Yep. Lucky for us.
* * *
DERRICK ENTERED A LARGE ROOM THAT OCCUPIED THE CASTLE’Snorth end, just past the grotto. A shadowy space anchored by massive furniture, bookshelves, and more of the colorful murals, only different mythical characters and scenes from the study. He crept in a slow, steady pace, conscious of everything around him, his steps sometimes revealed with a creak or groan from the wood floor. His right hand gripped the gun retrieved in the church.
A familiar void in his stomach heralded danger.
Hopefully, he’d come across one of the castle staff doing their job.
No harm, no foul.
But, if not—
He stopped at one of the columns that supported the ceiling. The capitals were decorated with images of Christ, some sort of king or emperor, a bishop, and a crusading knight. The whole damn place had the feel of a comic strip, one scrolling mural after another everywhere he looked.
But something was off.
Not right.
No employees.
The silence was broken by the occasional snatch of voices coming from Malone, Fenn, and the curator back in the study.
And something else. Ahead.
Low. But constant. A rumbling.
The waterfall?
He stared out of the room, into the next.
His right thumb engaged the gun’s hammer.
* * *
RIFE HEARD A CLICK.
Clear. Distinct. A sound he knew signaled danger.
And close. Next-room close.