PROLOGUE
On the coast of Cornwall, 1873
Maxwell Barrett lit his lantern, then moved into the damp cave. Behind him, he could hear the waves beating against the rock that surrounded the opening of the cavern. He didn’t have much time. It was that reason alone that drove him forward at this swift pace. Otherwise, he would have meandered, investigating every nook and cranny he could reach. But he only had two hours before the tide rose to once again cover the entrance to the cave.
Two hours before he would drown.
Unless he had miscalculated, and then perhaps he had even less time. Either way, he needed to get in there and find the map, then get the hell to dry land.
The cave appeared and disappeared with the tides, which was why it had taken him nearly four months to locate the blasted area, and still it remained to be seen whether he’d find what he had sought for the past two years.
Beneath his boots, the uneven rocks—slick with moss and water—made his journey all the more harrowing. He’d slipped several times already, but he held firm to his lantern and kept moving forward. He knew he was right about this cave, he could feel it.
Today he would find the map of Atlantis.
He skidded across a wet stone, his weight shifted, and he fell hard upon one knee. The rock sliced through his wool trousers, biting into his flesh. Fortunately, he managed to avoid shattering the lantern. Max got to his feet and inhaled sharply.
He could do this. Hell, when he was fifteen, he’d found a long-forgotten buried treasure of a pirate queen. He was seventeen now. He propelled himself forward, careful where he stepped. Still, it was Atlantis… finding the one and only map to the lost continent would certainly prove that Plato’s writings were fact and not fiction. If he did that, his parents would truly notice. Everyone would have to take notice.
Long stalactites reached down to him like ancient fingers. Max bent and twisted to avoid impaling himself, but he kept moving forward. Always forward. Still, he could hear the waves behind him, like an hourglass reminding him he had a finite amount of time.
The deeper he traveled, the more constricted the air became. He sucked in a breath; his nose filled with the chalky scent that could only be found in earth’s little crevices. His heart beat wildly.
The tunnel before him split. The walls of the cave pulled in and formed two paths. One was big enough for him to continue walking, though crouched over; the other was not even large enough for a small child to pass through. The choice was made for him. The Atlanteans who had ventured here before him to hide the map certainly would have used the larger passage.
Still, he hesitated.
The stalactites were a reminder that flowing water could grow rocks as well as break them down. He hoped time had not changed the constant flowing water and narrowed the correct path, thus forcing him in the wrong direction.
Only one way to find out. Max felt along the rock wall with one hand, and with the other, he held the lantern in front of him, though the pitiful amount of light made the exercise seem almost worthless. Beneath his fingers, the stone was cool and wet. Something slithered under his palm, and he jerked back his hand.
Again, the area narrowed, so much that, in order to continue, he had to turn sideways. Drowning would certainly be a most dreadful way to perish, but drowning in this constricted channel would be even worse. He picked up his pace, unable to run, but moving quickly through the stone passage. The rock at his back brushed through his hair as he moved, and the stones in front of him would skin his nose if he wasn’t careful.
The darkness ahead of him grew thicker and blacker as he hiked farther into the cave. Finally, the crevice he’d been moving through opened back up. He took a step, but found only air beneath his boot. His balance shifted, and he leaned forward, nearly falling, but he was able to grab the cavern wall to his right to steady himself.
He found himself standing on the ledge of an underground lake. He held the lantern out and bent over to peer into the pool. It was difficult to see, but the water must be several feet below him, and while it was not a fall that would likely result in death, he’d prefer not to test the fates.
The ledge encircled the water, and he could tell that the area to his right was far narrower than the one to his left. So Max moved to the left and followed the rim around. The opening he’d climbed through was the only break in the cavern’s wall around the lake, at least as far as he could see.
According to his research, this cave should lead him to where the Atlanteans had hidden their map. Everything he’d read indicated it would be sealed, dry in the midst of water. Max looked up, trying his best to scan the ceiling of the cavern. It seemed highly improbable that someone had climbed to the top, because the walls were slick with moisture. And there didn’t appear to be any legitimate hiding places above to stash anything.
Dim lantern light glanced off the walls, enough for him to see the shape of his own hand, but not much more. So it was possible more lay ahead of him. He kept moving.
The ledge narrowed. Nearly his entire boot hung off the edge; only a small sliver of his heel remained supported. He pressed his back against the cavern wall and slid himself across the small ridge. Suddenly the glow from his lantern revealed a large chunk of quartz, creating an eerie bluish light.
It was here, in this angle and in that lapis glow, that his lantern reflected off something in the center of the lake. A wooden pedestal jutted out from the water, and sitting atop it was some sort of container.
His heart quickened. That had to be it. The map was hidden in there. He was seconds away from slipping his feet off the ledge to jump into the lake when he noticed something moving in the water. He slid over to his right to position himself on a sturdier section of the ledge, and he once again bent forward with his lantern in hand.
There, in the water, drifted a decaying body. Nearly down to the bones, the corpse wore clothes that were shredded and hung like an ill-fitted suit. It swayed back and forth in a macabre dance of death. Through the abdomen of the man was a wooden spike. Then Max noticed several other similar spikes of different sizes and heights scattered around the wooden pedestal.
If Max had jumped, or fallen, into the water, that could be him now, skewered on a pole, waiting to bleed to death.
He stood up straight. “Interesting.”
Without a bridge from this ledge, how was he supposed to get to the map without skewering himself on the spikes? He looked around, scanning his surroundings for any material he might be able to use. Nothing.
The sound of water falling drew his attention to the crevice he’d crawled out of. Water spilled out of it, draining into the lake below. He watched as the dead body continued to undulate in the dark liquid.
