Pirate (Fargo Adventures 8)

“I’m sure you could have,” Sam said, steering Lazlo back to the point. “About the map ciphers.”

“Right-o. Wolf’s den and Nottingham. It’s brilliant. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it.”

Selma cleared her throat as she placed her hand on Lazlo’s shoulder. “Here’s what we found,” Selma said. “There is a connection between Sir Edmund Herbert and Nottingham. Specifically, the events surrounding his half brother, Roger Mortimer, and Queen Isabella after her husband abdicated the throne to their son. Mortimer was arrested and held in Nottingham Castle while Queen Isabella was banished to Castle Rising.”

Remi looked at the map spread out on the table as Sam asked, “So what does this have to do with Robin Hood and King John’s Treasure?”

“That,” Lazlo said, “is a good question. Especially considering how many legends of Robin Hood exist. Definitely some that place him in the time of King John, though usually at odds with the king. But our research is starting to come together. The key to our map is there.”

“Where?” Sam and Remi asked together.

“Nottingham. Or, to be precise, somewhere within Nottingham,” Lazlo replied. “Something about the ‘four chambers’ and ‘death below.’ Still working on that part. And that’s assuming that I’m translating this correctly. Since that portion of the wheel was also washed out in the photo, I’m making an educated guess.”

Sam’s phone buzzed on the table. He looked at the screen, his face registering surprise as he turned on the speaker function. “Nigel?”

“I don’t have long. He might come back any second, and my battery’s near dead.”

“Where are you?”

“No idea except somewhere near Nottingham. Got one hand free and managed to get my phone from the coat pocket of the guy watching me. He’s—they were talking about the four chambers. I told them they must mean the four caverns. That’s where we’re going. If they can find it.”

“Four caverns?” Sam said.

“I hear them,” he whispered. “Go to Professor Aldridge.”

The line beeped.

Sam stared at the phone a moment, then looked at Selma on the screen of Remi’s tablet. “You catch that?”

“Every word,” Selma said. They heard the sound of her clicking away on her computer keyboard. “There’s a Professor Aldridge at Nottingham University.”

Sam eyed Lazlo, saying, “Could the four chambers be the four caverns Nigel was talking about?”

“Could be. ‘Den of the wolf’ might indicate caves as long as one overlooks that Robin Hood was known to hide out in Sherwood Forest.”

Selma added, “I’ve got a contact number for Aldridge. I’ll see if I can’t get ahold of him.”

“Perfect,” Remi said. “Let’s give him a call.”

Professor Cedric Aldridge, a white-haired man in his late sixties, met them at his office at the History Department.

Once they were seated, Sam got right down to business. “I hope this doesn’t sound odd, but has anyone besides us ever contacted you about King John and his treasure?”

“Funny you should ask,” Professor Aldridge said. “I’ve only ever had one other person ask and that was quite some time ago. Former student of mine from King’s Lynn. Nigel Ridgewell. Wanted to know if it was possible that the story of King John’s Treasure being lost in the fens could be a ruse. Protect the treasure from enemy hands or some such. Can’t recall what it was for. A book or something, possibly. Never heard from him after that, though.”

The professor seemed oblivious to the scandal over Nigel stealing Madge Crowley’s papers, which was just as well, Remi thought. “What was your answer?”

“I know I’m in the minority,” the professor said, “but why not? I’m the first to admit we don’t know everything about history. Piecing it together from this historian or that. Sometimes we’re lucky and an event is documented so well, there’s no denying what happened. What we do know for certain is that the king died. Whether from dysentery, as believed, or something else altogether, hard to say. We know there are reports he separated from the caravan because of his illness. It’s what happened to the caravan afterward that is not so well known. Everything after that point is speculation based on stories passed down. So who’s to say that someone didn’t steal it after making up the story of it being lost in the fens just to throw off suspicion?” He furrowed his brow, pausing for a moment. “Eliminate wi

tnesses, and you can make up any story you want.”

“Let’s say these rumors are true,” Sam said. “That the treasure wasn’t lost in the fens . . .” He left it open, to see the professor’s reaction.

“You mean as Nigel theorized?”

“Yes.”

“It would be the historical find of the century.” He gave a slight shrug. “Assuming the treasure was located, that is. An archaeologist’s dream.”