Soon they found themselves against the stone wall that surrounded the perimeter of the house.
“We should try a door in the back,” Max whispered. Together they moved along the wall, across the front, and around the side. Max stopped.
He pointed to the single door on the west side of the house. “That’s even better. A servants’ entrance. He’ll never know.”
“And I suppose if we find the weapon, we’re just going to borrow it,” she said tartly.
He thought a moment, then nodded. “Precisely.”
“Is breaking into people’s homes some sort of misguided hobby for you?” she asked.
“When the task calls for creative measures. Come.” He hoisted himself to the top of the wall. When he turned to help Sabine, she was already halfway up. He assisted her the rest of the way, then jumped down and helped her land on her feet. They used a grove of trees to maneuver closer without being seen.
“How are you not rotting in a prison cell by now?” she whispered. But he saw the hint of a smile teasing her lips.
“I am the Marquess of Lindberg,” he said simply. That, and he excelled at smoothing over bad situations. A smile here, a banknote there, and people tended to forget their worries. He made his way to the door. At this hour, the servants would all be in bed. With his tools, he was able to pry open the lock. He saw Sabine still hiding behind a tree. “Are you coming with me or are you planning to hide out here?” he whispered.
Her lips tightened into a thin line. She said nothing as she strode past him into the house.
Max smiled and followed behind her.
They stood completely still for several minutes, allowing their eyes to grow accustomed to the dark room. It appeared to be the kitchen, as the scent of bread permeated the area. Sabine’s warm breath breezed across his neck. She leaned in closer and that same warmth blew against his ear.
“How do we know where to look?” she whispered.
Bloody hell, but he wanted her. Right here in this stranger’s kitchen. Pushed up against the cupboards, hot and fast or painfully slow. He didn’t care which. Maybe both.
Quietly, they crept across the kitchen and into the pantry area. Max held his arm out to stop Sabine’s forward movement. He pointed down at their feet. There, sleeping on the floor, were two scullery maids. Sabine’s eyes grew large. Max nodded to reassure her. He held her hand as they climbed over the girls’ sleeping forms. One of them stirred, and Max and Sabine froze. But the girl turned over and continued to sleep.
They exited the pantry into a hallway with a staircase, because if they didn’t keep moving, Max just might take Sabine on the floor. “He keeps most of them on display in the great hall,” he said quietly as they began their climb.
She tugged on his shirt to stop him. “Then why couldn’t we have simply asked him if we could take a look?”
“On display for himself. He doesn’t like to share.”
“I see.”
“This way.” He grabbed her hand, ignoring the way it fit perfectly within his.
He led her through a darkened parlor into a hall and across a marble floor. They walked slowly to avoid making too much noise, crept up another staircase, and down to the right until they entered what Max thought to be the great hall.
Two large windows allowed the moonlight enough entrance to give them a clear view of the room. In addition, there were oil lanterns flanking the sides of the huge mantel. Enough oil remained for another couple of hours, though Max suspected a servant would be by in that time to douse the lights. They would have to work quickly. Suits of armor stood guard in all four corners and display cases featured weapons from every era and country. Swords and knives and guns covered every surface, the larger ones hung on the walls.
“Oh, my,” Sabine said. “I should hate to make this gentleman unhappy.”
If the rumors Max had heard of Flynn’s temper were true, then they certainly did not want to make the man angry, but he said nothing of that to Sabine. “Let’s make quick work of this. You start over there.” He pointed to the right side.
“It could potentially take us three days to make our way through all of this,” Sabine said. “There are so many inventive ways to kill a person.”
“We know we can ignore all of the shields and armor and concentrate only on the knives and daggers and swords,” he said.
“Anything with a blade,” she said.
“Precisely.”
Max walked past samurai armor, horse armor—and it would seem an entire regiment of muskets—before he even found a glass case with swords in it. There he found them in several shapes, made of gold and silver and bronze and iron, but no sign of the dove carving.
“I would think it would be Greek in origin,” Sabine said. “Or at least appear to be. That’s the closest civilization to Atlantis.” She reached into her bag and withdrew a magnifying glass.
