Dream Thief, page 6
The man straightened and gestured to the other chair.
“May I?” he asked, confidence growing.
Augustus nodded, then turned to the waiter and brought that worthy closer with a jerk of his head.
“Coffee, sir?” the man asked when he arrived.
“Please,” the stranger replied, sending him away like that child’s game with a ball on an elastic cord.
“Monsier Tawfiq,” the man introduced himself.
“Charmed,” Augustus replied.
Hopefully, none of his Egyptian adventures were catching up with him today. Awkwardly bad timing, that. Not that he hadn’t brought it down on himself.
Augustus was never one to lay blame anywhere but where it belonged, after all.
“Mademoiselle Penzig suggested that I might profitably make your acquaintance,” Tawfiq said after coffee arrived and they were alone again.
Nothing Turkish about this. Merely a heavy French roast to the beans. Augustus had made do with worse.
“Did she now?” he replied brightly. Innocently, even.
If she had moved that quickly, having been gone from his room for less than two hours at this point, either she had made contact with Tawfiq last night, or Marseilles was dreadfully underserved by men such as he was currently pretending to be.
Not that the truth was much different, but perspective can be everything. Especially in this arena.
“You are aware of the many antiquities that have been removed from Egypt?” Tawfiq asked quietly.
Augustus suppressed a snort. How many of them had he personally looted in his time? Enough to keep any Egyptian judge busy for several days, just in the swearing out of various complaints. Fortunately, he’d rarely used his own name in Egypt.
“I am,” Augustus replied neutrally.
Never admit to anything.
“Most are simple things,” Tawfiq nodded, following some internal script. “Ancient gold relics plundered from tombs of pharaohs and paupers. A few, however, are more than they seem.”
Augustus smiled at that and allowed himself to lean forward a bit. A hint of interest, as it were.
Was he about to steal back something he’d already taken once? The irony would be as delicious as a perfect custard on a fall day.
“Do tell,” Augustus prompted the stranger, glancing around to note that none were within easy listening distance.
“Mademoiselle Penzig suggested that my own group’s efforts to recover such things might be aided by yourself.” Tawfiq nodded, his voice dropping down even quieter. “There is a thing in a private collection, rather than a museum.”
“Valuable?” Augustus asked.
Certainly, one should make such an assumption, given that the man had sought him out so quickly, Augustus having not yet been in Marseilles for a full day. And Nava did not know the true depths of this misdirection, but that was because she was merely a vector of the disease he wished to inject into the French underworld.
Let Lachance come to him, instead of the other way around.
“Exceptionally so,” Tawfiq assured him. “Well-guarded, though, and beyond the abilities of men such as myself to recover in order to return to its proper home in Egypt.”
Augustus nodded, wondering to himself if there was an Egyptian equivalent of the Order of Gawain back home. Perhaps ancient guardians who had been slow to awaken to the threat of English and French adventurers in a previous century?
Or a more modern movement, angered at the supine position the British Empire had inflicted on their homeland? There was always that.
“I shall need details,” Augustus informed the gentleman. “But this is not the place to exchange them. Mayhap you could cause certain documentation to come into the possession of Mademoiselle Penzig, that I might review it without potentially implicating you or your organization later, were something terrible to happen to some third party?”
“Just so,” Tawfiq nodded. “I shall move mountains.”
He rose and Augustus let him. Now was certainly not the time to move mountains, but such might also serve to obfuscate his own actions in the middle of a teapot maelstrom.
He was, after all, merely a stalking horse today.
Chapter
Thirteen
Augustus walked with Nava on one arm, as though on a promenade along the nicer bits of the waterfront. At one point, he’d even seen one of those four unfortunate muggers he’d met on his first day. The gentleman in question had paled, panicked, and fled as though Augustus were on his trail with a cat-o’nine-tails.
It had been a lovely week. He needed to remember to take working vacations such as this more often. The grey dreariness of London skies had apparently oppressed him more than he’d realized.
He caught Nava staring at him somewhat sidelong.
“You seem rather like a cat hiding a mouse,” she suggested when he looked over.
“I would like to argue that,” he nodded, “but you might be utterly correct.”
“Have you decided which project might interest you?” she pressed.
She had sent several…suitors was probably the wrong term, but he wasn’t entirely sure what the correct one might be. And Marseilles was entirely underserved by acquisitions agents.
It was probably for the best that he was only planning this to be a way-stop, rather than a professional commitment. France might not know what hit them. And Monaco close by was even worse, if even half the rumors were true.
Too many people relying on crucifixes and faith, in a world where there really were monsters under the bed. At least Italy had a few true Inquisitors left that had studied the esoteric arts in the sorts of depths necessary for efficacy.
“I have discarded most.” He nodded, smiling primly to the woman. “Mssr. Tawfiq continues to intrigue me.”
“Any particular reason?” she asked.
“It will make a splash,” Augustus informed her. “A public notice in the newspaper, as it were. Free advertising in the right circles.”
“I thought your kind liked things quiet,” Nava pointed out.
“We do,” he agreed amiably. “However, there are a few of my cohorts in the business I would not mind taunting. Professional rivalries, as it were.”
She paused and studied him closer. Then refrained from comment, when he could see the question right there on the tip of her tongue.
Not that he would have answered, mind you. Too easy to give the game away at far too early a stage. He needed to frame in a trap, wherein Lachance would stick a paw like a bear. A dream thief was almost impossible to hunt down, save by another of their kind, and Augustus had no interest in spending a year or more concentrating on such a narrow field of endeavor, merely to rise to Lachance’s level of expertise.
Even then, that might just let him chase the man forever, in a game of tag played in the shadows of however many cities might have such circles imprinted upon them.
That would never do.
He smiled at her. She nodded. Yet another reason he rather approved of this young lady. Far too young for the likes of him, but they’d enjoyed a few excellent meals and a second evening of adventure.
Augustus came to rest and studied the palace on display. Atop one of the hillsides that surrounded the port itself, buildings crammed in cheek by jowl with one another in the ancientness that was Marseilles.
Nava stood beside him, arms still interlocked, and looked. He had chosen this path for this vantage, looking up at the old clan that could look down on the harbor on a pleasant day like today.
“Will it be dangerous?” Nava asked, voice somewhat distant, as if she were standing atop that long patio looking down at two distant figures on the waterfront road.
“Undoubtedly,” he confirmed. “However, Tawfiq does not have access to certain abilities, apparently anywhere in his organization, which is a sad oversight on his part. Those above us are not powerful practitioners by any stretch of the word, but sufficient for the criminal underworld of southern France, apparently.”
“Lucky we managed to locate an adventurous Englishman, then, isn’t it?” she grinned. “A man willing to rise to certain challenges.”
He glanced over to see the laughter in her eyes. Augustus hadn’t led a monastic lifestyle, by any measure, but he’d also not taken the time to pursue many women.
Fewer still had been the women pursuing him that were themselves interesting enough for him to let them, though he still wasn’t entirely sure what it was about him that had caught Nava Penzig’s eye.
“Indubitably so, madame,” he replied with an equally saucy tone. “The moon being close enough to new tonight, I believe I shall, at a minimum, make a reconnaissance of the establishment. Perhaps penetrate it and make off with their crown jewels, as it were. You should probably be prepared for the hue and cry to erupt, either by burying the items such that esoteric hounds cannot find them, or quickly passing them along to Tawfiq’s organization that you might wash your hands and proclaim your innocence when questioned later. And you will be. Have no doubt.”
“This is an old town, Derlyth,” she nodded. “And France has a much different attitude to such things than your homeland. But I shall be prepared.”
He turned them and started back the way they came. They walked a while in silence, save for the breeze off the water.
“What will you do after that?” she asked at one point.
“That remains to be seen,” he answered, honestly, if undetectably vaguely. “Those other projects might rise to my attention. Others might hear and seek me out.”
“So, you might quickly depart Marseilles?” she asked, lips pressed together in a way that made them almost white.
He shrugged. That much, at least, was an honest response.
“Circumstances beyond my control might force my hand, madame,” was all he would say on the topic.
Chapter
Fourteen
Augustus had studied with a few expert second-story men. Not for the usual purposes of breaking in via an unlocked window to rob some rich widow, but to better understand how to think in three dimensions, when most folks hardly recognized two.
At the same time, he had come to understand how fashion positively impacted burglary.
Black boots without any polish on them that would reflect light. Dark gray pants of a heavy weave, rather than black, because little is actually black at night. Similarly, an old jumper than had once been black, but faded over time with washing to more of a dark slate gray. His glasses were tucked into one of the many pouches around his middle, a travel belt of his own design intended for such things.
A knit cap on his head served to break up his silhouette more than anything, it not being that cool or windy.
From a pouch ,he withdrew the orichalcum blade that had been his nigh-constant companion for several months now. Augustus didn’t want to be so crass as to call it a security blanket, but also wouldn’t lie (particularly not to himself) and deny it.
It had, after all, been key in helping him slay a rather dangerous demon who probably should have gotten away. Or slain him in single combat.
On his left hand, a ring that he had originally removed from a mummified Incan prince.
The thing, of hammered gold, held a simple, wine-red, uncut topaz in it. Rather than focus any specific pattern of magical energies into it, the whole seemed to serve more as a small bucket of raw power from which a skilled practitioner of the arts such as himself might draw essence as needed, rather than consuming his own, as most people did.
He didn’t wear it often, for fear of becoming addicted to the thing, but as with other, recent events, tonight felt like such might be the absolute minimum of necessity.
Power was, after all, the ability to change the world about you. And having that little bit of extra might make all the difference in his success.
He stood in a shadow cast by electric lighting on the front of another palace nearby to his intended goal. In ancient times, alleyways like this had been utterly dark, as had most streets, until cut by a torch or lantern carried by someone.
Or not, as such a light source had frequently made someone a target of brigands and cutpurses.
He was neither, tonight, but Augustus had taken the time and wee dram of power to summon a faint pixie. Not a tracker, as he often did, but a mere watcher, whose eyes were not limited to the sparse light about him.
That one would chirp loudly, though only in a place Augustus could hear it, were someone to approach.
He studied the palace of his target.
Old, in that it was stonework rather than a newer building largely constructed of wood. Elevated above the surrounding area by being built up a half-level, then with windows set higher than usual to the point that light could enter, but only someone with a greater elevation might see the interior. As there were few such others up here, it had a modicum of privacy.
Other parts of the city had problems with feral dogs, but not up on this hill. Either they paid someone to capture or poison them, or did it themselves, so the alley was one where rats and felines moved around, but nothing larger.
Augustus had been listening with senses magically enhanced beyond those of men limited to the merely physical like Digby. There was an esoteric barrier around the palace, inside the wall that surrounded the grounds itself. The space with those walls was not much more than a rear patio with some greenery and a small kitchen garden. No open grounds big enough to call it a yard.
The building was quiet. He had chosen to make his approach at a time when the English might have long-since gone to bed, while the French might yet be awake, or at least recently settled. He had no way to know if the owner was one of those early-to-bed, early-to-rise types, or one who rose with the darkness. And no way to know for certain, save to watch lights go dark in various windows and wait.
The gate was closed but didn’t appear to have any lock on it. Instead, it had a thread of magic that would sound an alarm somewhere if opened while active. He’d passed during the day to note that it was for darkness only.
Someone with power, protecting his home. Augustus could appreciate that. And normally was above this sort of brigandry. Tonight was special and intended for something greater.
And the item in question had absolutely come from an Egyptian tomb at some point. Thankfully, he hadn’t been the one to plunder it.
Not that it would have stopped him, but the irony would have been a bit much.
He put lessons in three-dimensionality to work and climbed the eight-foot rough stone wall that surrounded the establishment, working in the darkest corner available. There were places in the United States where electric lights were becoming so ubiquitous that all of this might be bright enough to read by, one of these days.
Augustus wasn’t sure how he would continue to ply such a trade on that day, other than to make sure that the people who might watch had instead slept, by natural or esoteric means, so that he could enter and leave.
From atop the wall, he could see parts of sitting rooms on the lower level. Most were dark. Upstairs windows were equally dark.
It helped that his research had suggested a smaller family and staff than the building had been constructed to hold. Many rooms went largely unused at present.
Looking down, there was a narrow path connecting to the gates front and postern, bricked as a surface instead of grass. He lowered himself quickly and quietly, listening again. And listening to his little friend, who had accompanied him to the top of the wall but remained there for now.
Nothing save the distant sounds of the city below, occasionally including music from a nightclub, where the wind seemed to be just right to draw it up to him.
Augustus approved. The English were too dour, preferring vast orchestral events rather than a handful of musicians exploring their art for a worshipful audience.
He held up a hand now, feeling his friend hop down onto it, then hop up onto the side of the building itself and cling there. All well and good for it, but he was not thusly endowed. Still, it gave him more warning, if something were to come.
He had confirmed that no dogs belonged to the establishment, but there wasn’t space to let them run, either.
Moving to the right, around towards the rear, he scouted until he found the thing he knew had to be here. An earth cellar, or root cellar as the Americans called them, allowing folks to deliver various groceries that could be stored for longer than usual without entering the building itself.
The walls were vaguely alive with esoteric power. Like a thin glaze on the stones. Again, nothing that would keep a thief such as himself out, but would alert the owner to things, were he to do anything silly or stupid at the moment.
Augustus nodded and concentrated on the ring. Best to use power that pooled in it like a well, saving himself for later.
The door to the cellar was down three steps and inset underneath. The steps were trapped. Anything larger than a cat would break a metaphysical wire, as it were. He worked with patience to create a space at the bottom where the alarm no longer waited, then stepped down and to safety.
The door had a similar trigger, rather like a basic electric alarm set off by moving two electromagnetic nodes too far away from one another. Only done with magic.
And done poorly. Almost mechanically, as if one held a book open with one hand and scribed esoteric sigils with the other.
Augustus kept his disgusted snort to himself, assuming that such was perhaps the mark of a deadly professional who had increased the efficacy of his traps as one got deeper. A magical spider with a wide web, as it were.
Not that he had any experience with that sort of thing. Heavens, no. His own establishment in London evinced such a delicate layering, but his outermost level was extremely dangerous. Then it got mean.
Augustus conjured the equivalent of a length of copper wire and connected it to the alarm spell. The lock itself was mechanical and suffered no ill effects when he used a bit of power to force the tumblers into alignment as he opened it.
Darkness inside, but again, not unexpected. He stepped in, bringing his friend, and let that one sniff while he closed the door. The adjustments remained in place for now, as he would need to escape later, and pausing to unlock a door might be the difference between flight and capture.
