Page 138 of The Bastard's Iberian Bride
Be good, do not shout
And help Mama out
Whenever she’s weary and blue.
And when it is night
Put all away right
And snuggle up tight in your bed.
Into dreams you will glide
On your back or your side
Sleeping happy, beloved, and fed.
If the tides they do shift
Know this box is my gift
And I think loving thoughts of my Polly.
With this chest’s treasure thrive
For the rest of your life
And be healthy, long-lived and jolly.
His lips touched her neck. “Hmm. About as good as Byron, I’d say. I always liked a good rhyme. Perhaps I shall start calling you Polly. I’m already thinking loving thoughts of you.”
She chuckled and reached for the ring. “What do you make of these marks?”
He squinted at the rings’ backs. “How the devil did Agruen get any kind of code out of this?”
“See here,” she said. “Perhaps this one mark signifies a letter, and here where there are two, another letter. Perhaps the code marks every word or every other word or some such.” She took a pencil and slip of paper. “I’ll guess and you write down the letters.”
They worked away, without any sensible message revealing itself.
“Drat.” She pounded the lid on the lap desk.
Bink picked up the poem. “‘With this chest’s treasure thrive’…that does seem to indicate a treasure in here…‘for the rest of your life’. Hmm. The rhyme is off a bit there.”
She picked up the box. “It’s too light to be filled with pirates’ gold.”
He took it from her. “And too heavy to be a mere shell.” He felt all around. Jiggled it. Moved the hinges. Emptied all her whatnots and clawed at the interior panels. “Nothing loose. Nothing hollow. There must have been another letter Jock lost, or that your mother destroyed.”
She stood and paced. Her mother, both mothers, had destroyed plenty in her world. As had her father.
And to hell—or heaven—with them. She marched into the dressing room and came back with her mother’s hairbrush.
She smashed the brush paddle down on the box.Bam, bam, bam. A crack formed in the wood along the dovetailing.
“You must finish it, my love.” She handed Bink the brush. “I’m not strong enough.”
“I’m injured.”
“Even so you can apply more force. I’ll put you to bed afterwards with more laudanum.”
