Page 9 of Enamored
Rasmus stood abruptly, the hem of his black robe pooling on the dusty floor and the wide sleeves falling over his hands. He crossed to the farthest shelf, next to an arched window with its shutter battened tight. Shadows shrouded him as he lifted an object from a center shelf, but enough light from my candle and the lone candle on his desk revealed a long slender case.
My pulse jolted forward. Did Rasmus have the Sword of the Magi here? If so, why had he taken it from inside the altar in the Stavekirche?
As he stepped down and turned, I forced myself to remain impassive. I couldn’t afford to show any emotion, though excitement pulsed through me.
Rasmus crossed and held out the box draped in a velvet black cloth. “Open it.”
Although no one had opened the case in my lifetime, I didn’t hesitate. I relished the opportunity to try. I set aside my candle, then drew off the covering and let it drop to the floor to reveal a polished red cedar box. I touched the small gold clasp locking the lid to the base. The keyhole was tiny and intricate, and I obviously had no key.
My opening of the box was another test. Clearly, Rasmus wanted to gauge my ability to solve problems, perhaps even my worthiness to be trusted with an ancient relic—if what lay inside truly was the Sword of the Magi.
He was likely already timing me, no doubt having started the clock from the moment he’d uttered the command to open it.
I ransacked my mind for the most viable options for picking a tiny lock. What would work? A pin? The tip of a quill? A stiff piece of hay? No, picking a lock would be too easy. Any petty thief or curious historian would have done so by now, and the contents inside would no longer be there.
Instead, this case had been cleverly designed, the lock secretly hidden, and was more complicated than it appeared. In fact, I suspected that with so important an artifact, traps had been laid in the opening. Perhaps the lock was laced with a deadly poison.
I glided my fingers across the smooth top, searching for any depressions or lines that would indicate an opening. I did the same thing to the underside but found nothing. The wood itself was impenetrable, or someone would have hacked it open long ago.
Gingerly, I studied the three hinges at the back. The tiny gold pieces were scratched, a sign someone had attempted to get in by removing them. Again, as with the keyhole, the method was too easy.
Although I was tempted to move faster and prove to Rasmus my quick reasoning, sometimes haste could create more problems. As the old Norvegian proverb advised:“Hasten slowly.”
The best strategy was to put myself in the mind of the person who had developed the case. What steps would he have taken to ensure the difficulty of getting inside? He would have eliminated the most obvious methods first and gone with a secret opening, one protected by a riddle or secret code.
I turned the box over and studied each of the ends. The place where the lip met the case was slightly bigger on one end. I slipped my fingernail into the slit, opening it enough to feel an engraving. I traced first one tiny picture and then another. Egyptian hieroglyphics. Randomly placed. Which meant I would not only need to remember the hieroglyphic alphabet I’d once learned, I also had to unravel the pattern and put the letters in the right order.
With only the tip of my finger, I tried to decipher each tiny engraving. Within seconds I had it figured out. There were four small letters:g-a-i-m. In my head, I rearranged the letters until I had the right word:magi.
With a prayer that I’d deciphered correctly, I tapped them, thea, then theg. As I pressed against thei, something clicked, and the lid rose.
I’d done it. I’d solved the riddle for how to open the box.
I wanted to breathe out a sigh of relief that I hadn’t failed, but doing so would only reveal weakness and uncertainty to Rasmus.
“Two minutes, eighteen seconds.” Rasmus’s voice contained no indication whether my time was poor, average, or excellent.
Did it matter what he thought? I didn’t want to care, had tried to stop caring long ago. But I couldn’t ignore the small prick of frustration at failing to earn his acceptance.
As the lid reached its pinnacle, wonder filled my chest. There, against a faded red cushion, was a silver sword. The pommel was round and studded with gemstones. Shorter than the arming swords most knights and noblemen wore, this was more like a long knife: thicker, stouter, but no less sharp. The blade was engraved with an ancient language.
“Read what it says.” Rasmus’s command was casual, but I recognized it again for what it was: a test. And this time, I wouldn’t be able to pass it.
“Your Excellency, I cannot pretend to know how to read this ancient language.” I nodded at the scroll upon his desk. The tiny markings on the parchment matched the engravings on the sword. Now I understood what Rasmus had been studying. The right thing to do in this test was to defer to him and acknowledge his wisdom. “I cannot decipher the words, Your Excellency. But I am certain you can do so.”
“You will learn the language and then read the engraving on the sword. By dawn.”
Chapter
4
Maxim
Dawn?
Rasmus was only giving me until dawn to learn an archaic language?
He began to lower the lid, allowing me no time to question his decision or my ability to complete the task. I was already fluent in four languages and knew at least a dozen more reasonably well. But was it possible to learn another in so short a time? How many hours did I have? Three? Maybe four at best?
