The Collector 3: Cauldron Page 2

  “Sir, you said he was searching for a cauldron belonging to Queen Maeve,” Matt said. “Surely she’s just a figure of legend.”

  “Legends have a habit of being based on a kernel of truth, Matt,” the Collector said in a mild tone. “Perhaps the cauldron belonged to a queen, certainly. The Celts were ‑‑ or are ‑‑ a matrilineal society; their queens held great wealth and power, and cauldrons are synonymous with ancient Celtic magic and power. All manner of strange and wonderful properties were attributed to them.”

  He leaned forward and pressed his fingertip on the desk in emphasis. “I’ve recently had occasion to delve into the legends of this cauldron myself. Tom’s journal confirms what I know, and takes the matter to a whole new level.”

  “You’ve broken the encryption?” Kate asked.

  “Oh yes.” He gave her a warm smile. “Tom gave me the key to an earlier form of his code way back when we were students, as a kind of insurance. Using that key enabled me to guess the rough pattern to this code. I’ve resources throughout the academic and corporate world; it was only a matter of making a few enquiries to locate someone who could break it completely.”

  At that moment, Audra Phelan reentered the room bearing two slim blue folders. “The transcripts, sir, as you requested,” she said to the Collector and handed a folder each to their guests.

  Kate flipped open the folder and extracted a thin sheaf of papers. Matt did the same, his eyes already eagerly scanning the print.

  “I can give you a précis of what Tom wrote,” their host said. “He states that he found a smaller version of Newgrange.”

  “Sir?” Matt looked up at him in astonishment. “How on earth could he do that? Barrows like Newgrange would stand out a mile, no matter what their size.”

  “Newgrange?” Kate asked. “As in the Newgrange?”

  Matt gave her an irritated look but answered her anyway. “Of course. It’s an ancient burial mound located near the town of Drogheda on the east coast of Ireland. I visited the place last year; it’s near the River Boyne.”

  “Just so.” The Collector nodded. “It’s an indication of the Irish sense of humor that a place over five thousand years old should be referred to as Newgrange.”

  “A laugh a minute,” Kate said, nettled by Matt’s superior attitude. “I’m afraid Celtic lore wasn’t my discipline.”

  “You’ve been through college, then?” Matt asked, his words salted with sarcasm.

  She glanced at him. “For a while, yes. I did study some history and archaeology. My funding ran out, so I dropped out.” Her chin came up. “It happens, Mr. O’Brien.”

  “Indeed it does, Ms. Susadi,” the Collector said with a glance at Matt. “There’s no shame attached either.”

  “No; no, there isn’t,” Matt said in a dissatisfied tone. His face darkened under his tan.

  “Getting back to the matter at hand,” the Collector said after a heavy pause, “Tom states that he found this barrow mound in a sheltered valley overlooking the sea on the Galway coast. On investigating it, he located an entrance and went inside. What happened after he did so isn’t recorded. That was the last entry he made in the journal.” He pursed his lips. “It’s unlikely that he left the book lying by the barrow; Tom always took care of his materials. I’ve no idea how it came to be in the bookstore.”

  “Perhaps something about that will come to light, sir,” Matt said. “I’m still surprised such a place like this barrow could escape detection.” He shook his head as he read the printout. “Even the most remote valleys aren’t that far off the beaten track over there. Someone must’ve noticed.”

  “Young man, you’d be surprised at the number of hidden things there are in this world.” A faraway look came to the Collector’s lined face. “I’ve had occasion to encounter several in my time. There was a certain chamber in Karnack ...” He blinked and smiled ruefully. “Forgive me; it’s easy to become distracted at my age. Getting back to what we were talking about, suffice it to say I’m sure Tom did find this barrow. Moreover, he found a trail leading to an artifact in which I’m very interested. You know of the Celtic penchant for cauldrons, Mr. O’Brien.” The Collector’s eyelids lowered until his blue-gray eyes appeared as mere slits. “Have you heard of the Cauldron of Fire?”

  “It’s one of the legendary cauldrons.” Matt looked at her, and when he spoke for once his didactical style wasn’t in evidence. “It was said to have belonged to Queen Maeve of Connacht, who used it in her many battles against the men of Ulster. If I remember the tale right, it was a deep round vessel of bronze, sculpted with four masks of warriors with slender bodies forming the feet of the cauldron. According to the legend, it had the power to purify and resurrect corpses bathed with water that had been boiled within it.” His smile twisted. “The downside; anyone so bathed would live again but be struck dumb of speech forevermore.”

  “Some choice!” she said.

  “Yeah.” He shrugged. “Every Celtic legend has a downside. We’re a fatalistic race ‑‑ or a realistic one, whichever way you like to look at it. It was also said to grant the deepest desire of anyone who claimed it. Queen Maeve herself used that as a get-out to avoid a leathering at the hands of the Ulster champion, Cuchulainn.” He looked askance at the Collector. “Are you saying, sir, that Thomas Susadi found this thing?”

  “No; he claims to have found the trail leading to it.”

  “O-kay.” Matt looked doubtful.

  “You say these cauldrons show up all over the Old World,” Kate put in. “How do you know my granddad didn’t find one of these others?”

  “If he did, Ms. Susadi, be sure he would have said so. No.” He shook his head. “Tom was under a lot of pressure at the time, but I’m sure from certain clues that he found a way to the cauldron’s current whereabouts.”

  “It’s still a hell of a claim, sir.” He glanced at Kate. “No serious archaeologist would say they’d found such a thing without serious proof.”

  “And this is where you two come in, Mr. O’Brien.” The Collector clasped his hands and leaned forward on the desk. “I’m asking you to go to Ireland and use the transcripts of Tom’s notes to locate and recover the cauldron. Be assured, all expenses will be met, and I can promise you a generous finder’s fee when you return.” He smiled, but to Kate there seemed something forced about it. “If you believe in the miraculous power of the cauldron, I’ll even let you two make a wish on it.”

  Matt laughed. So did Kate, until she saw the glistening of unshed tears in the Collector’s eyes. She looked away, embarrassed at catching the venerable scholar in the midst of some private anguish. It made her chest feel tight, and she wondered if there was a greater meaning behind his last remark.

  Matt, unaware perhaps of the old man’s distress, plowed straight on. “Sir, I’m quite sure I’ll be able to handle any investigation, and I’ll conduct a thorough search for this barrow. I’ll find the cauldron ‑‑ if it exists.” He gestured at her without looking, a move which she found appallingly rude. “Miss Susadi may have some historical knowledge, but she told us it doesn’t cover the Celtic world. Her interest in this is purely personal. There’s no real reason for her to come along.”

  “Matt,” the Collector began, and sighed. There was a pause whilst he considered his thoughts. “You’re right, up to a point. Ms. Susadi has a personal concern. It’s one I share. Tom Susadi was a good friend of mine; he disappeared, and,” he looked at Kate, “he’s probably long dead. I’d like you to find out what happened to him, and put the minds of you and your family at rest on the matter.” He clasped his hands and fixed Matt with a steely gaze. “One goes, or neither. That’s the only choice you have.”

  Matt spread his hands and nodded quickly. “Of course, if that’s what you want I’ll do it.”

  “Good.” The old man leaned back in his chair and looked relieved. “Ms. Phelan will give you your travel arrangements. Thank you both ‑‑ and good hunting!”

  Chapter Two

  In t
erms of pure time, it wasn’t the longest flight Kate had endured. In terms of subjective time, however ...

  Audra Phelan had given them tickets in Club class on the red-eye flight to Shannon airport, Republic of Ireland. Kate’s four previous trans-Atlantic flights had been coach class, meaning they’d been almost as cramped and sordid as a flying cattle truck. Here, at least, she could stretch out in her seat, a virtual armchair with a huge amount of room. Alongside her, Matt looked equally at ease, his long legs flung out, shoes off as he studied the screen of his laptop. He’d not spoken more than a dozen words to her since they’d boarded.

  She felt slighted, her gregarious soul rebuffed by his snobbery. Oblivious to her, he ate and drank the excellent provender brought by the cabin staff, pecked at his keyboard, stared into space on several occasions, and paid her not the slightest heed.

  “How can you be such a snob?”

  “Hmm?” Matt looked up as his traveling companion spoke. He’d all but forgotten her presence, and she didn’t repeat her question. It filtered into his mind instead via a kind of internal play-back mode honed over years spent in school-rooms, lecture halls and seminars. “What on earth do you mean?”

  “Mr. O’Brien, you’ve hardly spoken to me since we left the Collector’s place!” Her pretty face was dark with anger. “I’m beginning to think you’re ashamed to be seen in my company!”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he muttered. “Why would I feel that?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know! Is it something you Ivy League weenies get taught along with your other studies?”

  He felt his ears burn but would be hanged if he let her see her barb had hit home. “I’m not ignoring you!” He gestured to the screen. “I’ve been calling up all the data I can on this mysterious, not to say legendary –”

  “For god’s sake, I know what you’re doing! Why the fuck don’t you talk to me while you’re doing it?”

  Her voice had risen above the conversational level and now she was half-shouting as she glared at him. He sensed a degree of stiffening in the posture of the others in the club class cabin and some of the glances that were turned their way were distinctly frosty.

  “Will you keep your voice down?” he said. “If you’ve got a problem with me, let me know like a reasonable adult!”

  “Reasonable?” Her voice rose and she blinked, flushed and pursed her lips. “Okay, I’ll not make a scene. Don’t want that, do we?” She leaned closer, the motion carrying a distracting waft of perfume to his nose, and her voice came as a near hiss. “There’re two of us on this mission, Mr. O’Brien. I’m as much a part of it as you are. So talk to me!”

  He stared at her. A small worm of guilt began boring its way through his mind. Maybe he had ignored her ‑‑ at least on a professional basis. She was beautiful, and savvy, perhaps, but he couldn’t believe she really possessed any kind of historical bent. The display of knowledge she’d given back in the anteroom had been impressive, but he’d put it down to an actor’s ability to imitate knowledge parrot-fashion for a role. But the look she was giving him was filthy! He sighed inwardly. Maybe it was time to throw her a crumb. They’d be together for better or worse, for some time until this field trip was over. Best to keep things civilized.

  “Okay, what do you want to know?”

  “Thank you!” She gave him a thin-lipped smile and nodded. “First, where’re you from?”

  Dear God! Personal details, yet? “Boston, Massachusetts. And you?”

  “Originally, I’m from Miami, Florida.”

  He looked at her askance. Kate’s dark complexion suggested her origins lay in Cuba but there was no Hispanic inflexion to her voice. “You don’t sound Floridian.”

  “Yeah, well, Dad was in the Navy. We moved around a lot until he mustered out.” Relaxed now, she smiled, and he noticed it was a particularly sweet smile. “Guess I left my accent behind at some naval base. You lived in Boston all your life?”

  “Mostly, yes.” He glanced longingly at the laptop screen, sighed softly and closed it down. No more work for a while. “I was born and grew up there, went to Harvard just down the highway. My life wasn’t as peripatetic as yours.”

  She looked him in the eye. “Guess not.”

  Nettled, he twisted in his seat and focused on their conversation properly. “Oh, I’ve traveled before and since leaving Harvard. I went to the Sorbonne in Paris for a semester on an exchange program. Have you ever been to Paris?” His tone dripped acid

  “I was there for a few days on a modeling assignment,” she said, leaving him feeling oddly deflated.

  “Indeed? It’s a wonderful city.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” she said in a dry tone. “All I saw were the views from the taxis taking us to and from the hotel and exhibition hall. Most of the time I wasn’t in front of a camera I spent hanging around half-naked in the dressing room trying to avoid the snowdrifts of coke everywhere.”

  He blinked. “Ah?” It was a view of her life he hadn’t expected, and the casual reference to drugs made him feel uncomfortable. Memories of an earlier time in the less salubrious parts of his home city rose, and he suppressed them vigorously. The thought of Kate Susadi in a state of semi-nakedness helped distract his mind, but it was not something he welcomed either. If they were to work together, he preferred it to be on a businesslike footing.

  “Okay. Aside from Paris, I had the pleasure of journeying throughout Britain, France, Switzerland and Germany studying different relics of the Celtic era.”

  She nibbled at a strand of hair. “Including these cauldrons you were talking about?”

  “Yes. I’ve seen several examples of them.”

  She cocked her head. “Do you seriously believe we’ll find this Cauldron of Fire my granddaddy was looking for?”

  “Oh, I’m sure we’ll pick up the trail,” he said, “and we’ll do so a lot quicker if you let me study his notes.”

  “Huh!” She folded her arms under her breasts and turned away from him. “Go right ahead. Don’t let me stop you!”

  “I’m sorry!” He felt his face grow hot. “I didn’t mean to be rude, but you did interrupt me at an important point in my research.”

  “As I said, don’t let me stop you,” she said in a bored voice. “I think I’ll take a nap.”

  So saying, she settled down in her seat and closed her eyes.

  He watched her for some time. The airplane rumbled on through the skies over the Atlantic. A few more miles passed underneath them. And her eyes remained shut.

  With a sigh, he opened up the laptop and returned to his search. It had already been a long day, and he was feeling tired. A glance at the progress screen showed the time at eleven P.M. Eastern Time, and the airplane appeared to be barely a finger’s breadth from the Eastern seaboard. The flight would take some five hours, meaning an early-morning landing in Ireland.

  He pecked at the keyboard in a desultory fashion, then rubbed his eyes and closed the machine down. It was time to get some sleep. He hoped to wake up before sunrise and watch dawn spreading over the world at thirty-five thousand feet. It was something that had become a ritual with him, a kind of touchstone. He lay back in his seat and smiled to himself. It was also homage of a sort to the pagan cultures he studied.

  * * * * *

  They left Shannon airport in a rented car. The atmosphere between them hadn’t improved, and the jetlag and general exhaustion of a long flight depressed their feelings further. Kate stared out the windshield at the countryside through which they passed. The Irish still drove on the left, which was unnerving enough without the added effect of the increasing daylight. The road signs were in kilometers, which took some working out and after a few tries, she gave up, her mind too fuzzy with travel to bother. Five hours sleep had passed without any real benefit. She’d never had much luck sleeping on aircraft.

  One thing puzzled her. She’d half-woken at some slight jolt in the plane’s smooth passage to see Matt staring out the small oval window at the
cloudscape beyond, his handsome features limned with a golden glow as the sun rose. All the irritation, even near-anger, she felt toward him melted for a while, as she studied that chiseled profile and recognized the soul of a true romantic shining in the face of the stuffy academic star.

  The feeling hadn’t lasted long, and she’d fallen asleep until the captain announced the arrival time, and the cabin began to bustle with waking travelers. Matt had already begun to pack everything away with a methodical neatness that made her want to kick him and scatter his belongings all over the cabin.

  And now Matt was handling the Citroen with ease, oblivious or indifferent to her feelings, and she felt a stab of jealousy at his competence. Of course, he’d had experience driving here last year on his previous visit. Some thirty miles ahead was the city of Galway and the hotel booked for them by Ms. Phelan. Kate looked forward to spending some quality time in a nice relaxing bath, followed by a good night’s sleep. Ten hours in the company of Matt O’Brien was ten hours too long.

  She glanced at that god-like profile. Hours of travel had made scant impression on him. He looked as fresh as he had when they took off from Newark. If he just got his head out of his butt, she felt he’d be really pleasant company. And he did have a nice butt, she thought with a wry smile. It was something she’d noticed when he was bending and stretching to put the baggage in the overhead bin on the airplane.

  Matt glanced up at a road sign as they passed, and Kate’s smile attracted his attention. He liked the way her lips curved, making her cheeks plump out like small pillows, just ripe for kissing. Shit, leave that thought! he told himself firmly. Let’s keep this professional ‑‑ if she rated the term professional, he added, but his heart wasn’t really in the unspoken jibe.

  “We’ll reach the outskirts of Galway Town in another ten minutes or so,” he said aloud. “It’ll be good to stop moving at last!”