Rise of the Snake Goddess, page 5
“I understand,” Bennett said with a nod.
“So you will vouch for these girls and promise to keep them away from our field school activities and Sir Arthur’s celebrations for the twenty-fifth anniversary?”
“Of course,” Bennett said.
Joana made a gurgling noise in the back of her throat, her eyes narrowing to slits. But Bennett stepped in front of her, effectively elbowing her into her open room and stepping inside to keep her from leaping out in attack. Professor Atchinson leaned close to Sam so that only she could hear, lowering his voice to a menacing whisper.
“I shall hope, for your sake, Miss Knox, that I do not catch another glimpse of you on this boat or the island of Crete. Are we understood?”
Sam nodded tightly, clamping her back teeth hard to keep everything she wanted to say from burbling up. The professor stood back, waving his students to their rooms. They began to dissipate after it became clear there would be no further scene. Only Evelyn remained, hovering near Sam.
“Is that really true?” she whispered, glancing over her shoulder to where Theo stood only a few feet away, imploring the professor to make an official reprimand against the three of them. “You don’t have to worry about me saying anything to the professor or Theo if it is. I know you deserved to be on this trip, same as us, Sam.”
“It is true,” Sam insisted, feeling defensive despite Evelyn’s friendly tone. “Mr. Killeen really did write a letter to the professor, and I really did figure out something he missed on the symbol. And we really are traveling there to help.”
“I believe you,” Evelyn said, nodding. Sam thought if she really did believe them, she wouldn’t have to say so. “But Professor Atchinson will be on the warpath after this, you know. He’s desperate to impress Sir Arthur, though he’d die before he said so. He’s planned for this trip obsessively all semester. He believes this will be his chance to convince the university to give him more control in the department. He won’t tolerate anything interfering with that.”
“He won’t have to worry about us,” Bennett said, popping out of the room just long enough to take Sam by the elbow and draw her inside. The space was already tight, but with the three of them wedged in, there was hardly room to turn around. Joana crawled into the lower bunk as Bennett closed the door and turned the lock.
“The nerve of that man,” Joana seethed, glaring like she could burn a hole through the wood. “Asking you if you would vouch for us, like we’re some kind of rabble-rousers or stowaways.”
“Well, you are freshmen in the college,” Bennett reasoned.
“I don’t think that is what he finds so irksome about us,” Sam said, working her jaw side to side to relieve the tension that always seemed to build there whenever Atchinson was around. “I think he takes exception to having to give his attention to anyone who cannot further his ambitions.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Bennett said. “He’s only trying to protect his students.”
“What is he trying to protect his students from?” Joana asked, throwing her hands wide and slapping both Sam and Bennett on the thigh in the confined space. “Is he trying to protect them from Sam? What, is he afraid she’ll outsmart him and show him up to Sir Arthur?”
“It’s all right, Jo,” Sam said, suddenly so tired that all she wanted was to drag herself up those three rungs and land face-first on the mattress above. “Professor Atchinson can try to embarrass me all he wants. When we find what that symbol is pointing to, we’ll see who’s embarrassed then.”
“That’s my girl,” Joana said proudly, giving Bennett a look like she dared him to contradict either of them.
Bennett only sighed. “I’m beginning to see why he made me vouch for the two of you. I’ve got to get settled in my room. Will you be able to stay out of trouble until dinner?”
“No promises, brother, you know the routine,” Joana said.
“We’ll be fine,” Sam said. “Go.”
Bennett hesitated at the door. “You will be fine, won’t you?”
Sam held back the lurch of annoyance that rose up at the doubt in his tone. “No going out porthole windows or sabotaging graduate programs, I promise.”
Bennett nodded, hesitating only a moment more before disappearing through the door and closing it again. As Joana raged on about the nerve of Professor Atchinson, Sam set about wearily unpacking her meager belongings and stuffing them into the bureau situated beneath the small window. She wouldn’t say so to Bennett or Joana, but the encounter with Professor Atchinson left her feeling more rattled than determined. All she could hope was that the symbol Mr. Killeen discovered really did lead to something profound, something so great the professor could no longer dismiss her. Because if it didn’t, if it was a dead end, she feared her future in the field might be one as well.
Sam had never cared for summer in Illinois, not in the hot stretch of endless fields of her hometown of Clement nor in the oppressive oven of the steel and glass of Chicago. The air turned people sluggish, the sun relentless in its pursuit as it bleached the blue out of the sky and the green out of the trees. The only relief from the heat had come in the form of the local watering hole in Clement, a site popular among the other schoolhouse children when they were young. But considering she had barely tolerated their presence in the schoolhouse, she had hardly wanted to extend their social interactions to the afternoon and evening hours. So she had spent months in a perpetual sweat, waiting for the cool relief of the first breath of autumn.
But summer on the Mediterranean was a revelation. Sam stood at the railing of the ferry carrying them from mainland Greece to its largest island, Crete, home of the great Minoan palace of Knossos. The heat was no less present here, but instead of feeling like a punishment, it came as more of an invitation. An invitation into the emerald-and-topaz waters of the sea, an invitation to shuck the heavy wool skirts and button-down shirts of her usual wardrobe for the lighter linen of the dresses she had seen throughout Greece when they first arrived. Every breath she took tasted of sun and sea salt, as rich and complex as the olive oil the country was famous for.
“I see now why your father has dedicated his attention to the classics,” Sam said to Joana, who lounged against the railing beside her in a wide-brimmed hat and a sleeveless white dress that magnified the brilliance of the sun.
Joana smiled, tilting her head upward. “Beats the hell out of hiking sand dunes in the Valley of the Kings, wouldn’t you think?”
“I imagine so,” Sam said, doing the same as her friend and turning her face up to the welcoming kiss of the sun. “I could get used to this.”
“I already am,” Joana quipped. “Considering how many summer seasons Daddy has spent in Athens, I’m surprised he hasn’t gotten Greek citizenship for the lot of us. It already feels like my second home. If we moved here permanently, I wouldn’t weep too many tears in good-bye to blustery Chicago.”
Crete rose up along the horizon like Atlantis climbing out of the sea, the mountains shrouded in mist and the beaches a blinding white wreathed in deep green. The port city of Heraklion dominated the center of the island in a kaleidoscope of colors. The brightly painted houses dotted the hillside as a massive stone fortress lurked along the coast.
“What is that?” Sam asked, pointing to the stone building that looked so out of place among the cheerful buildings perched above it.
“Koules Fortress,” said Bennett, coming up behind her. “It was built by the Venetians who occupied Crete in the sixteenth century. They named it Rocca al Mare, which means ‘sea fortress.’ Brilliant builders, but not so creative in the naming department.”
Sam slid a little closer as he leaned over the railing beside her, the calling of the seabirds overhead and the whip of the salt wind across her face feeling brighter and sharper than her existence back in Chicago. With the approaching city expanding along the horizon and the sun crisping her skin, she refused to give in to the apprehensions that had plagued her for the last week aboard the Mauretania. Back in Chicago, she might just be a washerwoman’s daughter on scholarship, but out here in the wilds of the Cretan countryside, she could choose to be anyone she wanted to be. She could fashion herself into someone that the likes of Professor Atchinson could never dismiss so easily, and it all began with finding what that symbol led to.
The waters grew choppy as they pulled into port, the workers on the dock bustling to life as they caught ropes and guided the small ferry alongside a pier. The crew on the ferry pulled out the gangway and began directing the passengers off the small ship. Sam started toward the exit, but Bennett took her by the arm, holding her back.
“Let’s let the other passengers off before we bother,” he said, but he wouldn’t quite meet her eye.
Sam didn’t think there was much of a rush on their tiny ferry, but as soon as she spotted the group waiting to disembark, she realized what he actually meant. There was Professor Atchinson at the head, demanding that he and his students be let off first, as the highest-priority patrons.
“Why don’t you just ask us to wait down in the hold with the luggage?” Joana said laconically, leaning against the railing.
“I’m just trying to avoid trouble before we even set foot on Cretan soil,” Bennett said, exasperated. “Which would be a lot easier if you would cooperate instead of fighting me on every single thing.”
“You basically held us hostage in that cramped little steerage-class cabin the last week,” Joana said. “So you can understand if we’re a little fevered.”
“Sam, you get it, don’t you?” Bennett asked. “It’s not as if you want another confrontation with the professor, do you?”
“Of course not,” Sam said, but she crossed her arms rather than taking the hand he proffered her. “And the matter is settled anyhow, since they’re already off the ferry. I assume it’s all right for us to disembark now. Or did you want to wait until they leave the harbor so there’s no chance of our paths crossing?”
Bennett sighed. “I’ll get the bags and meet you on the dock.”
Sam felt a twist of guilt at the slouch in his shoulders as he departed, but she refused to let it make her feel bad for being upset. In her head, she knew Bennett was only trying to avoid any fights that could endanger their futures at the university, much less their expeditions here. But in her heart, she could only be hurt that it seemed Bennett took the professor’s side every time they clashed. Why couldn’t he see how unfairly Atchinson was treating her?
“Come on, Sam, maybe we can sneak in a quick shot of raki on the beach if we beat Bennett out of here,” Joana said, taking her arm and steering her toward the gangway.
Sam made her way down to the rocky shore, the water lapping in gentle waves against the port, so close she could reach a hand down and scoop it up if she wanted. Bennett managed to wrangle their possessions before Joana could make a run for it and they headed into the city. As their car climbed into the twisted labyrinthine streets, they passed open-air cafés, partially hidden courtyards, brightly painted buildings with low-slung terra-cotta roofs, and street vendors selling everything from bottles of oil to raki, the local liquor made from crushed grape skins. They passed several street vendors selling trinkets inscribed with a mishmash of Linear B, Linear A, and Minoan hieroglyphics. Had Sam not been on a mission, she would have risked a dive-roll out of the car door to purchase a few of those trinkets for herself.
It took them more than a few wrong turns to locate the address provided by Mr. Killeen in his letter, but eventually they found their way to the outskirts of the city, the buildings spread farther apart and the yards filled with all manner of domesticated chickens and goats. They were far from the tourist center, and it showed in the cracked roof tiles, weathered paint, and rough patches of haphazard cobblestone giving way to dirt road.
“Your Mr. Killeen lives here?” Joana asked as they parked the car and walked the short stretch of road down to a small building. “I thought the antiquities business would have paid a prettier penny than this.”
Bennett looked up at the house with a frown. “I have to say, I find myself in agreement with you. Surely Sir Arthur would have provided better accommodations for the man responsible for inspecting, repairing, and cataloging his findings at Knossos. Sam, are you sure we shouldn’t seek him at the museum first?”
“He said the men would be watching the museum,” Sam said, waving the letter at him as proof. “That’s probably why he chose somewhere far out of the watchful eye of the city center. And anyway, I think it has a…unique charm. Not all of us grew up in a manor house.”
Joana and Bennett exchanged a quiet look of surprise as Sam stepped up to the door, giving it a solid knock. She waited a moment, but when there was no answer, she knocked again louder.
“Mr. Killeen!” she called out. “Mr. Killeen, are you home?”
“Sam, if Mr. Killeen is in danger as his letter says, maybe we shouldn’t be so loud about announcing that he’s here?” Bennett suggested.
“Oh, you might be right,” Sam said, chewing one corner of her lip in concern. She knocked again, her knuckles stinging from the insistence, but lowered her voice. “Mr. Killeen, are you there?”
“I don’t think he is,” Joana said. “Such a shame. Shall we hit a taverna now?”
“We could always check the museum as I suggested,” Bennett said, glancing at his watch. “It is the middle of the day, the likelihood is high that he’ll be there.”
“I don’t understand it,” Sam said, stepping back from the door and down to the street level. She looked up at the house in consternation. “He said to write him here, so why isn’t he here?”
“Maybe he stepped out for a drink,” Joana said. “Let’s check all the local joints, just to be sure.”
Sam had no intention of giving up, but she had to admit—if only to herself—that Bennett and Joana were right. Maybe they could travel to the cave on their own and search for the symbol, find what it was leading to, and bring the discovery back to Mr. Killeen. Or better, they could publish their findings in Archaeological Digest. She was sure Mr. Steeling could get them a full-page spread. She could see the title now: “Budding Archaeologist Discovers Find of the Century, Earns Her Place in History.” She’d have it framed and hung up in her room.
“Sam?” Joana asked, tapping her on the shoulder. “What say you?”
“Say me about what?” Sam asked, still dreaming of what pose she would strike for the photographs.
“We’ve lost her in there,” Joana said to Bennett.
Something off to the side caught Sam’s attention, and she hurried to catch a glimpse behind the house. Through the narrow gap between homes she could see down to the alley that ran behind them. Someone was there.
“Wait!” she called.
The man—who had presumably emerged from a back door, which she now realized she should have checked for—paused and glanced at the three of them in fear, a knapsack slung over one shoulder. Sam frowned at the odd picture he presented, a rather formal-looking man with a tidy mustache and light-brown hair just graying at the temples, his tweed suit well tailored if a bit worn around the cuffs and lapels.
“Mr. Killeen?” Sam called. “Is that you?”
The man’s ice-blue eyes lit in surprise, just before he took off running down the alley.
“Wait!” Sam cried again, scrambling up the stairs and around the back of the house with Joana and Bennett close behind. The man was already at the other end of the alley, where he disappeared between two houses. “Why would he run?”
“Why does anybody run?” Joana asked. “He probably owes somebody money.”
Sam ran after him, her youth and enthusiasm overtaking the man’s haste to make his escape. She caught up with him just as he reached a cross street, where a passing cart forced him to stop and face her.
“Mr. Killeen, please wait!” she huffed, leaning over slightly. “You are Mr. Killeen, are you not?”
“Who is doing the asking?” the man inquired, his eyes darting side to side as he crouched against the wall, taking stock of his disadvantages in the alley.
“Please, sir, my name is Samantha Knox,” she said, sucking in deep breaths. Six months huddled over library tables took the stamina out of a body. “I’m a student of Barnaby Wallstone. You wrote to him? About the symbol?”
“Shhhh!” Mr. Killeen hissed, taking her by the arm and steering her back into the alley away from the main street. He tensed up immediately as Bennett and Joana reached them, his gaze cutting. “Who are you?”
“They’re students of Professor Wallstone as well,” Sam said hastily. “Bennett and Joana Steeling.”
“Steeling?” Mr. Killeen said in surprise. “As in Steeling Textiles?”
To Bennett’s credit, he only gave the slightest impression of a sigh. “That’s our father, yes.”
The man’s nostrils flared on a quick intake of breath. “You are to be trusted, then. I thought you were sent by them.”
“Them?” Sam asked, before lowering her voice and leaning in. “You mean the men you mentioned in your letter?”
He nodded, watching the far end of the alley. “It’s not safe to speak here. Where is your professor now? We must go to him immediately.”
“Er,” Sam hedged, glancing at Bennett. He only returned the stare, waiting for her to build her own ladder out of the hole she had dug. “He is…indisposed, I’m afraid. It’s why it took so long for your letter to be discovered. We only found it in his pile of neglected correspondence recently, but we came as soon as we could.”
Mr. Killeen frowned. “I don’t recall requesting his presence in person, though I would admit that I wrote that letter many weeks ago.”
“Yes, well,” Sam said, gliding right past that, “here we are. And I believe I’ve found something in the symbol that will be of help to you.”
“What is that?” Mr. Killeen asked, his gaze suddenly zeroed in on her. He had an intense way about his stare, his eyes so light and blue that looking into them was like being dunked in a cold lake at sunrise.
