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crawling. She looked back at Mark who was waiting and ready right behind her. Slowly, she started the descent down some 20 or so steps. Mark stopped a few steps down where the light switch was placed on the wall and put his hands around a wheel on the opposite side. As he turned it Abby could hear the sounds of wood and metal scraping across stone as the closet floor and rear panel moved slowly back into place.
    "Are we locked in down here?" she asked nervously.
    "No, we can either turn this wheel or give the door a big push with our hands. But the bolts can only be locked from the outside if you know where to look."
    "Well that's a little more comforting," she replied walking along the lit tunnel to a closed door. "What is this place?"
    "This is part of an underground tunnel built in the 13th century by King John. Not far from the lighthouse was an Iron Age fort, and it was thought that when the Romans invaded, they took over the fort and built a tunnel network originally leading out to the cliffs to surprise any attacking troops."
    "Good Lord Mark, please tell me this tunnel hasn't been here since the 13th century?"
    "Don't worry, it won't collapse. It's been reinforced over the years when it was used in the World Wars." Mark could sense her nerves and seeing that she was about to sneeze he couldn't resist. "Just don't make any loud sounds. And make sure whatever you do, don't.. "
    "ACHOO!"
    "Sneeze!"
    Abby's sneeze sent out an echo bouncing off the old red bricks and crouched to her knees with her hand over her head. Her wide eyes staring up at the roof waiting for the inevitable caving in. Mark laughed.
    "Are you kidding?" she asked.
    "I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself."
    "Oh my goodness Mark I nearly died!"
    Mark wiped the childish grin from his face and placed his hand against the door ahead of them.
    "Your key will fit into this door. On the other side is your Grandpa's world."
    It was a large old wooden door, reinforced with metal braces across the width. A tarnished brass name plate was bolted to the middle.
    It simply read 'Amber Room'.
     

7

The Amber Room
     
     
    Abby placed the key into the lock and twisted, hearing the familiar bolt action sound coming from behind. She paused.
    "Why is it called the Amber Room?"
    "It's your Grandpa's sense of humor. The original Amber Room was in Russia, made in the 18th century and had gold leafed walls and contained over six tons of amber. A proper treasure room, it was also known as the Eighth Wonder of the World."
    "Was?"
    "Yeah, not anymore. It went missing."
    "Missing. How does a room go missing?"
    "It was stolen during World War II. Nazis. They dismantled it and it was never seen again."
    "It's not in here is it?"
    Mark laughed. "No, like I said it's your Grandpa's sense of humor. This was his treasure room, that's all. I promise the walls are not gold leafed."
    Abby let out a sigh of relief, pushed her thumb down on the handle and opened the door into darkness. Mark reached over her shoulder and flicked on the light revealing an Aladdin's cave of adventure. Abby cautiously stepped inside. A row of metal detectors leaned up against a wooden rack with various utility belts and pouches, knives and daggers dangling down. Abby scanned her eyes over several old notebooks, sea charts, maps and drawings which were scattered over a large desk. Tucked tightly together on wooden shelves were books. Lots of books. Books on diving shipwrecks. Books on treasure hunting. Books on Roman Britain. Books on secret beaches. Books on hidden hoards. Books on Civil War hoards. Books on treasures of the Spanish Armada.
    The collection was vast. All were treasure related in some specific way. Abby tried her best to take it all in and just when she was about to speak she'd notice something else. Like the wooden cabinets with strange looking plastic pots on the shelves.
    "What's that in those pots," she asked Mark.
    "They're rings."
    "Rings? As in wedding rings? Those pots are full of wedding