xxxx
Chapter TwoA tense feeling settled over the group as they gathered in the large kitchen for dinner. Mr. Vann seemed very calm and sure of himself. The quiet, almost knowing smile on his lips while he spread his napkin was somehow out of place.
Mignon finally ventured to start the dinner conversation. "How long have you studied Egyptology, Mr. Vann?"
He looked her way. "Fifteen years, Ms. Germaine," he said. His voice was still perfectly smooth. "I've been one of Mr. Welles' most trusted colleagues."
"I do think I remember hearing something about you on the news recently," Andy said. "Didn't you make some sort of breakthrough discovery on an expedition?"
"You're up-to-date, Lieutenant," Mr. Vann smiled. "Yes, we brought back some incredible finds from that trip. The most publicized has been a tablet that I believe is the lost Slab of Reflections."
"What an intriguing name." Perry regarded Mr. Vann with genuine curiosity. "What is its purpose?"
Mr. Vann went for a bite of mashed potatoes. "According to legend, it works in conjunction with the Forbidden Box. One who commands magic to a certain extent is supposedly able to use the Forbidden Box to call forth images of specific people to be carved into this slab. Once these images are in place, the user can control the persons' lives any way he wishes."
Howie's eyes went wide. "They'd be slaves?"
"To the user's whims, yes," Mr. Vann said. "If the legend's terms have been passed down correctly."
"That's absolutely frightening," Della exclaimed.
"Well, we're lucky it's only a legend," Mr. Vann said. "Aren't we, Miss Street?"
"But most, if not all, legends have some basis in fact," Perry said. "You say you believe this tablet you found is the Slab of Reflections. Doesn't that mean you also believe that at least some of the legend is real?"
"In a sense, I suppose so," Mr. Vann consented. "I believe it's the slab that started the legend, not necessarily that it can do all that it has been rumored to bring about."
"Mr. Welles told you about the box we found, didn't he?" Douglas spoke. "And the Egyptian characters on the lid?"
"That's the main reason he asked me to fill in," Mr. Vann said.
Hamilton tried to not appear too amused. "Mr. Vann, you don't think that the box is this Forbidden Box that goes along with your slab, do you?"
An easy shrug. "It's impossible to say, Mr. Burger. Especially not until I've seen the box for myself." Mr. Vann leaned back. "But I will admit that the initial description Mr. Welles gave to me checks out with what's known about the Forbidden Box."
"So, just supposing for a minute that all of this is true," Paul said. "Doesn't that mean that these things could potentially destroy the world?"
"Potentially," Mr. Vann said. "In the wrong hands such artifacts would be highly dangerous." He looked around the table, taking in each of his fellow diners. "And I'm sure none of us want that."
"Of course not," Perry said.
"Of course, I would hope none of us are seriously considering that such a thing is possible," Hamilton said.
"It does sound ludicrous, by all means," Mr. Vann said. "But just for the fun of it, suppose none of you had the lives you have now. What would you be doing instead?"
Della shook her head. "I've never really thought about it," she said with a slight chuckle. "I can't imagine being anything but Mr. Mason's secretary."
"Come now; everyone's thought about other paths they could have taken," Mr. Vann said. "Most of us even tried things aside from the jobs we have now."
"I haven't tried anything!" Howie piped up.
"Indeed, Master Howie," Mr. Vann purred. "Your point is well-taken. Master Howie is an exception to our game. Well, you may instead tell us a job you would like to have in the future."
"I wanna drive a dumptruck!" Howie said proudly.
"That's a good aspiration for a strong young boy," Mr. Vann said. "Well? Any other takers?"
"I used to enjoy the idea of owning a retreat somewhere in the mountains, where there wasn't much else to do except fishing and boating," Perry said. "On particularly hectic days at the office, I still think it sounds like a good idea."
Laughter echoed around the table.
Tragg looked to Perry with what seemed to be both curiosity and slight accusation. "Oh? And tell us, Perry, would you be up there alone?"
"Yes," Della said, seeming quite interested in the answer. "Tell us."
Perry smiled at Della and glanced across the table to Tragg. "Well, I don't know, Tragg. But I doubt any venture would be enjoyable for long without a few friends."
"I hope you'd invite at least some of us," Della said.
"I would, Della, except for one small problem. If these jobs are what we'd be doing instead of what we're doing in reality, I might have never met any of you." Perry took a sip from his glass. "Actually, that sounds like quite a depressing world."
Della gave a firm nod. "It would be," she said.
"Hmm," Tragg mused. "A world where I wouldn't be chasing you and Paul down every few minutes for bending the law. It sounds tempting."
"You might not even be a policeman in such a world, Lieutenant," Perry said. "Are you still interested?"
Tragg stabbed a piece of meat. "I'll have to think about that," he said. "I've been on the force for a long time—over twenty-five years. That's a lot to give up."
"Did you always want to be a police officer?" Mr. Vann queried.
Tragg gazed into the distance as he considered the matter. "No," he said at last. "I believe my first desire was to be a cowboy." He smiled in mischief. "I grew up with Westerns."
"Cowboys were often part of law enforcement," Mr. Vann said.
"True," Tragg nodded. "In fact, I used to dream of catching villains with Marshal Matt Dillon."
"Then you simply chose a more contemporary form of that," Mr. Vann said.
"Yes," Tragg said. "I did at that."
Mr. Vann's gaze shifted to the younger man on Tragg's right. "What about you, Lieutenant Anderson? If you weren't a police officer, what do you think you would be doing instead?"
"I really don't know," Andy admitted. "I used to want to be an astronaut. My cousin Jimmy and I would play at that for hours with cardboard spaceships in the backyard. We drove our parents crazy." He chuckled. "I probably wouldn't have made a good astronaut, though. I think I do my best work with both feet planted firmly on the ground."
"Well, you never will know, will you," Mr. Vann said.
"No," Andy said. "I never will. But that's alright with me; I like the work I'm in."
"Are you still close to your cousin?" Mr. Vann wondered.
"Yes," Andy said in surprise. "As a matter of fact, he followed me into the police force."
"Another policeman in the family," Mr. Vann nodded in approval. "Your parents must be proud."
"All of our parents are," Andy agreed.
Mr. Vann took the gravy boat and added some more gravy to his stuffing. "That still leaves quite a few of you," he said. "Come on, don't wait for me to ask you. Volunteer your deepest, darkest secrets!"
"I know what Paul would like," Perry said with a mischievous smile.
"And I know what Burger would like," Paul returned. Hamilton looked to him with suspicious eyes.
"I know what Paul would like too," Della said.
"A dozen beautiful women," Perry finished.
Paul had to grin. "Hey, I'd settle for just one, if she'd stick with me even through our dates being interrupted by certain clients."
"Maybe you wouldn't need to worry about that, Paul," Perry said. "You might not be a private detective."
"Maybe not," Paul said. "But if I had the girl I'd probably be okay with just about any job."
"Really, Mr. Drake?" Mr. Vann said. "You can't think of anything specific you wanted to do?"
Paul shrugged. "Oh, when I was a kid I might've wanted to be an explorer for a while," he said. "I've learned since then that it's really not all that glamorous or exciting."
"And what about our illustrious district attorney?" Mr. Vann said.
"A governorship would suit him fine," Paul said, perhaps only half-teasing.
Hamilton's eyes went wide. But he quickly composed himself. "This might come as a shock to you, Paul," he said. "I don't think I've ever had political aspirations that high. I'm fine with sticking to the legal profession."
"Oh well, can't win them all," Paul said.
"And you, Ms. Germaine?" Mr. Vann looked to Mignon.
"I play a vodun priestess in a nightclub floorshow," Mignon said. "I've often thought I would like to be one in reality."
"It's never too late," purred Mr. Vann. "Well, so that leaves Mr. and Mrs. Peterson and Ms. Street." He laced his fingers. "Really, Ms. Street, you can't think of anything else you wanted to do?"
"I did think of something," Della admitted. "I love children. I remember wanting to have a job that would let me be with and help them."
"A teacher, perhaps?" Mr. Vann said.
"Maybe," Della agreed. "A kindergarten teacher."
"Splendid. How about you two?" Mr. Vann looked to the Petersons.
Martha shrugged, glancing at Douglas. "I've thought it would be nice to be an interior decorator."
Douglas nodded. "You could get some of the old places around here fixed up.
"As for me, well, one of my childhood dreams was archaeology. Maybe that was a big part of why I was so nuts about finding this treasure, other than the obvious."
"What about you, Mr. Vann?" Perry spoke then. "You've had all of us telling other career options for ourselves, but you've held back on what you'd want."
Mr. Vann spread his hands. "Mr. Drake had an interesting idea," he said. "A governorship."
"You'd want to be saddled with all that political baggage?" Paul exclaimed.
"Some people do," Mr. Vann said. "Although when I was a boy touring the governor's mansion, I believe I was more enchanted by the thought of living in that house than anything else." He smiled. "Children can go on such silly flights of fancy, you know. Living for the moment and never thinking about the far-reaching consequences."
"But you're thinking of them now," Perry finished.
"Yes, quite so." Mr. Vann wiped at his mouth with his napkin. "That was an excellent dinner. And now, if we're all finished, perhaps we should retire to the living room and I will get on with the business at hand."
"Yeah!" Howie cheered, leaping down from his chair.
"Howie!" Martha scolded, but she was smiling. "You can see where his mind is. He's been so anxious to learn more about this treasure."
"And I'm sure you and Mr. Peterson are anxious as well," Mr. Vann said as he rose. "Leave the dishes. We'll all help clear the table later."
"Well . . ." Martha considered the proposition for only a moment. "Yes, let's do that." Setting her napkin aside, she got up from the table. Everyone else began to follow suit.
The box was on the mantel, glowing, just as it had been left before. Mr. Vann went to it, lifting it with gentle yet firm hands. He studied the light, then the hieroglyphs, with equal levels of attention and fascination.
"Do you have any idea what's making it glow like that?" Douglas wanted to know.
"Offhand, not at all," Mr. Vann said. "The only way to determine that is to unlock it and see."
"There's no key!" Howie protested.
"And no keyhole," Perry remarked.
"I believe the writing on top may be the keyhole," Mr. Vann said, "and the translation, the key." He stepped further into the light.
"Can you translate it here?" Mignon's narrowed eyes showed her continuing suspicion of the man.
If he realized, he gave no indication. "I could try," he said slowly, "but the characters are faded from time. The box could stand a good cleaning too; it's obviously seen a great many places." He looked up again. "If it would be possible, I would like to take it with me to the museum. I'll clean it in my office and then make a translation of the characters."
Mignon frowned. She did not like the idea of the box leaving the premises. But Mr. Vann was right about it having had better days. "Would you let us discuss the matter before giving consent?" she asked, looking to the Petersons and silently pleading for them to agree.
"Of course," Mr. Vann said. "But you realize, naturally, that it's very unlikely you'll be able to keep this long-term. From my preliminary examination, it is a genuine Egyptian container. The Egyptian government may even want it back, especially if it is the Forbidden Box."
"We realize," Douglas said. "How about you inspect the rest of the treasure while we talk? It's up in the attic. Here, I'll show you." He made a move towards the stairs.
"I'm agreeable," Mr. Vann said. He replaced the box on the mantel and followed Douglas.
Martha sighed when they were gone. "I don't know what to think," she said. "I don't want to think badly of Mr. Vann, but I still am wondering if his story about Mr. Welles is true."
"Why don't you try calling Mr. Welles before making any decisions?" Perry suggested.
"That's a good idea," Martha said. "I'll do that right now." She hurried to the telephone on the end table and dialed.
Hamilton stepped closer to Perry. "What do you think, Perry?" he wondered.
"I'm not sure," Perry admitted. "Mr. Vann may be on the level. He seemed to be trying to put us all at ease at dinner. But at the same time, I can't help thinking there may have been more to that odd game than he would ever let on."
Hamilton shrugged. "It seemed harmless enough to me," he said.
"Perhaps," Perry said. "But I noticed you were the only one he didn't press for a response to his question. When you said you weren't interested in being governor, he let it go."
"Maybe he was just getting bored by then," Hamilton suggested.
"But he still wanted answers from Della, Mignon, and the Petersons," Perry said. "He was especially certain to get a reply from Della."
"That's true," Hamilton remembered. "But what could it mean? I don't see how there could really be any importance to a crazy dinner game. Or in the fact that I didn't give him much to go on."
"There likely isn't," Perry said. "However, I can't shake the feeling that he's had a reason for everything he's said and done so far."
"Now that wouldn't surprise me," Hamilton said. "But come on, Perry. He acted like he believed in that ancient Egyptian nonsense. It couldn't be real!"
"I agree it sounds preposterous," Perry said. "However, if he believes it, and wants it to be real, he's dangerous regardless of whether or not it's true."
"You've got a point there," Hamilton conceded. "Even though it can't be real, that doesn't mean I trust Mr. Vann's integrity."
"I don't think we should." Martha's voice sounded strange as she hung up the phone. "A police officer answered Mr. Welles' phone. He said they found him badly hurt in his car behind the museum. Someone struck him on the head. He's being taken to the hospital now."
Perry frowned deeply. "It's certainly strange and concerning, but it doesn't prove that Mr. Vann is responsible."
"It doesn't look good for him, either," Hamilton countered.
"I don't want him to take the box," Martha said.
When Douglas returned and was informed, he felt the same. "We'll just have to tell him we want to wait a bit," he determined.
Mr. Vann came down the stairs moments later, a handful of gold coins in his hand. "Well, Mr. and Mrs. Peterson, I have excellent news," he said. "These coins are genuine, and very valuable."
"Wonderful," Douglas said. "Thank you. Now, about the box . . ."
"We'd rather not have it taken out of the house right now," Martha put in. "Maybe we could clean it ourselves?"
Mr. Vann paused only a moment before resuming his pace, going back to the mantel. "Oh no," he said. "There's a special method for cleaning it. Only those who have been trained know what to do. I hate to think of such an important piece of antiquity ruined by the hands of amateurs."
"Well, we'll just leave it alone then," said Martha. "Maybe you could come back tomorrow and bring the cleaning equipment with you?"
"I could," Mr. Vann said slowly. He ran a finger over the hieroglyphs. "Maybe I'll try to translate now, after all."
Mignon stiffened. "That's alright," she said. "You don't have to bother with it tonight."
"No, I insist. I should leave you with something." Mr. Vann held the box up to the light. Slowly and carefully, he began to read the characters in the Egyptian language. The box reacted; the lid began to rise.
Mignon ran over, frantic. "No! Stop!" She reached to slam the lid down. Instead a purple blast of energy shot out at her, striking her in the chest. She flew backwards with the sheer force, tumbling to the floor with a chair.
"Mignon!" Hamilton and Howie both cried at the same time. They ran to her, while Tragg and Andy rushed to Mr. Vann. The others hurried to help wherever they could.
In all the confusion no one noticed that the box's lid had rose the rest of the way. The dark purple energy burst forth, sweeping over the room. Everyone caught in its beam was thrown back against the walls.
Hamilton fell to the floor, smarting from the shock of being flung across the room. The last thing he heard before consciousness slipped out of his grasp was Howie's scream of utter terror.
xxxx
"Hamilton. Hamilton, are you alright?"
"Wake up, Mr. Burger! Are you sure he's alive, Mr. Mason?"
"Yes, Howie, he's alive. He's unconscious, as the rest of us were."
Hamilton groaned, forcing his eyes open. Perry and a tearful Howie were bending over him. Perry was gripping his shoulder. Seeing he was coming to, Howie brightened. "You're awake!" he exclaimed in joy.
"What happened?" Hamilton mumbled. It was a confused blur in his mind—a strange man, a glowing box, a purple blast. . . . "Mignon?" She had been hurt. And Howie had screamed. But he looked alright now, thankfully. . . .
"Mignon's on the couch," Perry said. "She's going to be fine."
"What about you two?" Hamilton persisted. "And the others?"
"We're all okay," Howie said. "Are you okay too?"
"Huh? . . . Yes, yes, I'm fine," Hamilton stammered.
Perry nodded. "Good." But though he was relieved that Hamilton was awake, he was troubled about something else.
"Something's wrong," Hamilton observed as he woke up more. "What is it?" He pushed himself off the floor. His arms wobbled, but he managed.
Perry sighed. "The box is gone," he said.
"And that guy, too!" Howie added. "He didn't take any of the coins or anything like that; he just wanted the box!"
"What?" Hamilton was in disbelief. Why would Mr. Vann pass up an obviously valuable treasure for an ancient nightlight?
. . . An ancient and deadly nightlight at that. He could not want it for any good purpose.
"Tragg called Robbery Division," Perry said. "They'll be here soon."
Hamilton nodded. With his bearings gathered, he stood up and stumbled to the couch. "Mignon?" He looked down at his friend with worry. She had been very close to the box when it had blasted her. Now she was very pale.
She opened her eyes at the sound of his voice. "Hamilton." She reached for his arm, latching onto his wrist. "Hamilton, something terrible is going to happen. Mr. Vann knows it; he took the box to be in control of its power."
Hamilton wanted to scoff at that. Ordinarily he would have. But he had witnessed a display of . . . something. He was not sure what, but it had definitely been dangerous. It had thrown everyone across the room and knocked them unconscious. Whether he wanted to believe in magic or not, it would be stupid to deny that much.
"Mignon, just rest," he said at last. "The police will find him and the box."
Mignon sighed. "But will it be in time?"
She sounded so lost that Hamilton was chilled.
xxxx
The office was dark, lit only by candles and the purple glow from the box. Mr. Vann had not dared go back to the museum. He was not home, either, but in the home office of an associate. By the time the police ever found him here, his plan would be in effect. They would not be able to stop him.
"Yes," he purred. "That's it." He watched as the image of Vivalene, carved into an ancient tablet by a purple beam, was finished. "Now the next one." The beam set to work again, carving Perry's image this time. There was still a long way to go before the tablet would be complete, but it would be worth it. Every bit of it.
Mr. Vann's eyes gleamed in the eerie light. At long last this power was his. And he had no intention of giving it up. Nor did he want to share it.
Even with Vivalene.