Milo...Vault

     By Pattie Lawler

 

            Milo took her hand and drew her toward the fireplace.

            “It’s one of those spin around hidden rooms, huh?” she asked as he pushed on one of the less prominent carved figures on the mantel. “Like in Get Smart?”

            He smirked as the wood panel beside the mantel swung open. “No, it’s more like one of those secret passages in Dangerous Liaisons.”

            The short corridor was well lit and hung with small oil paintings of fish. Albany hesitated to enter and murmured, “I know, it’s like Willy Wonka, or Alice in Wonderland.”

            “I’m really sorry to disappoint you.” He drew her forward. “But it’s nothing more than the stairs into the vaults. No cobwebs, no guttering candles...just you, me and the valuable pieces in hibernation. And what’s with the movie references, Fanny Jr.?”

            “I’m trying to distract myself from being angry at you.”

            “For?”

            “Waiting until after proposing to spring this on me.”

            “Will you believe me when I say I didn’t have a choice?”

            “There’s always a choice, Milo.”

            “Yes. And I chose to believe that your love of me would overcome what appeared to be willful manipulation.”

            She made a derisive noise as they began their descent. “And if it hadn’t?”

            He stopped and turned to face her. Being a few steps lower, they were at eye level. “Frankly, it never entered my mind.”

            “While I’m flattered by your confidence in my affection, I’m scared to death.”

            “Then let’s hurry,” he said, taking her hand and turning back. “My confidence extends to a happy outcome, so let’s cut to the chase.” He trotted down the stairs.

            They entered another small corridor with an ornate iron gate barring their path. Milo moved to a keypad mounted to the wall.

            “Italian, 15^th century. It came from a monastic wine cellar.”

            “And you expect it to stop someone?”

            He paused, glancing at her over his shoulder. “Hang on.” Typing on the pad, he stood aside so she could see as he reached through the gate. A spider’s web of green laser beams shone on his glove. “This door is the only way in, and the alarm is sensitive to within a quarter inch. Should someone trip it, a secondary set of lasers is only an inch away. When the first one is tripped, steel doors seal the vaults and an alarm, loud enough to be heard two miles away, sounds. The steel doors each have their own unique combination lock. The combinations are twenty digits long and only Simon, me, and Fanny’s lawyer hold them.” He pointed to the wall. “You probably didn’t notice, but the walls are actually coated with a layer of vinyl. The original alarm system, while primitive, was far more sinister.”

It only took a few seconds to disarm the alarm and swing the gate open. They entered a round room with seven doors arrayed like spokes on a wheel. Milo was pointing to the ceiling.

“Those holes are connected to an underground spring. Once upon a time, any enterprising thieves would have met a watery fate. I left the system in place…which is to say my engineer and I couldn’t figure out how it worked with enough accuracy to remove it and still keep the east wing standing and dry. The trigger is hidden…” he drew her to the nearest door and tapped his foot beside the threshold. Set in the black stone was a large, brass, number one. “All the doors are numbered in this fashion, and were you to step on this stone, you would have been swimming in less than five minutes. I had the triggers changed to a manual trigger in my study.”

“But I notice you don’t trust it.” She tapped her foot on the stone beside the trigger.

He grinned. “Better safe than wet. There’re security cameras everywhere, so we wouldn’t drown, but why tempt fate?” Once again he caught her hand, and together they moved to door number six. She watched as he typed an involved code into the keypad. When he was finished, another pad slid from the wall, scanned his eyes and he began typing in another code.

“So you can’t be in a rush for whatever this is, huh?”

“It’s worth the wait, I promise.”

“This really is getting like Get Smart.”

“There are four more iron gates between here and the chamber, but I’m opening them from here.” He leaned to her ear. “No one but you and me knows I can do that.”

The door opened, and they walked down a long corridor, past the four open gates. The walls were hung with ornate pages of Arabic text.

“You’re going to have to wear a burqa and veil. I hope you don’t mind.” She made a soft noise of concent and he reached his arm across her shoulders, squeezing her. “I love you, Albany.”

The corridor ended in rosy light and a Moorish arch. Milo plied himself to another keypad before they could enter the room, but standing beside him as he worked, Albany surveyed the scarlet and gold room in awe.

“I sang at the Alhambra once. This is prettier.”

He opened the gate for her. “Thank you.”

They stepped up onto a floor thick and springy with carpets. Massive pillows and low divans created seating arrangements, lit by countless hanging lamps. Inlaid lines of text, she assumed from the Qur’an, hugged the material-covered ceiling. There were several X shaped bookstands scattered around the room. Each supported an open book in Arabic text. One larger, more ornate manuscript drew her attention.

“Is this the Qur’an?”

Milo was busy in a small kitchen but poked his head out to look where she was standing.

“Yes. It’s also one of my rarest items. There are gloves under the stand if you want to look at it.”

“That’s alright. You can show me another time.” Distracted by a display of miniatures, Albany wandered toward the far wall. “It smells like roses and cedar,” she whispered, twisting a low hanging light as she passed so that the jewel-toned glass threw kaleidoscopic patterns across the mosaic, marble walls. Turning a corner, she realized the room was T shaped and the base of the T was an intricate pair of wooden doors.

“Here,” Milo said, coming up behind her. He held a brass bowl of raw meat in one hand and what looked like yards of black material thrown over his other arm. He set the bowl on a table and dropped part of the black mass onto the carpet. Still holding the bulk, he shook it out, found the hole for her head and helped her into the cover. “I’m no good with the hair,” he commented as he held the sleeves so she could stretch her arms out.

“I’ll handle it,” she whispered.

“I..um…brought some pins.”

“You sound nervous.”

He nodded. “You’re only the second woman—that I know of—to be in this room and yes, I’m half nervous, half excited.”

“Who was the other?”

“Her Majesty.”

Albany’s jaw dropped. “You’ve met the queen?”

“Several times. No doubt you will, too, eventually. She wore this burqa, in fact.”

Albany shook her head and went to work pinning the black shawl under her chin. “Am I covered in the back?”

He directed her to spread her arms and do a quick spin. “You’re good. Sit here, please.” He drew her to a divan behind a carved, wooden lattice. As she sat, he knelt with her. “Say nothing; try not to make a noise. If I can bring you out, I’ll come and get you. If not, just sit here, alright?”

She nodded.

Milo kissed her, rose and went to the carved doors. Opening them revealed a large, antique brass bird on an ornate perch. Milo placed the bowl of meat in a holder and filled another bowl with water from a golden pitcher. He glanced over his shoulder, as if confirming he was alone, and Albany followed his gaze to an elaborate tiled niche on the far wall. She immediately recognized it as a mihrab and knew that the bird was facing Mecca.

Milo drew in a deep breath and intoned, “Allahu Akbar min kulli shay!”

Instantly, the bird leaned forward as if bowing. “Allahu Akbar!”

The sound, for it was hardly a voice, filled her head, and a profound calm suffused her body. Fear, distress and anxiety disappeared as if they had never been. She felt adrift in a warm ocean and couldn’t tear her eyes from the speaker. The bird continued to move, massaging the stiffness from its limbs. As she watched, the dull brassy sheen was replaced by dark-yellow feathers.

The bird shook himself, spread his wings as if stretching, and his gaze alighted in the food.  He cocked his head, eyeing the offering. “You are a better host than any of your predecessors, Milo Scarlet.”

“You are kind to forgive their ignorance.”

“You have a guest.”

“My future wife,” he agreed with a short bow.

The bird nodded. “Peace and the blessing of Allah, Lord of Creation, be upon you, Albany Wendel. An odd name. And you know so little of me. Milo Scarlet, as ever, is stalwart in my protection. He is a good man, is he not, Albany Wendel?”

Unsure if she should answer, her mouth opened, but she remained mute. Milo was suddenly at her side, his hand out to help her up.

“Albany is overcome, I’m afraid,” he said as he moved her to a seat within sight of the bird. “But now I will tell her all, and you may correct my ignorance.”

The bird seemed to chuckle at this.

“This,” Milo nodded toward the bird, “is the legendary Eagle of Saladin. The Eagle flew before the Arabic army at the time of the Third Crusade to ensure victory for Saladin’s army. When it was clear that Richard the Lionheart was bested and preparing to return to Europe, Saladin made this Eagle his final gift, knowing the Eagle would protect Richard on the return voyage.”

The Eagle grunted before plunging his beak into the water for a long and noisy drink.

“Every Scarlet since Will has sworn to protect the Eagle until he declares that he’s ready to return to Egypt.”

The Eagle grunted again. “The People of the Book are at war with the world and with each other. Until my people understand that Allah the Merciful hates the aggressor, I will remain here.”

“And I will guard you,” Milo replied with another short bow.

“You are a better host than any of your predecessors, Milo Scarlet.”

“A guest is a gift of Allah.”

The Eagle shook his head. “It is a shame that I cannot impress upon you the glory and power of Islam. A man such as yourself, worthy and fearless, should receive his reward in heaven and take his place among the prophets and saints, the martyrs and true believers.”

“Thank you, but my seven heavens are here.” He gestured to Albany. “When I leave this world and her side, any punishment will be just, as Albany will not be there.”

The Eagle chuckled. “Allah the Compassionate is forgiving and merciful. I will pray that you accept the faith before that time.”

Now Milo laughed. “You are too good, and I thank you for your concern, but Allah will judge me on the Final Day. As you said, I fear not.”

The Eagle’s head dipped. “Go now. I will pray for your union; that Allah the Merciful bestows many sons upon you both.”

 <0>

In the relative privacy of the corridor, Albany divested herself of her coverings and held them out for Milo to return to the room.

“You lied to me,” she whispered as he accepted the bundle.

He jerked back, surprise and confusion lining his face.

“The Eagle told me, flat out, that he released you from the vow.”

“He spoke to you?”

She nodded. “He quoted the Qur’an, a lot, and said that you’d sworn, but that when Fanny arrived, he released you. And you refused.”

Milo nodded. “I did. My life…” His gaze dropped to the burqa. “My life was in shambles, Albany. Beth was gone. And not just gone, but murdered. It wasn’t that I even saw her often. She and Bellamy were busy building a family. But knowing she was there was enough. And then she was gone. Forever.

“Fanny, poor thing, was as dazed as me, and I found myself in her room, night after night, simply watching her sleep.” He snorted. “I can’t tell you how many times Simon practically carried me to bed. But on one particularly desperate night, a few months after the murder, the Eagle came to me. I had no idea he could leave his room, but there he was, perched on Fanny’s headboard, and her sound asleep.” He shrugged. “Maybe I was dreaming, I don’t know.

“He asked me about Fanny, and I told him everything. Without pausing he released me. He said that my family was more important than him. I told him he was family. And I broke down.” Milo leaned back against the wall, he gaze on the ceiling. “I pleaded, cried like a baby…I felt that something precious, the last piece of a life that could never be repaired, was being taken from me. When the Eagle realized what I meant, he let it go and hasn’t mentioned it since.”

Milo looked into Albany’s tear-filled eyes. Dropping the burqa, he wrapped his arms around her.

“I admit that I was well on my way to being in love with you when I pushed you to the floor of that antique shop. Between the gypsy and my research, I had unrealistic expectations about you, and you exceeded them all. And when the French army arrived to take me back to Paris, I was as frantic as the days following Beth’s death. I needed you. Desperately. I put my career on the line and flew back to see you, to feel you…just to be near you. Unlike Beth, it wasn’t enough to know you were there. I had to be there, too!”

Sobbing, Albany nodded against his chest. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry I lied.”

But Albany was shaking her head. “No. It’s alright, I understand. You were right. I do understand. It’s fine.” She drew back and smiled at him through her tears. “I love you, Milo. I do.”

 

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