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  The Lake of Learning

  A Cassiopeia Vitt Adventure

  By M.J. Rose and Steve Berry

  The Lake of Learning

  A Cassiopeia Vitt Adventure

  By Steve Berry and M.J. Rose

  1001 Dark Nights

  Copyright 2019 Steve Berry and M.J. Rose

  ISBN: 978-1-970077-45-2

  Published by Evil Eye Concepts, Incorporated

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental.

  Book Description

  The Lake of Learning: A Cassiopeia Vitt Adventure

  MJ Rose and Steve Berry

  For over a decade Cassiopeia Vitt has been building an authentic French castle, using only materials and techniques from the 13th century. But when a treasure is unearthed at the construction site—an ancient Book of Hours—a multitude of questions are raised, all pointing to an ancient and forgotten religious sect.

  Once the Cathars existed all across southern France, challenging Rome and attracting the faithful by the tens of thousands. Eventually, in 1208, the Pope declared them heretics and ordered a crusade—the first where Christians killed Christians—and thousands were slaughtered, the Cathars all but exterminated. Now a piece of that past has re-emerged, one that holds the key to the hiding place of the most precious object the Cathars possessed. And when more than one person becomes interested in that secret, in particular a thief and a billionaire, the race is on.

  From the medieval walled city of Carcassonne, to the crest of mysterious Montségur, to a forgotten cavern beneath the Pyrenees, Cassiopeia is drawn deeper and deeper into a civil war between two people obsessed with revenge and murder.

  About the Authors

  Steve Berry

  STEVE BERRY is the New York Times and #1 internationally bestselling author of fourteen Cotton Malone novels and four stand alones. He has 25 million books in print, translated into 40 languages. With his wife, Elizabeth, he is the founder of History Matters, which is dedicated to historical preservation. He serves as an emeritus member on the Smithsonian Libraries Advisory Board and was a founding member of International Thriller Writers, formerly serving as its co-president.

  To learn more visit www.SteveBerry.org.

  M.J. Rose

  New York Times bestseller, M.J. Rose grew up in New York City mostly in the labyrinthine galleries of the Metropolitan Museum, the dark tunnels and lush gardens of Central Park and reading her mother's favorite books before she was allowed. She believes mystery and magic are all around us but we are too often too busy to notice... books that exaggerate mystery and magic draw attention to it and remind us to look for it and revel in it.

  Please visit her blog, Museum of Mysteries at http://www.mjrose.com/blog/

  Rose’s work has appeared in many magazines including Oprah magazine and she has been featured in the New York Times, Newsweek, Wall Street Journal, Time, USA Today and on the Today Show, and NPR radio. Rose graduated from Syracuse University, spent the ‘80s in advertising, has a commercial in the Museum of Modern Art in New York City and since 2005 has run the first marketing company for authors - Authorbuzz.com

  Rose lives in Connecticut with her husband, the musician and composer Doug Scofield.

  Also from Steve Berry

  Click to purchase

  Cotton Malone Novels

  The Lost Order

  The 14th Colony

  The Patriot Threat

  The Lincoln Myth

  The King’s Deception

  The Jefferson Key

  The Emperor’s Tomb

  The Paris Vendetta

  The Charlemagne Pursuit

  The Venetian Betrayal

  The Alexandria Link

  The Templar Legacy

  The Bishop’s Pawn

  The Malta Exchange

  Stand-alone Novels

  The Columbus Affair

  The Third Secret

  The Romanov Prophecy

  The Amber Room

  Steve Berry and M.J. Rose

  The Museum of Mysteries

  Also from M.J. Rose

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  Tiffany Blues

  The Library of Light and Shadow

  The Secret Language of Stones

  The Witch of Painted Sorrows

  The Collector of Dying Breaths

  The Seduction of Victor H.

  The Book of Lost Fragrances

  The Hypnotist

  The Memoirist

  The Reincarnationist

  Lip Service

  In Fidelity

  Flesh Tones

  Sheet Music

  The Halo Effect

  The Delilah Complex

  The Venus Fix

  Lying in Bed

  M.J. Rose and Steve Berry

  The Museum of Mysteries

  Table of Contents

  Book Description

  About the Authors

  Also from Steve Berry

  Also from M.J. Rose

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Writer’s Note

  Also from M.J. Rose and Steve Berry

  The Malta Exchange by Steve Berry

  Tiffany Blues by M.J. Rose

  Al cap dels sèt cent ans, verdajara lo laurèl.

  (The laurel will flourish again in 700 years)

  Guilhèm Belibaste

  (The last Cathar Perfecti,

  burned at the stake in 1321)

  Chapter 1

  Givors, France

  Monday, May 4

  The Present

  11:40 a.m.

  Cassiopeia Vitt knew they’d found something important.

  How?

  Hard to say. Just an instinct that came from years of digging in the dirt, building a castle. It was her labor of love, one that would probably consume her entire adult life. But it was worth it. Especially at moments like this when the French soil finally yielded up its secrets.

  “It’s definitely something,” Viktor said.

  A dozen men and women who’d also been working at the construction site had stopped, now gathered around where she and her site superintendent stood. Viktor had been digging an exploratory trench for a new masonry wall that was scheduled to be erected next week when he hit something. The stone for it was being quarried and already rose in piles nearby. She knelt down in the muck and peered into the trench, damp from a rainstorm last night. Despite a thin film of mud, a gleam suggested precious metal.

  “Looks like gold,” Viktor said.

  “Any idea what it is?” she asked.

  “From less than an inch exposed?” He laughed. “No idea. There’s only one way to find out. Let me dig some more.”

  “I’ll
help, it’ll go faster.”

  “Because goodness knows patience isn’t one of your best virtues.”

  “Or yours,” she teased back.

  She’d been working the project for a long time. Best estimate was that the castle stood at about thirty percent complete. Three curtain walls were up, the fourth still on the drawing board. Several inner buildings had likewise been erected, their interiors though still being planned.

  And Viktor was right.

  Patience was not her virtue.

  Together, they lay flat on their stomachs and carefully set about enlarging the find, slow and careful, using all of the proper techniques to keep it uncorrupted. Painstakingly, trowel by trowel, they removed layers of clay, rock, and debris. Finally, they exposed a corner and enough of one side to see that they’d located a gold box.

  “Ingénieur, it looks like you’ve got yourself a treasure chest,” Viktor said.

  The staff had bestowed upon her the label of engineer during the first year of the project and, while she was generally averse to nicknames, she liked that one.

  “Judging by what we can see, I’d say it’s about forty-six centimeters wide and about the same in height,” she said.

  “And with that deduction I suggest we take a break. My back is killing me,” Viktor said.

  Reluctantly, she agreed. Her own spine also ached from lying on her stomach too long. Yes, she was curious to uncover more. But like Viktor had noted earlier, patience seemed in order.

  They left the site and headed toward the high barn that housed the reception center, there to accommodate the several thousand visitors who came every year. Inside, in the back, was an employee kitchen where Cassiopeia brewed them both espressos. Viktor sipped his. She finished hers in two gulps.

  “Ready to get back to work and see if we can remove it?” she asked as she laid the cup in the sink.

  “Slow down. I said a break not a breath.”

  She couldn’t sit still, so she brewed herself a second coffee.

  “I’m as curious as you are,” Viktor said. “But that thing has been there a long time. It’s not going anywhere. Drink your coffee.”

  She knew he was right, but it was hard to tamp down her excitement. Finding artifacts was not unusual. Through the centuries the locale had played host to a variety of historical buildings, starting with a Roman fortress nearly two thousand years ago. Hundreds of items had been unearthed. Things like a 15th century ceramic jug without a chip. A pewter cape closure with a roughhewn topaz at its center. A thick brown glass bottle still containing dregs of ancient olive oil. And, really cool, a sword, maybe 13th century, in a badly deteriorated leather scabbard. All were important and valuable finds, and she planned on displaying them in a museum that would occupy part of the finished castle one day.

  So what had the earth yielded this time?

  Givors was an ancient place that evolved into an important medieval enclave. Its teardrop-shaped center was still entered through two 14th century gates, designed far more for decoration than defense. Two unremarkable churches lined the main square, along with old houses of wood and stone, the majority now filled with cafés and shops. Most of its inhabitants now lived in the forests beyond. Her chateau was one of many constructed in the 16th century, lovingly maintained through a succession of dedicated owners. Her castle reconstruction project was aimed at reviving one of the region’s oldest fortresses, a ruin until she purchased the site and started her project.

  The placard near the parking lot that greeted visitors said it all.

  Welcome to the past. Here at givors, a site once occupied by Louis IX, a castle is being constructed using materials and techniques only available to 13th century craftsmen. A masoned tower was the very symbol of a lord’s power. The castle at givors was designed as a military fortress with thick walls and corner towers. The surrounding environs provided an abundance of water, stone, earth, sand, and wood, which were all needed for its construction. Quarriers, stone hewers, masons, carpenters, blacksmiths, and potters are now laboring, living and dressing exactly as they would have eight centuries ago. The project is privately funded and the current estimate is 20 years will be needed to complete the castle. Enjoy your time in the 13th century.

  She and Viktor walked back toward the east curtain wall. Overhead loomed a cloudless sky, the warm May air freshened by a floral breeze. Back on their stomachs, they resumed excavation. A half hour of meticulous work revealed a few more centimeters of the box.

  “This is a bigger chest than I first thought,” Viktor said.

  “You made a mistake?” Cassiopeia teased.

  It was a running joke between them that Viktor was never wrong and, even when he was, he never admitted it. Instead, it was the circumstances that had fooled him. Or someone else screwed up? Or, her personal favorite, the whole thing was a cruel and vicious lie put out by his enemies to discredit him.

  She liked Viktor. They’d attended university together, both working on architectural degrees, hers with a specialty in medieval history. During their second year she’d shared her dream of rebuilding a medieval castle, and that she had the means to make it happen. Five years after they graduated, she asked him to come on board and he’d agreed.

  They made a good team.

  She produced the initial designs and Viktor changed them. Which was fine, since all of his edits were right on target. She could not have undertaken such a gargantuan project without him. She employed more than 120 men and women who worked year round. The costs were enormous. Luckily her parents had left her a fortune thanks to her Spanish grandfather who, in the 1920s, bought coal, minerals, precious metals, gems, and gold mines all over the world. Today, that output was used in everything from high-end electronics to parts for planes and missiles. Demand never seemed to cease. Since her parents died, the people who ran the corporation had doubled its net worth. She was proud that she was putting some of that capital to historical use.

  History should be seen.

  Her father taught her that.

  She often wished she could show him the site. He’d be so proud. She missed him. They’d been incredibly close. And so similar. Except when it came to religion. Their battles on that subject had been epic, threatening their entire relationship. Her parents were devout Mormons, but she’d never been able to share their beliefs. And not for any hostility toward the Latter-day Saints, who were good people, she just possessed no faith. And God, if he even existed, surely would not have approved of parents and children fighting over believing in Him. She’d never been able to reconcile that her father, brilliant in so many ways, was somewhat irrational when it came to religion. His greatest flaw. His only, in her opinion. He’d firmly believed a divine plan existed that every person had to follow. If done, you were rewarded with heaven and all of its wonders. If you failed, only darkness came your way. For a daughter who idolized her father, his blind faith had been hard to accept. To her, no plan existed. No heaven or hell. The Bible? Just a story made up by men in order to get other men to obey. Religion seemed the last vestige of man’s intellectual infancy. A remnant from the past.

  Like her castle.

  She stared at the find in the ground.

  They’d exposed the entire box.

  Which had a majesty about it. Definitely gold. The top decorated with an assortment of cabochon stones in the shape of a curious cross, its points dotted. Like an inverted Maltese cross, but shorter and squatter.

  “It’s the Cross of Toulouse,” she said.

  She knew the history. First seen in the late 12th century when the counts of Toulouse added the cross to their coat of arms. Eventually, it became the symbol of Languedoc resistance to French invaders during the Albigensian crusades against the Cathars. Today it was called the Occitan cross and sometimes, mistakenly, the Cathar cross.

  “Let’s see what we have here,” Viktor said as he snaked ropes underneath the chest.

  She helped, then they each grabbed the ends and lifted.

&nb
sp; “This is heavy,” Viktor said as they struggled.

  Finally, they freed the chest from its grave and settled it on the ground.

  She immediately snapped a dozen pictures from every angle with a high-resolution camera.

  The entire work crew had gathered around, the excitement among them palpable. It was that way with every find. Thankfully, no paying visitors were around today. The site was closed on Mondays to allow for some of the heavy lifting to happen without the worry of hurting anyone. Shelby Randall, a journalist embedded at the site for the past week, there to write a piece about the castle for the magazine Archéologie, swept in and snapped some pictures of her own.

  “You do the honors, Ingénieur,” Viktor said.

  She brushed the remaining mud off the lid in soft, easy strokes. Viktor leaned forward and together they inspected the container.

  “Definitely gold,” Viktor said. “It had to come from a church or cathedral.”

  She agreed. “It looks like they melted some wax and created an airtight seal all the way around the lid.”

  Which meant there could be something quite valuable inside. Given the style, ornamentation, and materials it appeared like some sort of religious casket.

  “I’d bet those are gem quality cabochon rubies embedded in the design,” she said.

  “If there are rubies on the outside, what’s inside?” Shelby Randall asked.

  Good question.

  Cassiopeia reached out and stroked the latch, then hesitated, savoring the anticipation. Shelby inched closer, ready for the reveal shot. Cassiopeia lifted the latch, opened the lid, and peered into the box. Inside, an object lay wrapped in a gray silk fabric, eaten by time but still relatively intact.