Island of Time, page 13
The item that greeted their entry was a very angry ogre trapped inside a glass vial shaped like a massive Aladdin’s lamp. As Jackson passed the pedestal on which the vial stood, the ogre blew a bubble that contained a magnificently shaped nude woman. The miniature woman waved at Jackson and writhed enticingly. The ogre performed a parody of the woman’s movements, then offered another bubble to Krys, this one containing a much smaller ogre. Both beasts then writhed like the woman. Krys gave no sign she noticed it at all.
When Roger approached, Jackson said, ‘That isn’t art.’
‘For seven hundred and fifty thousand euros, my dear boy, you can take it home and call it whatever you like.’ Roger showed Jackson a snake-oil salesman’s smile. ‘So, the recently fallen and his protégé. Have you found it difficult adjusting to not carrying a gun? Legally, that is.’
Jackson asked, ‘What have you heard?’
Roger pirouetted and flicked a wrist over his shoulder, beckoning them to follow. They crossed a pair of antique silk carpets to a rosewood secretary. The artwork on the walls was brilliant, shocking, and far too dark for Jackson’s taste. Roger waved them into a pair of high-backed Regency chairs, slipped behind the desk, and replied, ‘Of course, I made inquiries. My dear friend calls after two years of silence—’
‘Twenty-nine months.’
‘Let’s not quibble. Too long. Shame on you, by the way.’
‘I didn’t have any reason to contact you.’
Roger Valente sniffed. ‘Whenever do friends need a reason? Will you and your angry little friend take something, Jackson?’
‘We’re good.’
‘I attended Sylvie’s funeral, by the way.’
‘I noticed.’
Roger shifted his head so as to give Jackson a sideways look. ‘All those people, all that tragedy. You couldn’t possibly have seen me there at the back.’
‘You wore a white carnation in your lapel.’
Roger sniffed with disdain. But Jackson thought the man was oddly touched just the same. ‘Carnation? Please. It was a rose.’
‘Your coming only made a phone call that much harder.’
Roger nodded acceptance. Jackson knew Valente did not care about Sylvie. Jackson doubted the man had ever felt much emotion for anything. Roger Valente was a consummate pretender. He affected a foppish demeanor because it suited him. The yellow foulard around his neck or the soft leather dancing slippers or the tight stove-pipe trousers all were intended to hide the fact that Roger carried two throwing knives and a double-barreled derringer. And would use them all with genuine pleasure.
‘The world is remarkably silent about you, mon ami. A former Interpol agent who has been struck by tragedy decides to change his profession. On the day of his official resignation, he acquires a house and a rather beautiful car, both for cash. It bodes well for our meeting. I assume your items are available for purchase?’
‘Not this time,’ Jackson replied. ‘I already have a buyer.’
‘I searched rather thoroughly. Of course, I needed to confirm that you weren’t just after doing an old friend wrong. All I heard was a few snippets here and there. About your walking away from a job that had lost meaning. And now seeking to reinvent for yourself a new life. A strategy I highly commend.’ The gallery owner’s gaze slithered over to Jackson’s right. ‘It is rather a different case for your lovely young companion. It appears she has departed under something of a cloud. Or should I say a spark?’
Krys gave no sign she heard any of the exchange. Her attention remained focused on the artwork covering much of the side wall. A volcanic mountain rose from the heart of a verdant island paradise. Then it erupted, showering the villagers below with fiery missiles, before lava poured down its sides and consumed the entire island. Faint screams filled the gallery as the canvas was blanketed by steam and ash. Then the painting cleared, and the island was calm and beautiful once more.
Jackson said, ‘What happens here today must remain totally off the books.’
‘But of course, my dear boy.’ He tracked Krys as she rose from her chair and began a slow inspection of the gallery’s other works. Jackson heard a squeak and turned to observe a pair of furry caterpillars race from Krys’s approach. One was pale lavender, the other a fiery orange. Both were as long as his arm. They raced up the side wall and tangled together in a fuzzy wrestling match directly overhead. After an instant’s mock fury, they lifted their heads and sang Krys a welcome. ‘All right, my dears,’ Roger said. ‘That’s enough.’
The caterpillars scurried back down and reformed as a multicolored ball on the carpet. Jackson said, ‘Interesting.’
‘For a hundred and twenty thousand euros, I would hardly think “interesting” does them justice.’ Roger smiled. ‘Shall we get down to business?’
‘Sure thing,’ Jackson said. ‘As I said, I need a valuation.’
‘Percentage of sale price, I assume.’
‘Flat rate,’ Jackson replied. ‘I told you. I already have a buyer.’
‘And if I can bring a buyer who will pay more?’
‘The sale is agreed,’ Jackson replied. ‘I am here to reconfirm their valuer’s estimation.’
‘In that case,’ Roger said, ‘the price is thirty thousand euros.’
‘Ten.’
‘Fifteen.’
‘Done.’
‘In advance.’
‘Five now. Ten when we’re finished.’
‘Half now. My final offer.’
‘Done.’ Jackson waved Krys back and reached for his cash. ‘Close your gallery, Roger. This needs to remain between us.’
THIRTY
He drew the palm-sized plate from his pocket and set it on the desk. Jackson felt mildly embarrassed, presenting such an object in Roger’s beautiful gallery. The artifact was as bland and unattractive as those he and Krys carried. Four stubby points emerged from the perimeter, little triangles perhaps a quarter-inch long. The interior face was scratched and battered. If Jackson had seen the object on the sidewalk, he would not have bothered to pick it up.
Roger Valente’s response was completely unexpected. In the almost seven years Jackson had dealt with the gallery owner, he had never once seen the man so exposed. Roger tried to hide it behind his standard oblique smile. But his fingers trembled. His dark eyes glittered with an almost feverish intensity. ‘My dear friend, you are certainly full of surprises. No wonder you resigned your commission.’
Krys leaned forward. Jackson knew she was going to ask Roger what it was he held. He shifted slightly, closing the distance until he caught her eye. Jackson shook his head and mouthed the word. No.
When he was certain she understood, he turned back. Something about this item had stripped away Roger’s protective facade. Jackson wanted to use the chance while he had it.
Jackson said as casually as he could manage, ‘Something I’ve been wondering about.’
‘Eh? Wondering?’ Roger turned the object over and flicked a fingernail against the surface. There was no sound. ‘About what?’
‘Who exactly were the Ancients?’
‘Ha. You and everyone else are wondering.’ He opened a drawer, rummaged about, and drew out a magnifying glass. He dropped it, searched further back, and retrieved a much more powerful instrument on a heavy onyx handle. ‘Lean back, dear lady, you’re in my light. Wondering, yes, I’m sure Interpol has given you its standard propaganda.’
Krys said, ‘The Ancients were a tribe, possibly the Phoenicians, who were defeated first by the Greeks and then utterly eradicated—’
‘What utter rubbish. It suits Interpol’s interest to feed you agents that sort of rot.’
‘Why is that, Roger?’
‘Why? Because they want you to do your job, is what. They don’t want you frightened out of your little agent minds.’
‘Agents no longer,’ Jackson corrected.
‘Lucky for us, given the item you’ve brought me.’ His accent was stronger now. He opened another drawer and pulled out a leather bundle which he unraveled without taking his gaze from the magnifying glass.
‘What does that mean—’
‘My dear boy, no one has the least idea who the Ancients were, where they lived, even if they were human. Shall I tell you a secret?’
‘Please.’
He pulled out what looked like a dentist’s probe and began tracing along the outer rim. ‘There is a debate at the highest level of the Institutes’ Adepts. Very hush-hush. Whether their magical abilities are the direct result of some tiny component of alien life, dwelling inside a human body. If perhaps Talents are individuals carrying some non-earthly component, an unintended gift from a far older race. A tiny shard of what must have been a truly monumental power.’
Krys said, ‘There has been no evidence of any genetic difference between a Talent and those who show no magical abilities.’
‘Yes, yes, I know this, of course. And do you know what I say to that? Piffle and snuff, is what.’ He dropped the probe and extracted a small surveyor’s hammer. He tapped the perimeter, listened, tapped again. ‘You know how these things are. What if it is something much smaller than a gene? A fragment of protein, perhaps. Or even tinier. A subatomic particle we have not even identified. That is what the Adepts are now suggesting. They like this concept, you see. It ties them to the Ancients, whoever they were. It grants these elitists a reason to lift themselves above people they refer to as the mundane.’
Jackson recalled how, on one of his last returns home, he had stepped through the door and interrupted a furious tirade between his late wife and a Talent he had never seen before. Jackson repeated the last phrase the Talent had shouted before they realized an Interpol agent was watching. He softly spoke the words, ‘Blood of the Ancients.’
That shocked Roger out of his reverie. He dropped the hammer and demanded, ‘Where did you hear that?’
‘I overheard a meeting of two Talents.’
‘Well, don’t repeat it in their company if you know what’s good for you. Especially now that you don’t have Interpol to watch your back.’
‘What does it mean?’
‘It’s the watchword of those Talents I mentioned. And curiosity about that particular group has cost several acquaintances their lives.’ He waggled the magnifier at Jackson. ‘There’s no profit in death, my friend. Not if the death in question is your own.’
Roger Valente settled their artifact on his desk, rose, and entered a rear alcove. A few minutes later, he returned carrying a silk purse the color of his foulard. ‘Would you permit me to borrow your artifact for a few minutes?
‘You know the answer to that.’
‘No, I thought not.’ Roger seated himself and balanced the little sack in both his hands. ‘I must insist that no mention is ever made of this.’
‘Agreed.’
‘Do you trust this young lady, Jackson? I don’t mean during an afternoon jaunt to come trouble the waters in France. I mean with two lives in the balance. Yours and mine.’
Jackson took his time responding. ‘We have other items. The next time Krys will probably come on her own.’
‘More, you say?’
‘Quite a few.’
Roger continued to study Jackson as he untied the catch-knot, opened the purse, and spilled its contents into his hand.
The object was a duplicate of what Krys had shown him.
Roger observed their shocked response and demanded, ‘You know this?’
Jackson hated how he had been caught so unprepared. ‘We’ve been told to look for one of these.’
Roger’s voice rose a full octave. ‘The other articles you mentioned, they come from the same epoch as what you’ve brought me?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘You will show them to me?’
‘Roger, you have my word. If anybody sees those items, it will be you.’ The only difference between Roger’s object and Krys’s bracelet was the color. This one was milky green. Jackson asked, ‘What is it?’
‘It is called an Ebenezer armlet.’ Roger’s eyes flickered from one to the other. ‘My dear boy, if there is even the slightest hint of acquiring such items, well … you are either soon to become extremely wealthy or swiftly counted among the deceased. You know my history, yes?’
‘Some of it.’
‘If word were to emerge that I possessed an Ebenezer armlet, all my hard-earned skills would not be enough to keep me alive. I was not exaggerating when I said you now held my life in your hands.’
Krys softly demanded, ‘What is it?’
‘Who knows? The latest thinking is that either the Ancients were very small, in which case it served as a bracelet, or they were giants, and this was a ring.’
Jackson said, ‘The Ancients.’
‘Anything to do with them, any article that might be traced to their legacy, is a death sentence these days.’
Krys asked, ‘Why now?’
‘I have no idea, my dear young lady, and I assure you there is no one in the mundane world with contacts better than my own. But something has the Institutes and senior Talents in a foment. I’ve assumed there is some unseen threat to their magical domain. I’ve even heard reports of secret scrolls coming to light for the first time in centuries. And then there are the rumors of a new gathering of Renegade Talents. You know of what I speak, yes?’
‘A secret army of unlicensed wizards ready to destroy the Institutes,’ Jackson confirmed. ‘There have been such stories for years.’
‘Well, things have changed, and not for the better. I hear some vague snippet … Then nothing. My source is gone. And if I inquire over their whereabouts, I receive the most stringent of warnings.’
Krys asked, ‘You’re saying we brought you a genuine artifact of the Ancients?’
‘There is only one way to tell.’ The hand that reached for Jackson’s article trembled slightly. Whether from excitement or dread, Jackson could not tell. Roger held the golden item in his left hand, the Ebenezer armlet in his right. ‘Observe closely.’
THIRTY-ONE
Roger Valente lifted both hands, then brought the two items together. The action was like a percussionist clanging cymbals: a swift tap and just as swiftly drawing them away.
The result was a rolling thunderclap. The sound was magnificent. A hundred crystal chimes rang with a force that resonated in Jackson’s bones.
An elongated spark grew between the two articles in Roger’s hands. The flash carried an almost blinding intensity.
The sound grew more beautiful still. A thousand bells. And voices. A harmonious roar.
Even the surging spark carried a musical lilt, a shout of electric joy. The light shone upon Roger’s look of exquisite pleasure
Then it was over. The light vanished with the sound. The world resumed its normal course. Jackson felt as though he had been deflated. The air tasted flat.
Krys must have felt the same way, for she said, ‘Do it again.’
‘If only I could.’ Roger’s voice carried the regret of ages. ‘It will be weeks before another contact is possible.’ He clapped the two objects together. There was a tinny clink, nothing more. ‘See?’
Jackson managed, ‘That … was … amazing.’
‘Only three times in my entire career have I held objects from the Ancients. The first I sold, and the proceeds bought me this gallery and this building, both of which I own outright. The second was my Ebenezer armlet.’ Roger reached forward with the hand holding their artifact. ‘Whatever they are offering … give me twenty-four hours; I will double it.’
‘Sorry. I can’t—’
‘Treble their offer! My dear boy, you think driving a Bentley makes you rich? Let me sell this and you could buy your own jet!’
‘It’s not just the money.’ Jackson reached forward and wrested the article from Roger’s grasp. ‘This one is pledged.’
Krys demanded, ‘But what does it do?’
‘I have no idea. And as far as its value is concerned, it really doesn’t matter.’ Roger leaned back. He looked exhausted. Emotionally and physically spent. ‘You would need a special sort of Adept. You know who I mean, yes?’
‘Sure,’ Jackson replied.
But Roger said it anyway. ‘A senior Talent with second sight. They would take this, cradle it in their two hands, and do the head-tap thing.’ Roger lifted his hands to his forehead, still holding the Ebenezer armlet. Nothing happened. He sighed, as though he had allowed himself to hope otherwise. ‘Presto-bingo-bongo, all is made clear. Or not. I have never spoken to an Adept who has identified an artifact’s true nature. Items dating from the time of the Ancients are said to possess a character or nature. Much like you or I would describe an individual.’
Jackson slipped the artifact into his jacket pocket. Roger winced as the item disappeared from view. ‘My dear boy, you are going to be cheated by your buyers. I can feel it in my bones.’
Jackson extracted the cash from his other pocket and counted out the remainder of Roger’s payment. ‘We will be back with more items.’
‘Only if you survive,’ Roger corrected. ‘And I have my doubts about that. You are skilled. As am I. But you do not know what turmoil the Institutes are in just now. They are seven boiling hives!’
Jackson stood and lifted Krys with a motion of his chin. ‘We’ll see ourselves out.’
‘I beg you to reconsider, save yourselves, and leave the item with me!’ Roger followed them back across the gallery, his outstretched hand a frantic claw. ‘My dear boy, I can make you rich!’
THIRTY-TWO
Originally, Jackson had planned on taking rooms in one of the old-city hotels. Instead, he drove back across the bridge and left the city entirely. He followed the route towards the Vosges until they were surrounded by fields as the sun set. He liked how Krys held to her customary silence, though her features were creased by all the confusion and unanswered questions he himself carried.
