Page 48 of In Just a Year
When Ben lifted the sheer paper off and superimposed it on the previous page, a path came into view. Crypts like underground tunnels.
“Come on, Amberley.” Ben slapped the book shut. “Let’s go on a treasure hunt.”
He sent Amberley up the balcony over the side of the palace, several doors down the hall from his room and a floor above, where Vati had told him her chambers were. He’d rolled up a note with a quick drawing of a monkey and gave the paper to Amberley to carry to Vati.
Within ten minutes, she joined him at the pond.
“I can’t believe you found the crypt,” Ben said.
“It’s not a crypt, it’s an underground passage that the Presidency Army from the East India Company dug around 1748 under one Commander-in-Chief, Major-General Stringer Lawrence. Most of it was destroyed. It’s a gupta path used by smugglers and poachers now.”
“Can you show me what’s left?”
“You want to see the gupta path underneath the palace?” Vati asked.
“If something was hidden over fifty years ago, it wouldn’t be in this palace.”
“True. Where we stand now didn’t exist then. The palace is as old as I am.”
It occurred to Ben that the palace may have been built to keep the future wife of the Shah safe, but he bit his tongue. This palace had many more layers than met the eye, including underground passages. Greg had been partially right, but Ben had to find the exact spot to view the hall windows. Vati couldn’t know the exact location; she didn’t know the tapestry in the Pearler’s house. As Greg had said, all the bits of Ben’s upbringing had to come together for him to figure out Izaac’s clues.
“Do you know where the underground paths are? The old foundations of the palace?” Ben asked, holding a lantern covered with a brown cloth.
The excited gleam in her eyes gave Ben the answer, similar to the look Esther had when they were playing hide and seek and she’d found a good spot. Ben’s heart cringed with pain; he missed his Esther so much. Everything reminded him of her: the sunshine, the moon’s glow, the midday heat, and the cold at night. He longed to bring a treasure home to her.
They crossed the dense palm garden, which was more like a forest and was home to countless animals. Each palm leaf, robust and teeming with life, swayed gently in the warm breath of the night, their waxen blades sharp against his touch, cutting through the humidity like a well-honed sword. The earth beneath his feet was a soft carpet of decay and growth. Ben didn’t recognize the animal grunts above their heads, but Vati didn’t seem in the least bit concerned. She obviously knew where she was going. Well, if she’d grown up in this palace and never been anywhere else … poor girl.
Ben stepped carefully through the lush undergrowth, heart pounding in rhythm with the exotic symphony of bird calls and distant monkey chatter. As they made their way toward the macaque island, the air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and ripe fruit, punctuated by the distinct fragrance of palm fronds, their aroma sweet and earthy, mingling with the scent of rotting leaves and the fresh, heady perfume of night-blooming flowers. It was a world away from the genteel drawing rooms of his native England, yet the thrill of the hunt and the sense of purpose in his stride, made it feel oddly familiar. If he could accomplish his missions here, he could return home. And if he could arrive home with Izaac’s treasure in hand … it would be glorious.
“Don’t trip on the banyan tree.” Vati held on to various roots that extended through the air from a single tree.
“What is this?”
“The banyan tree, Ben-Ben. It extends from prop roots that grow new trees. It goes on and on—”
Suddenly, as if a foreign language had been decrypted, understanding dawned on him. “We’re here.” Ben stopped, holding up the lantern.
“How do you know?”
“The Diamond Dynasty. It’s like a tree that extends from one root to the next and more trees grow.”
“Most trees don’t grow from roots.” Skepticism colored Vati’s voice.
“The man who hid the treasure here wanted us all to know our roots. He didn’t believe in spreading seeds but to extend the roots. I’m telling you, we’re here.” Ben turned and pushed some of the dense leaves aside. Thicker than any he’d known in England, the foliage felt as if it’d been waxed.
He turned and looked up at the palace windows, framed by the same shapes of leaves as in the Pearler’s tapestry. “Marble. We need to look for marble.”
Vati pointed at a structure jutting out from the verdant foliage, its form obscured by a veil of trailing vines and palm leaves. As they drew closer, Ben discerned the shape of an antiquated marble door, weathered by time, and covered in soil and leaves but still majestic. Vati tilted her head to signal for Ben to spread the palm leaves. He’d already learned to touch the wide sections for the sharp edges like blades.
When he parted the leaves, his breath hitched at the carving on the door—three heads stacked atop one another, each more enigmatic than the last. A shiver ran through him; they were the symbols from the medallion he’d separated in his sketches, the same sequence of images on edges on the Dreidel of Destiny.
An eerie silence fell upon the garden as he reached out and touched the cold marble. Dust rose in little puffs, filling his nostrils.
“What does this say?” He wiped the dust and dry leaves off the marble surface.
Vati stepped closer, and Ben held up the lantern that he’d hidden under a cloth until this moment. She furrowed her brows.
“It’s just a number. Not the Devanagari script 3 but the Bengali.”
