“Thank you.” She heard someone walking toward the back, then the sound of keys jangling as the person unlocked the cargo door, then rolled it up. Light filtered in through the cracks in the floorboard a moment before the back of the truck dipped as someone stepped inside. Remi felt Sam tensing beside her as he gripped his gun with both hands. She tried to even her breathing, sensing that the man was standing directly over them.
“Anything?” someone from the outside asked.
“Just furniture,” the man above her said.
“Let’s go.”
The truck rose slightly as the man jumped out, then walked back toward the cab. “You haven’t seen anyone around, have you?”
“I saw several people walking through the forest about a kilometer or so back, but they didn’t look like criminals. There was a woman with them.”
“That could be them. We heard a woman was helping. How long ago was this?”
“No more than five, ten minutes, I’d say.”
“Thank you.”
The truck started, the engine sputtering before it turned over, then accelerated down the road. After a few minutes of driving, he called out, “I think we made it. No one’s following.”
Even so, Remi didn’t relax until they arrived in Wroclaw and the four of them were out of the truck. He’d parked in the street behind the antique store, and she was grateful that no one was around to see them emerging from the hidden compartment below the floorboards. “We can’t thank you enough,” Remi said. “We owe you our lives.”
He smiled at her, his green eyes alight. “My pleasure. I’d heard rumors that the Guard was active in these woods. But this is the first time I’ve ever seen them.”
“We hope,” Sam said, “you’ll never encounter them again.”
They followed him into the back of the darkened shop. He turned on a light, and Remi was surprised by the quality of the antiques as she ran her fingers along a spinning wheel that was from the turn of the nineteenth century. “These are beautiful.”
“Feel free to look around.”
“We really do need to get going,” Sam said.
As the man walked them to the front door, Sam paused by a glass case near the cash register. “Quite a few old keys here. Do you know anything about them?”
“A bit.”
“We have one we found in the tunnels,” he said, slipping his pack from his shoulder and taking the key from one of the pockets.
The man took it from him, moving toward the window for better light. “Very distinctive bow.”
“‘Bow’?” Sergei asked, trying to see what he was talking about.
“The grip,” he said, holding it up. “Looks a lot like one I’ve seen around here fairly recently. Some are more decorative than others, which is why I have so many. Old keys appeal to collectors . . .” He eyed the keys in the glass cases, then looked around the shop. “Where did I see it? . . . Ah, yes. Over here.” He crossed the room to an old writing desk, turning a lock and pulling out a key, which he brought over to them, placing it side by side with the key they found in the tunnel.
The bow of it was similar, though not as extravagant, as theirs. The bit that slid into the keyhole was also different.
Remi examined the desk. “Where was that made?”
“Good question,” he said, returning the key to Sam. “I bought it from a man who restores old furniture. Wilhelm Schroeder. He has a shop in Münster. He’d definitely know something about the locks and keys of old furniture.”
Sam unzipped a small pocket in his pack, dropping the key inside. “Guess that’s our next stop. Gustaw, you’re welcome to come.”
“Thanks, but no. I need to get back. I’ll be fine.”
“You’re sure?” Sam asked.
“I’ve been fighting the Guard this long on my own. And now that you have what they’re after, I expect things will ease up—around my property at least.”
“There’s still the Gold Train to be found,” Remi pointed out.