Page 11

Mia

“Did you know that Alhambra roughly translates to ‘red castle’ in Arabic?” I ask the guys.

Midas is the only one who responds verbally. “Actually, I did.” He’s wearing a pair of Ray Ban’s to thwart the intense midday sun, but he shields his eyes as he looks up at the vermillion- colored palace that has undergone numerous renovations, additions, and owners.

“Did you know,” Blaze says, shuffling up beside me, “that you are a walking encyclopedia?”

I blush, but counter his statement good naturedly. “And you’re all super soldiers. What’s your point, Blaze?” Beside me, Dillon stands a little taller, and Phantom and Midas wear their typical understated pride like a discreet badge of honor. I catch a slight reddening to Legion’s fair features, while Blaze’s face threatens to be split in two from his grin.

“I, I guess I can’t remember my point. You distracted me by calling me Captain America.” Blaze pulls his right arm across his chest, flexing. “I totally could be, too. Look. Look at my shield arm,” he says rather loudly. A couple in front of us looks over their shoulder at him.

Legion slaps Blaze’s arm down. “We’re supposed to be blending in, dumbass,” he hisses. Falling a step behind his brother, I see Legion’s hand poised, ready to smack the back of Blaze’s head. It’s precautionary. And maybe a little just.

He’s right. Part of the plan discussed at breakfast this morning was casual attire in neutral colors. We are posing as tourists, but calling attention to our small group with the energy and shenanigans of a frat house is not part of the plan.

I glance at my ticket with a decorative header in an earth toned mosaic, noting the time. The morning slots were all booked, but Midas was able to secure us afternoon admission. He also outdid himself by booking such a stunning hotel. The view from my room faced north and after Dillon left last night, I wandered to the window. The Alhambra was lit and its ramparts and distinguishable towers rose from the surrounding dark forest like red clay stalagmites emerging from the hillside. Its beauty today gives you pause. Back in the late fifteenth century did Isabella experience that as well, or did the warrior queen once balk at its formidable structure?

In the shade of a cypress tree, a white cat stretches and resumes its nap. Dillon stays with me while the others linger near a bench a few feet away.

Charming cobblestone streets are underfoot and we’re halfway up the Sabika hill. I crane my neck and take in the view. Long ago, situating a fortress on a hill at the base of a mountain range had many advantages. Unfortunately for us, modern tourists pay the price for the now obsolete fortifications. I can’t wait to see the unobstructed views of Granada once we reach the top, but with the way my lungs are mildly burning and the beads of sweat that just ran down my spine, I mask my break to rationalize my thoughts. Yoga hasn’t given me the skills to speak and climb simultaneously.

“This place is the size of a theme park, Dillon,” I say, overwhelmed, pulling in a deep breath.

“Breathe through your nose and out through your mouth,” Dillon says softly so only I can hear.

“Right. Good call. Thanks.” I’m tempted to put my hands on my knees and catch my breath, but I take his advice and find my heartrate returning to an acceptable rhythm.

Dillon nods ahead to the guys to give us a moment and I appreciate his patience. “Well, with your brains, it won’t be like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

I laugh. “More like a thimble.”

We fall in step behind the team. Families and couples and groups of people weave around us, occasionally bumping my shoulder as they pass. “Excuse you,” I mumble to a large man who deems it necessary to walk with a wide girth. I’m forced into Dillon’s arm with my own and I apologize. It’s then that he takes my hand in his, linking our fingers together. I know my hand is clammy from the trek and I try and pull away. He just tightens his grip on me further. We’re in no danger of being seen by Midas or the others; the crowd funnels into a meandering line and we’re only six inches from their backs. Dillon’s mouth quirks at the corner and I know the meaning. Since we shouldn’t break the professional boundary again, he can offer me this for now. A stolen moment amidst a crowd of people.

So I hold his hand until we’re ready to have our tickets and passports scanned.

We’re each handed a map of the grounds, but it’s Legion that actually opens it. He studies it for a moment before signaling for us to gather around him. “So, we’re here,” he says, pointing to a small star at the northeast corner of the map. “And it looks like there are three main attraction sites plus the grounds of the Generalife.” Every notable spot is marked with a number that is further explained on the legend.

I’d looked up a basic map of the place earlier. I had an idea of the layout and the popular sites. We’d discussed it over breakfast. We’d brainstormed. And we concluded the best course of action was to head to the Court of the Lions first. It was on the second seal, so, hopefully it would offer us what we sought.

Opening my map, I scan the legend until I see the word leones . “Twenty-five. Patio de los leones ,” I say.

“It’d be quicker to follow this top dotted line,” Legion says, pointing. He’s right, but we will be missing the bath house, the church, and the Charles V Palace. Not to mention the Alcazaba. I remind myself we are not here to actually sightsee. And it’s a shame.

We’re all in agreement with the plan. Legion and Midas lead our little group through the crowds. Going against the flow, the six of us are forced to separate our two-by-two line occasionally, walking around people that are oblivious to others. At times we come to a complete stop until tourists have completed their posed photos with the structures or stunning flowers. Suffice it to say, it’s slow.

Not for the first time, I wish we were here under different circumstances. What would it be like to leisurely stroll through the palace, spending hours admiring the carved calligraphy, having the time to listen to the guided tours, or indulge a moment in a courtyard where the serenity of the trickling water and the shade of the orange trees offered a welcomed reprieve from the day’s heat? The Nasrid gardens were intentionally designed for these sensory purposes alone. One was meant to feel as if they were in literal paradise. And as we pass by a courtyard, I can see the vision: verdant canopies offer shade and the gentle breeze makes the light dance in and out of the lush leaves. Fragrant flowers would perfume the air if they were in season, but the edible scent of thyme and rosemary remind me that herbs were planted not just for taste, but for medicinal purposes. The gentle babble of water running throughout the space is a calming presence, while the stones under which the water has run over for centuries is smooth to the touch.

I must have a faraway look in my eyes, because Dillon nudges my arm. We’re no longer holding hands, but he hasn’t wandered far. “This place is beautiful, huh?”

Looking around, I visually dismiss the extended arms with iPhones and iPads and cameras, and just revel in it. It’s not hard to imagine what life was like here. Besides the renovations, not much has changed. There’s a reason the palace is one of the best-preserved representations of the Islamic culture.

“It’s stunning,” I say. “And we haven’t even made it inside any of the buildings yet.”

“We will shortly.” Dillon nods ahead of us. “I’d imagine if something is called ‘The Hall of the Kings’, it might be impressive.”

“I concur. So far, pictures haven’t done this place justice.”

“Speaking of pictures,” he says, “give me your phone.” Tilting my head at him, I slowly hand it over. “Stand over there,” he instructs.

It feels silly to be doing this, but the guys have come to a stop while the entrance to the King’s Hall is impassible with tourists. I wiggle my way in front of a pomegranate tree as he holds my phone up to snap a pic. Curious about the fruit, I pull one closer. There’s a smell of earthiness to the husk that’s concealing the juicy seeds inside.

“Perfect.” Dillon smiles at me and for a moment I’ve forgotten why I am playing with fruit.

It’s not long before we make it inside. Everyone that had been in front of us slowly disperses. And I get my first glimpse at the patio beyond the columns: the Courtyard of the Lions.

I bypass the splendor of the painted ceilings of depicted Nasrid kings and beeline my way parallel to the stanchion ropes until I’m standing before the fountain. Quick footfalls behind me tell me Dillon and the others have caught up.

“I’ll be damned,” Blaze says on a whistle. “It’s the lions from the seal.”

“It sure is,” I say.

Midas, Phantom and Legion spread out to my left while Dillon and Blaze flank me on my right. We’ve formed a semi-circle around the dodecagon. Then, we stare.

I note that the white marble lions have different patterns carved into their manes, while each of their mouths has a jet of water that cascades down to a channel in the floor. It’s an absolute marvel that the Nasrid architects constructed a working fountain and calculated the exact height on the hill to build the Alhambra to maximize the water flow.

But none of that helps me as I continue to rake my eyes over the font.

My thoughts are interrupted when Phantom speaks up. “I don’t know about y’all, but I’m not seeing shit. So, what do we do now? Wait for the earth to open up and reveal its secrets?”

An obtuse thought forms. “You might be right.”

“I was kidding,” Phantom says.

Dillon sticks his arm out. “Shh. She’s got that glazed over look. She’s thinking.”

“You’re saying there’s a secret chamber here?” Midas asks. He’s doing a good job of not sounding incredulous.

I turn to face the group. “Not here. But here ,” I say, pointing down. I’m met with equal looks of confusion. “Come on. Follow me.”

Leading them away from the courtyard, we exit through the Hall of the Two Sisters. “Oh my, look at that.” I pause, craning my neck to the ceiling. “It’s exquisite. Look at the stucco work!”

Dillon cups my elbow and ushers me forward. “Elaborate. Ornamental. Decorative. But let’s focus.”

He leads us outside into what appears to be another courtyard. Unlike the white marble from moments ago, this is humble in comparison. The only similarity is that the space is square. Three of the walls enclose the area. The fourth is an uneven rampart with unending views of the old medieval city below.

Midas crosses his arms. “Okay, what are you thinking?” he asks me.

“Well,” I say cautiously, “obviously this isn’t a wizard's castle, but what I was alluding to is that there is an underground tunnel system here. Tunnels, hidden galleries, you name it. The kings and sultans used them as contingency plans in the wake of threats or wars. And maybe, if it were me, I’d be inclined to hide something of importance away from the main living quarters.”

Phantom smiles. “I knew I was on to something.”

I point to him in acknowledgement. “You were.”

Legion refers to the map once more.

Blaze interjects. “So how the hell do we access this underground labyrinth?” He rubs his hands together like a mad scientist. “I bet it’s restricted.”

“Over there.” Dillon doesn’t point. His eyes narrow and he looks to the left wall where a short balding man with a key ring the size of an embroidery hoop is locking an iron gate. A white badge is clipped to his shirt, though unreadable. “How much you wanna bet he’s just come from the tunnels?”

Midas nonchalantly walks over to the wall pretending to admire the surrounding area. He returns. “It’s a staircase that leads down.” Then he lowers his voice and addresses the group. “Tell me one of you has a lock pick on your person.”

“I wish I did,” I say aloud, meaning it.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Legion says, raising his hands like he’s placating an audience. “Where is Mia and what have you done with her?”

I give him a wry smile. “Right here.”

Blaze reaches in his pocket, pops the bubble he’s blown from his gum, and winks. “Don’t go anywhere without it, boss,” he says to Midas.

“Good,” he says. “We’ll cover you. Archer and Mia—I want you two to discreetly block the doorway and stall people from coming out here, alright? Blaze—how long do you need?”

“Under sixty seconds.”

“You heard the man. Positions.”

Dillon and I walk the short distance to the doorway. For some miraculous reason, the crowd that had been so pronounced, has thinned out. I don’t know exactly how to block the door like Midas wants, so I take Dillon’s lead. I half expect him to stop each visitor with a booming voice and say “You shall not pass!,” but he doesn’t. What he does do is take my hand in his like before. I look down where we’re connected and question the gesture. He shrugs and tells me that we have to appear believable and nonchalant.

We enter the Hall of the Sisters once more. This time, we stay just inside.

“Now’s your chance to get a second look,” he says. His voice has taken on a huskier tone.

So, I do. I’m looking everywhere, absorbing as much as I can, and secretly loving every second of it. The reason is twofold. With our interlocked fingers, Dillon leads me around while staying within a few feet of the door.

I hear a trilling whistle like a bird. Dillon tugs me out of the room and back to the courtyard. The gate is closed and the guys are nowhere in sight. As we make our way over, I see that the lock is no longer on the hinge. Beyond that, down several steps are the guys.

Dillon looks around. There are two things that are in our favor. One, is there are no security cameras out here like in the higher traffic areas. And two, the tourists that were here a moment ago have just left the courtyard.

“Go,” Dillon urges. He’s swung the door open just enough for us to pass through and I take the steps two at a time until I’ve reached Midas, practically falling into him with adrenaline. Dillon replaces the lock but doesn’t engage it.

Naturally, the light wanes as we continue our descent down the narrow staircase. The ceiling is low and curved and I feel for Legion and Phantom as they’re forced to hunch due to their heights. Beneath my feet, the steps are grooved from years of use and if I’m not careful, I can easily lose my footing. It would be helpful if there were railings, but I do my best to keep my balance by placing my hand against the rough stone wall. It’s as uneven as the stairs but it at least allows me better purchase.

Phantom is in the front and shines a small flashlight ahead of us. Behind him is Legion and with his own light, shines it behind him to illuminate the space for the rest of us.

A funny thought hits me. Flashlights, lock picks, handguns that are concealed… “How do you guys conceal all your gadgets without looking like you’re smuggling stuff under your clothes?”

“If we tell you, we’d have to kill you.” Of course Blaze answers like a smartass.

When we reach the bottom of the stairs, the corridor turns left. And seems to go on forever. I’m turned around and have zero sense of which way is even north. What I do know, is we are deep beneath the palace. The temp has dropped significantly and the cool air feels glorious on my sweat-soaked skin. It’s like stepping into an industrial sized refrigerator in the middle of summer.

“Anyone know which way we should go?” I ask, suppressing a humorless laugh. I see Legion raise his arm, motioning for us to follow. With nothing else to do in a corridor that feels like it’s shrinking, I obey.

Soon, a light up ahead indicates a doorway. Through its lattice design I can discern a small grassy area beyond another set of steps. An escape route.

Instead of using it though, Legion leads us to the right where the tunnel curves and eventually straightens out. Within a hundred yards we’ve come upon an arched opening in the right wall. Through it is a vast and empty room. Though the light is dim, it becomes obvious that it’s another perfectly square area. I’m happy to have a reprieve from the confusing labyrinth; being stationary is nice.

The sound of our footsteps chuffing across the stone echoes around us. The space may be cavernous, but the ceilings are still rather low in comparison to what sits above it. This is no domed two-story space; it’s linear, flat and plain. Utilitarian. Perfect for a sultan’s guards to be ready at a moment’s notice if an attack occurred.

The guys are pointing their flashlights around and I get a better sense of the area. Taking out my phone and using its light, I begin to pace out the length of a wall.

“…thirty…thirty-one…thirty-two…” I’m almost to the other wall. “Thirty-seven,” I say.

“Want me to pace out the other wall?” Blaze asks.

I shake my head, not looking at him. “No, thanks though, Blaze. If I’m right, it’s a perfect square,” I say, beginning to pace out the next wall, “and if it is, then I think I know where we are.”

“Go on,” Dillon says encouragingly.

I’m facing the entrance and am almost done. “Yup. Another thirty-seven. When we saw that escape route door, there was grass and beyond it, the cliff,” I say, picturing a rough map in my head. “And that means that we’d be facing north…and so this corridor out here, runs parallel to it, positioning us on the north side of the palace.”

Legion has taken out his GPS, though I don’t know how he’s getting a signal down here. “We’re north, northeast.”

“I knew it,” I say. “I’d surmise that we’re under the throne room.”

“And you’re thinking the clue might be down here?” Midas asks. “It’d be a good place to hide it if this space was used as a barracks of sorts to protect the rulers.”

“That’s what I’m thinking…but,” I say, “there’s a whole lot of nothing down here.”

At my obvious declaration, we all disperse and start looking for anything that could be out of the ordinary.

“Right. Carvings…oddities…drafts…” Blaze mutters. He’s a good student, I’ll give him that.

The floor is uniform with no signs of disturbed mortar or color variations. And I’m not seeing any carvings in this unadorned room. The only visible differentiation I can see is the square stones in the wall are flush except a pattern of protruding ones near the ceiling. I do a quick count. Every seventh stone extends out from the wall by about three inches.

Reaching for one, my fingertips brush it. I jump. Perhaps one will give way and be a secret button that will reveal what we’re looking for.

“Hang on a minute,” Dillon says. He had been on the other side of the room and within seconds he’s at my side. “I like where your head’s at, but we don’t want to activate an ancient booby trap and have three-foot spikes come out of the ceiling.”

“Dillon, that was a movie.”

“And so were Indy’s quests, but yet, here we are, doing the same thing.”

I open my mouth to argue the fact, but find that I can’t. “Fine, but unless you guys see anyth—”

My voice dies when I spot something. Two steps lead me to the next stone, and then the next. I backtrack and examine the other side.

“What’d ya find, Lassie?” Blaze asks.

Next to me, Dillon makes a sound like a low growl.

“I see something on the underside of this stone…a—a carving of some sort,” I say. “Look.” Feebly, I aim my phone’s light to the spot, but the beam isn’t strong enough. The team closes in around me. Phantom shines his tactical flashlight and with even better clarity, I see it: the shadow play reveals a shallowly carved oval circle with spikes at the top.

“It’s a crown,” Dillon says.

“Which means whatever that stone is concealing, is most likely Christian in origin,” I surmise. “Somebody lift me up.” My arms are outstretched like a child reaching for their mom, but I don’t care how ludicrous I look. I want to see why this stone has a carving and none of the others do.

Blaze sighs, gets on the ground on his hands and knees and says, “Climb up.” He looks like the bottom of a cheerleading pyramid.

I’m about to lift my leg and use him as a footstool, but Dillon squashes that idea. “Allow me,” he says, bending down enough, indicating for me to get on his shoulders. Oh. Can I keep my balance and explore at the same time? As if reading my thoughts, Dillon assures me that I can. “I’ve got you,” he says, standing to his full height. His hands are hot across the tops of my thighs as his grip on me settles. Focus, Mia.

Behind me the guys crowd around.

I push the stone. It doesn’t budge. I pull it. It doesn’t release. But the mortar around it doesn’t match the rest of the wall.

“Knife?” I ask, placing my hand out like a surgeon who’s asked for a scalpel during surgery.

Midas places one in my hand.

Blaze says, “I don’t know how we should feel about your assumption that we have knives on us…”

“I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you,” I say, scraping away at the edges.

“Tou-fucking-ché,” Phantom says, pride in his tone.

The material crumbles easier than I imagine, but it’s slow work. The grating of the knife’s blade against the plaster sets my teeth on edge, especially when it slips from time to time and hits the gritty aggregate.

My thighs begin to tremble from the unnatural seating position. I hook my feet around Dillon’s back and hope he doesn’t mind. “Almost there,” I say. Under me, he’s strong and solid, never wavering. He gives my legs an encouraging squeeze.

I hand the knife back to whoever takes it first, and focus on removing the stone. I’d estimate that it’s roughly ten inches square and I hope if I can remove it, that I don’t drop it on Dillon. I go to move it. And it gives way.

“Careful,” Legion says, coming up beside us. He reaches up and I’m able to hand it off to him. He places it on the ground and the echoed thud is the only sound that fills the room.

There’s a hushed silence that falls across the group. They’re all waiting for confirmation that I’ve found something. The blood rushes to my ears. My hands grow sweatier than they were moments ago. I suck in a deep breath. And I pull out a small wooden box.

Dillon turns us around and I hold the item out in front of me. Atop his shoulders, I feel like a champion boxer who’s just won an incredible round. He places me back on the ground.

Now that I can get a better look at the box, I see that the arched lid and the sides are intricately ornate. Five gold bands divide the lid, front and back. Between them are stunning gold vines with a different bird at the bottom of each space. In the center is a coat of arms just under the lock, flanked by what appears to be two griffins.

This box is familiar. I’ve seen it before. Only, the one I’m thinking of is much larger. Are there two in existence and I’m now holding the second?

“Is it filled with gold doubloons?” asks Blaze.

Belatedly, I shake it. “No, I think it’s empty. And I’m ninety-nine percent sure this belonged to Queen Isabella of Castile.” Ever pragmatic, Midas asks how I can be sure. “It’s identical to her jewelry box, only smaller,” I say on a sigh. I point to the seal on the front. “It’s her coat of arms.”

In a fortuitous turn of events, there’s no lock on the box. I open the lid and find that I’m not disappointed that it is in fact empty. Because, on the underside of the lid are two simple words: tanto monta.

“What’s that inscription?” Dillon asks.

“The king and queen’s motto. It means ‘they amount to the same,’” I say.

“I thought the cuff would’ve been in there,” Blaze says, deflated.

The thought had obviously crossed my mind as well. But could this jewelry box be enough of a clue? Could it’s larger counterpart hold the answers?

There is only one way to find out.

I straighten my spine. “The clue may not be where she lived,” I say. “But it could be where she’s buried.”