The Skeleton Key: A Short Story Exclusive by James Rollins Read Free Book Online Page A

And like the buffalo hide, the bone of the skull had also been adorned, become a canvas for some prehistoric artist.
    Across its surface, figures and shapes had been carved into the bone and painted so brightly they looked wet to the touch.
    Billy’s uncle spoke, full of awe. “The skull. It’s a mammoth, isn’t it? Like those found over at Big Salt Lick.”
    “No. It’s not a mammoth, ” Fortescue said, and pointed with the tip of his cane. “See the curve and length of the tusks, the giant size of its masticating teeth. The anatomy and conformation of the skull are different from the mammoth specimens of the Old World. Remains such as these—unique to the Americas—have been reclassified as a new species, a beast called a mastodon .”
    “I don’t care what it’s called,” his father commented forcefully. “Is this the right skull or not? That’s what I want to know.”
    “There is only one way to find out.”
    Fortescue reached and ran his index finger along the bony crest of the skull. The tip of his finger sank into a hole near the back. Over the years, Billy had dressed enough deer and rabbit carcasses to know the hole looked too clean to be natural. The Frenchman used that purchase and pulled up.
    Another round of gasps spread outward. Several of the slaves fell back in horror. Billy’s eyes widened as the top of the monster’s skull split into two halves, opening like the doors of a cabinet. With his father’s help, Fortescue gently pushed back the two pieces of the cranium—each two inches thick and as large as dinner platters.
    Even in the meager sunlight, what lay inside the skull glinted brightly.
    “Gold,” his uncle choked out, shocked.
    The entire inside of the skull had been plated in the precious metal. Fortescue ran a finger along the inner surface of one of the bony halves. Only now did Billy notice the bumps and grooves across the gold surface. It looked to be a crude map, with stylized trees, sculpted mountains, and snaking rivers. The surface was also inscribed with hen scratches that might be writing.
    Leaning closer, he heard Fortescue mumble one word, full of awe and a flicker of fear. “Hebrew.”
    After the initial shock wore off, his father spoke at Billy’s elbow: “But the skull is empty.”
    Fortescue turned his attention to the open cavity of the gold-lined cranium. The space was large enough to cradle a newborn baby inside, but as his father had noted, it was empty.
    Fortescue studied the cavity, his face unreadable, but behind his eyes, Billy saw his mind churning on unfathomable calculations and speculations.
    What had they expected to find?
    Fortescue stood up. “Close it back up. Keep it wrapped in the hide. We need it ready for transport to Virginia within the hour.”
    No one argued. If word spread of gold here, the place would surely be ransacked. Over the next hour, as the sun sank below the horizon and torches were lit, men worked quickly to free the massive skull. A wagon was prepared, horses readied. Billy’s father, his uncle, and the Frenchman spent much of that time with their heads bent together.
    Billy crept close enough with his broom to eavesdrop on their conversation, pretending to be busy. Still, their voices were too low to pick out more than a few words.
    “It may be enough,” Fortescue said. “ . . . a place to start. If the enemy finds it before us, your young union will be doomed before it has even begun.”
    His father shook his head. “Then maybe it best be destroyed now. Set a bonfire here. Burn the bone to ash, melt the gold to slag.”
    “It may come to that, but we’ll leave such a decision to the governor.”
    His father looked ready to argue with the Frenchman, but then caught Billy hovering nearby. He turned and lifted an arm to shoo Billy off and opened his mouth to speak.
    Those words never came.
    Before his father could speak, his throat exploded in a spray of blood. He fell to his knees, clutching at his neck. An