Swordsman's Legacy. Alex Archer
age. In reality, Annja wasn’t sure of the age difference, but a guess had to place the musketeer and the queen at least thirty years apart, the queen being older.
She set down the pommel on the white butcher paper. A few digital pictures were needed.
Ascher tilted the end of the hilt toward her, revealing the open inner chamber. The inside was no wider than a man’s thumb. She took a few more pictures.
“Annja, you must do the honor,” he said.
This was it. As usual when on the verge of what she felt to be a fortuitous historical discovery, Annja grew intensely calm and almost zen. Now was no time for frantic excitement. The joy came in careful exploration of what was once only a mystery or legend.
She bent to look down. There was something inside the hollow hilt of the seventeenth-century rapier.
“Careful,” Ascher coached.
“It’s a rolled paper. Do you have a—?” Bent-tip tweezers slapped onto her palm before she could finish the request. “Thanks.”
She knew the slightest jolt could damage the centuries-old paper. If she tugged too hard or clasped the tweezers too tightly, she risked tearing the parchment.
Annja drew in a breath through her nose, and went for it. A roll, about four inches long and tightly coiled, slid out easily.
Ascher redirected an overhead lamp to focus on the roll that she set before the rapier blade. The roll wobbled, then stopped. The twosome exhaled in unison.
“Do you think it is?” she whispered.
“The map!” Ascher said. “To the real treasure.”
“Yes,” she answered, surprise softening to agreement. A relieved exhale unraveled the tightness in her core she hadn’t been aware of until now.
“Rumor tells the map will lead to a treasure,” Ascher whispered. “A treasure the queen wanted d’Artagnan to have in thanks for all he had done to serve France and its king.”
“Right. But it wasn’t for chasing after missing diamonds for her collar, as Dumas wrote,” Annja said. “Though there may have been a morsel of truth to that.”
“That was pure fiction! There is no historical record of the diamond studs,” Ascher said.
“Yes, but never say never, eh? It is alluded that the treasure might have been a collection of jewels the queen had received over the years from her lovers,” Annja replied.
“Evidence she wished to be rid of, for some might have placed her to having an affair with Mazarin.”
“And what better way to do that than give them away. This sword was a gift for heroic deeds such as defeating the Spanish at Lille while the king marched his troops to help, or heading the vanguard at La Rochelle, while the king dallied at Fontenay.”
“Yes!” Ascher’s excitement vibrated between them, bouncing against Annja’s chest and throat. “Let’s have a look.”
“We can’t yet,” she said, poking the map with the tip of the tweezers. It was rolled so tightly, that she could not think to unroll it and risk it crumbling to flakes. “We’ll need…”
“Humidity. We can relax the parchment by steaming it. I’ll boil some water.”
“We should wait,” Annja said.
A panicky look deflated Ascher’s joy. “Why?”
“We need a good six to eight hours for the humidification process.”
“I know—I’ve done it before. Ah, you are tired? You can rest while I begin.”
She ran a hand over her scalp, wishing for a good solid eight hours of sleep. Heck, she’d take four. The sun had yet to rise. She should be sleeping. Normal people were sleeping right now. Couldn’t she manage one day as one of them?
But to be truthful, normal wasn’t interesting to Annja.
Ascher possessed unbounded energy. But she did not trust him with the process on his own. There were many things that could go wrong if he did not have the proper equipment. One could not simply boil water and steam the roll open. A humidity chamber had to be created and the parchment had to be protected from droplets with a sheet of Gore-Tex.
“Maybe if I had some coffee,” she muttered.
“I can do that. Be right back.”
T HE PHONE RANG in the kitchen and Ascher picked it up on the first tone. He barely said, “Hello,” when the voice on the other end began to berate.
“You know the new kidney is not completely developed. You risk your very life by refusing to hand over the sword today.”
“You got the sword, I just—”
“I know my swords, Vallois. This is sixteenth century,” Lambert said.
“Perhaps the queen gifted her musketeer with a family heirloom?”
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