The matriarch raised her eyebrow. “Ghost stories?”
Enrique nodded.
“What kind of history or proof is that?” she asked.
Enrique’s ears burned, but he heard her curiosity. It was genuine. At the sound of it, a quiet thrill wound through him.
“Madame Delphine, depending on who you ask, sometimes ghost stories are all that is left of history,” he said. “History is full of ghosts because it’s full of myth, all of it woven together depending on who survived to do the telling.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”
“According to the coordinates on the spectacles, we know the Sleeping Palace is somewhere on Lake Baikal.”
“There’s nothing in Siberia but ice,” said the matriarch dismissively. “And murders from the past; that’s probably where all ghost stories started.”
“Lake Baikal is a sacred place, especially to the Buryats, theindigenous people who live in southeastern Russia near the Mongolian border,” said Enrique quickly. “The name itself means ‘Sacred Sea.’”
“I’m still not hearing a ghost story,” said the matriarch.
“Well, that’s the interesting matter,” said Enrique. “When you trace the tales surrounding this area of Lake Baikal, what you find is there are a lot of rumors in that area of restless spirits. Women, especially, whose voices are known to cry out to people in the middle of the night, echoing over the ice. There were also stories in the past of… of murders in the area. The last of which was committed almost twenty years ago.”
Zofia shifted uncomfortably on her stool. Hypnos shuddered.
“And no one was ever captured,” said Hypnos, visibly disturbed.
“Supposedly, the murders were committed without motive,” said Enrique. “But I don’t think that’s true.”
Enrique walked to the matriarch, holding out one of the papers from his research. It showed an illustration of the Siberian landscape and a huge sepulcher carved from a single slab of black marble, and covered in intricate Forging metalwork of silver vines and looping script.
“In the fourteenth century, a noted traveler named Ibn Battuta observed the burial of a great Mongolian khan. He was placed with his greatest treasures, along with his favorite guards and female slaves. All of them were closed up beneath it.”
“The female slaves and guards were killed?” asked Hypnos.
“They died there, eventually,” said Enrique.
Hypnos paled.
“Some cultures thought that one could not construct an important building without tithing a human life, and so they buried people in the foundations of buildings.” Enrique drew out anotherpaper, this one showing a brick wall. “For example, the Albanian legend of Rozafa where a young woman sacrificed herself so a castle could be built.”
“What does that have to do with the ghost stories?”
Enrique swallowed hard. The horror of what he was about to say filmed over his thoughts.
“If you’re burying your treasure, you’d need built-in guardians. Guardians who couldn’t leave.”
There was silence in the room.
“The Fallen House has been known to emulate more ancient practices. I believe that perhaps those missing girls in the area were connected to their effort to conceal treasure. The last murder was twenty years ago, which coincides with the last known documentation ofThe Divine Lyricsbefore the artifact was lost.”
Zofia looked sick now. The matriarch said nothing, but her mouth was drawn. A curious expression passed over her face, as if some terrible idea had only just now made sense to her.
“That,” said Enrique, “is why I believe the Sleeping Palace holds the treasure we’re looking for.”
Delphine did not look at Enrique when he finished. Instead, she turned to face the empty doorway and called out, “Well? Are you convinced or not?”
Someone stepped into the room… a stunning redheaded girl that looked about his age. There was something familiar about her, but the thought vanished when another person moved to stand beside the girl: Ruslan.
“As one expected, excellent hair hides an excellent mind!” said Ruslan, clapping. Then, to the matriarch: “Yes, I find myself thoroughly convinced. I was most intrigued by your letter. Admittedly, it’s hard to turn down any invitation to eavesdrop on someoneelse’s conversation.” He smiled at Delphine. “A pleasure to finally meet you, Matriarch.”
