a small white car pulling into a parking lot at the far end of the complex. Racing across the lawn, he headed for the car as it pulled into a space. A young woman wearing an apron climbed out with the keys in her hand as Dirk approached, coughing and covered in black.
“Excuse me, miss.” Dirk plucked the keys out of her hand and flung open the door. “There’s a fire, and I need to borrow your car.”
The woman backed away, gasping, as this aberration hopped behind the wheel and started the car. Dropping the transmission into reverse, Dirk floored the accelerator, and the car screeched backward. He braked, turned, and pulled forward, bounding over a curb and onto the lawn. Something thunked, and the exhaust began to roar. He glanced in the mirror and saw the car’s muffler and tailpipe lying against the curb.
He found he was behind the wheel of a tiny Fiat 500. On the passenger seat sat a stack of strawberry pies for a church bake sale. Ahead, black smoke poured from the library roof. A small crowd had gathered around. In the distance, a fire truck’s siren sounded.
Dirk kept applying power as he angled the Fiat toward the corner of the church. Reaching an imaginary apex, he whipped the car to the right. The tiny car skittered across the grass, then found traction on the pathway to the library door. Dirk pressed the gas pedal to the floor and braced himself against the steering wheel.
The Fiat was just a fraction narrower than the doorway and it struck the thick wooden door head-on. The car’s front end crumpled, and Dirk was flung into an exploding airbag. The heavy door hung still for a moment, then its ancient hinges gave way and it collapsed to the floor.
The open doorway exposed a raging inferno inside. Dirk shook off a pain in his chest and realized the Fiat was still idling. He touched the accelerator, and the car crept forward, its front tires scraping against its mangled wheel wells.
Over the fallen door, he drove into the library. The first ten feet was through fire, but he emerged from the flames. Slowing in the dense smoke, Dirk stopped in front of the overturned table. He honked the horn and held his breath. A second later, two sets of blackened figures peered over the table’s edge.
Dirk beat down the airbags and crawled to their side.
“A fire truck . . . might have been . . . more appropriate,” Summer said, coughing.
“Wouldn’t fit through the door. Hope you don’t mind sharing a seat.”
He guided Brophy to the passenger seat. Summer squeezed in with him. The stack of pies was now nothing more than strawberries, pie tins, and smashed boxes. Dirk retook the wheel and backed the car through the smoke and flames, onto the lawn.
The Killarney fire department arrived a moment later. They attached hoses to a nearby hydrant and doused the library. Paramedics checked the trio for smoke inhalation and, as a precaution, administered oxygen. Friar Thomas approached as they sat on a stone wall, watching the firemen.
“Thank the Good Lord you’re all right. I swore I left the door unlocked, with the key in it. I’m so sorry you became trapped. How did the fire start?”
“Arson,” Brophy said. “Somebody thought we’d enjoy an extra-large Molotov cocktail and locked us in with it.”
The friar’s face turned pale. “Arson? You can’t be serious. Did you see who it was?” He gazed around, studying the faces gathered at the scene.
Brophy shook his head. “We had our backs turned to the door.”
“It may be our fault,” Summer said. “We were attacked in Egypt while pursuing the same line of research. They must have tracked us here.” She turned to Dirk, and he nodded in affirmation.
“Who would try to kill you over some dusty old books?” Friar Thomas asked. “And why?”
“We don’t know who they are,” Dirk said, “but they sent a pretty clear message. For reasons unknown, they don’t want us to find Meritaten.”
Summer turned to Brophy. “We didn’t mean to put you in danger, Professor. Dirk and I can carry on from here.”
Brophy stood and began pacing. “Why, those cowards are not going to deter me. Mind you, if it’s a fight they want, that’s what they’ll get. I dare them to stop us.”
Summer smiled, and Brophy turned to her and winked. “Besides, they were a bit too late. We’ve already got the key to the princess’s whereabouts. Skellig Michael.”