The Eye of the Wolf (3 page)

Mikayla
peeked in the door that was next to the bay window. It led to the tiny office
Dejeune had mentioned. A practical oak desk sat next to a window that looked
out on the rooftop of the house next door. She sat down in the desk chair and
swiveled. It was new. It was comfortable. It was designed for a person who
spent a lot of time sitting at a desk. That meant she wouldn’t be spending much
time there since she very rarely sat at a desk.

The
walls of the room were lined with practical oak bookshelves filled with books.
These books varied from the practical such as an English dictionary to the more
fantastic such as the occasional romance novel. Each book looked well-used.
Mikayla mused that the former occupant must have been quite an avid reader.

She
flipped on the ceiling fan to move the still air around and moved back to the
hallway. She walked around the stairway opening to the next door. Inside that
door she found heaven. Heaven was a bathroom. The carpeting on the floor was
soft, luxurious. Her bare feet sank into the carpeting. The vanity was painted
white and illuminated by the tulip shades above the mirror. The pale blue walls
were reflected in the deep blue towels hung on the rack and stacked on the
wicker shelves above the commode. Mikayla rubbed one of the towels against her
face and bit back a sigh. Then, she lifted her leg and stepped into the tub.
Perhaps, tub was too common of a word for the experience she knew would occur.
The tub was actually a Jacuzzi designed for two people. Flowers and candles
lined the edges of the tub and would give off a decadent glow when lit. Mikayla
knew she would end each and everyday in that tub as she now leaned back against
the cushioned pillow that had been built in by the previous occupant. She
closed her eyes and waited for just a moment before climbing from the empty tub
mentally promising herself a dip before bed that night.

The
last room in the upstairs was the master bedroom. It looked out the back of the
house towards the ocean. A wall of windows allowed the ocean breezes to stir
the curtains and ruffle the spread on the bed. A marble topped fireplace ran
along the opposite wall. A heavy cherry mantel clock ticked the local time. The
grate in front of the fireplace had the Amor crest inlaid in what looked like
silver and bronze. The wolf in the crest was frozen in a lonesome howl to the
full moon behind its head. Mikayla gripped the bronze footboard before allowing
herself a quick glance around the room. Once she was sure she was alone, she
jumped and landed on the bed. She sank into the mattress and stretched, lapping
up the luxury of the feather mattress and the feather comforter. If heaven were
to be found in the real world, Mikayla was pretty sure she had found it there
in the house next to the Secluded City’s sheer cliff walls.

He
watched her dip her toes in the curling surf. Her long tresses flew out behind
her in a wild dance with the Mediterranean breezes. He inhaled impatiently from
the French cigarette he favored. He squinted against the bright evening
sunset.  She was a sight to behold. She chased the seagulls from their
perches on the boat moorings and appeared to laugh at their screeches from
above.  She jumped in the surf like a child.

She
may have looked like a teenager and played in the surf as the sun set behind her
in a flame of orange, but he knew that Dr. Mikayla Knight was not a child, nor
was she a person to be trifled with. Her knowledge of the Middle Ages and
European history were world-renowned and dangerous. She was dangerous to him.
Her presence in Amor could destroy everything he had so beautifully
constructed, only she didn’t know her power. Why King James had insisted on
bringing this outsider, this American to their quiet kingdom was beyond his
comprehension. She could unwittingly destroy their clever plans. If she did,
where would he be? Where would they all be?

He
flicked the ash from the end of the cigarette and contemplated it for a moment
before turning his attention to the neatly typed report in his hand. Dr.
Mikayla Knight had grown up in Michigan. She had attended public schools all of
her life and had graduated from the Ph.D program at the University of Michigan
just three years before. She had traveled the world and written numerous
sections in numerous textbooks about the medieval monarchies of Europe. She had
been chosen for this project because she was the best. She spoke French and
Greek fluently. She also read and wrote Latin. She was able to translate
documents written in ancient script into modern language for study. The report
also revealed she had broken her engagement to come to Amor. These facts made
him nervous. She would not be distracted by anything; he needed her to be
distracted.

He knew that she had settled
quietly and quickly into the sunny house at the bottom of the stone staircase.
The house had originally been the home of the king’s minister of state close to
200 years before. He doubted that Dr. Knight knew of the secret door and its
passage that led the king’s chambers. Spies had lived and worked in that house,
shaded by the Secluded City. Spies had protected Amor from that house. Now, the
possible ruin of them all resided there, frolicking in the surf.

The report told him Dr. Knight
had strolled the streets of Amor for several hours with her camera in hand
taking photos of the quaint houses, shops, and restaurants that kept the
tourists happy while bringing dollars, francs, and pounds into their economy.
The report said she had dined at the small café on the seaside edge facing
Greece. She ate alone. She ate outside. She jotted notes in a small notebook
and enjoyed the glass of Merlot that sat in front of her. She only had one
glass before walking away to jump in the surf where he watched her now. He knew
her every move; he would continue to know her every move until she left the
island for good and never looked back. She was dangerous, but he was more so.

He
stepped back from the edge of the balcony as Mikayla’s eyes were drawn upwards.
She shielded her eyes with her hand and scanned the top of the wall that
surrounded the Secluded City and separated times and worlds from one another.
When she saw nothing, she shrugged and looked at the birds floating on the
water in the calm waves. She walked away from the water, picked up her tennis
shoes and her camera, and strolled towards her house at the top of the dune. As
she neared the house, he threw his cigarette over the edge of the wall and
walked back into the tower chamber where the meeting would take place at the
stroke of midnight. He shredded the report in his hand of her movements since
her arrival that afternoon. There would be another the next day, and for
everyday until she arrived back in Washington, D.C. three months from that day.

Mikayla
rolled her shoulders as she neared the back deck of her small house. She felt
as if she were being watched. She looked over her shoulder and to each side of
her but saw no one. She shook her head and knew there was no reason for her to
be feeling that way. However, she hadn’t been able to shake the feeling since
she had left the house earlier to explore Amor and to find dinner. Perhaps it
was just that feeling that many city people got when they travelled to a new
place, especially a place that was so peaceful, quiet, and friendly. The
maitre’d at the restaurant had been friendly and helpful. He had pointed out
various points of interest to help her get her research started beyond what the
books had already told her. He had brought her the Merlot without her request
and suggested that since it was made in his family’s vineyard she had never
tasted better. She had to agree; it was the best she had ever tasted.

Before
slipping inside of her new home, Mikayla took a moment to stare at the wall
that stood next to her home. The granite cliff shot into the sky, shadowing
everything, making everything seem smaller, more insignificant. A roughly cut
staircase cut through the granite and wound through the stone to the top of the
protective wall. Mikayla could barely see the top of the wall from where she
stood, looking straight up. What secrets were hidden behind that wall? What was
the royal family trying to protect by staying behind the wall that had stood
against revolutions and tropical storms for the past 900 years?

Mikayla
was about to turn away from the walls when she caught the briefest glint of
glass from the top. She cupped her hand over her eyes and craned her head back
even further. She could see nothing. She dropped her hand and headed indoors.
Whatever secrets the Secluded City was hiding would have to remain hidden for
at least another day.

Mikayla
trailed Monsieur Dejeune through the halls of the Amor Museum of History. The
halls echoed with the sound of footsteps on ancient tile. His voice filled the
cathedral ceilings with hushed tones as he explained the most current project,
the restoration of art discovered in France that had been stolen by Allied
pilots stationed at Amor during World War II.

“The
paintings were discovered in the wine cellar of one of the oldest chateaus in
the Loire region.” Dejeune gestured to one painting, a dramatic portrait of a
regal, angry man.

Mikayla felt somehow repelled by the eyes of the
subject in the painting, the former King of Amor.  His eyes were almost
sinister and cunning, peering from the canvas, seeking entrance to her soul,
hypnotizing her. Mikayla forced herself to look away as Dejeune’s hushed voice
moved on to another canvas.

“The new owners of the chateau
were kind enough to contact us when they discovered the paintings were original
to Amor. There aren’t many people out there today who would have done the
same.”

Mikayla made noises she hoped
were of agreement and turned her attention to the landscape next to the
portrait. The use of color and the subject of water lilies brought Monet to her
mind. “Isn’t this a Monet?” She pointed to the landscape and followed the curve
of the brush with her finger.

“You have an excellent eye, Dr.
Knight.” Dejeune stepped around the preservationist who was delicately cleaning
the canvas. “This one was discovered in London at Buckingham Palace. The Crown
Prince just recently purchased it from Prince Charles even though it was one of
the paintings stolen during the Allied presence.”

Mikayla walked around him and
on to the next artifact, a bronze statue that reminded her of the bronze statue
by Leonardo Da Vinci that stood in the park in Grand Rapids, Michigan when she
was a child. It was a beautiful piece that shone like velvet in the light. She
gently trailed a finger along the bronze and felt the heat of the metal. Bronze
always seemed to give off heat instead of the cool one came to expect from
metals. It was the statue of a horse, strong, powerful, majestic.

“Beautiful.” She murmured.
Beneath her fingertip, she could almost feel the quiver of the muscle of the
Thoroughbred it was meant to represent. In her mind’s eye, she could see it run
across fields, soar over fences and gullies, and graze lazily in a green field
as the sun dropped beneath the horizon. It was peaceful, yet the power of the
animal was intimidating.

Dejeune
cleared his throat and fidgeted with his tie. He smoothed his sideburns with a
fingertip and stroked the silver goatee on his chin “Yes, yes it is. That piece
is a reproduction of the original by da Vinci. It was done by the Princess
Royale. She is quite an artist.” 

He gestured to the door and
guided her away from the preservation project into a hall with glass cases and
soaring ceilings. The ceilings were painted with images reminiscent of the
ceiling in the Sistine Chapel at the Vatican.

“Please, look at some of our
most important artifacts.” He led her to the first case and pointed out several
crowns and scepters. “These are from the original monarchy. The crown to your
left,” he pointed to a crown covered in sapphires and rubies set in silver,
“was the crown of our first king, King Henry. He landed on our shores while
returning from the Crusades.”

Mikayla
peered inside the case. The crown of King Henry sat on a purple satin pillow
and winked in the gentle light. Her hands practically itched to touch the silver.
It was a magnificent example of medieval silver-smithing. “It is very similar
to the Crown of Richard I in the British Museum in London.” She glanced at him.
“I suspect they are from about the same time period?”

Monsieur
Dejeune smiled at her and adjusted his glasses. “Excellent, Mademoiselle. You
have placed the timing of the crown’s creation perfectly.” He pulled a key
chain from one of the pockets on his vest and inserted a small brass key into
the key hole of the case. “King Henry was, in fact, King Richard I of Britain’s
third cousin. He was sent on the Fourth Crusade in Richard’s place.” He lifted
the glass of the case and carefully lifted the crown from its place on the
pillow. He held it out to Mikayla.

Mikayla gingerly took the crown
in her hands from Dejeune and examined the fine detailing of the silver. “The
craftsmanship is exemplary. I haven’t seen anything to match it, except the
crown at the British Museum.” She turned it in her fingertips. Swirls of silver
met various precious stones. Rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and topaz sparkled in
the soft lighting of the exhibit room. The stones were set deep into the points
of the crown that rose from the main band meant to encircle the most royal of
heads. The silver winked in the light, finely polished. Mikayla ran her fingers
along the intricate Celtic knots that adored the main band of the crown. It
certainly was amazing workmanship, especially since it was at least 900 years
old. The preservation was incredible; it looked brand new. She turned the crown
carefully in her hands to look at the inside of the crown for a symbol to
indicate its silversmith. Inside the band, Mikayla caught a quick glimpse of a
design, perhaps scroll work, but more like writing. She turned the crown
slightly to get a better view, reading,