The Master Craftsman, page 13
Nick shrugged. “Legalities in treasure hunting are blurry. Technically, there may be a few things required that cross the legal line—”
“Nick!” Carol threw her hands up in the air.
Nick lifted one finger and kept talking. “But ultimately, the way that I hunt makes up for this in the fact that the found treasure is never for personal gain. It’s always for the good of others. I’ve never kept anything I’ve found. I’ve given it back to the people to whom it belonged.”
“Yeah, but you’ve profited off your finds,” Ava said.
Nick nodded. “Well, a man has to earn a living, doesn’t he?” he said with a shrug.
“So, I will be doing something illegal, then?” Zak asked.
“Maybe,” Nick said. “Only insomuch as you’ll need to do it to find what you’re looking for. Also, your job is to protect them. Sometimes, you’ll have to bend the rules to do that. How do you feel about this?”
Zak glanced at Ava, then back at Nick. He was silent for only a beat before nodding his head. “Sounds like fun,” he said with a smile. “I enjoy a good challenge. I find it gets the blood pumping and makes me feel very alive.”
Ava studied Zak, his collared shirt tucked into crisp pants, and she smiled, amusement flashing through her eyes. She turned to see Nick’s reaction.
“Yes.” Nick grinned. “I can tell you’re an adventurous type of guy.”
Zak smiled, holding high his head. “I’m ready for my mission then, commander.”
“As comfortable as these two might be with everything you just said, Nick,” Carol said, “I have some real reservations about it.”
“As do I,” Sylvie said from her corner where she sat with a cross-stitch in her lap, quietly sewing as she listened to the plans.
Nick looked back and forth from Carol to Sylvie. “I assumed that you both would. But trust me when I say that if you all do exactly as I tell you to do, you’ll be fine.”
“And what if things don’t go exactly according to plan?” Carol said.
“We’ll cross that bridge if we get to it.” Nick looked over at Zak. “How are you at hacking into other people’s computer files?”
Zak paused. “I know how to do that,” he said slowly.
Nick nodded. “I’ll need you to find a way to hack into the files of the Fabergé Museum in St. Petersburg, Russia.”
Zak’s eyes widened. “Okay,” he answered, his tone less confident than before. “And what will I be looking for? Assuming I can get into their system at all.”
“You’ll be looking for any information on Alma Pihl, and on Fabergé himself. Any locked-away photographs or documents, drawings or writings.”
“How will we even know what we’re looking at, though?” Ava said. “We don’t read Russian.”
“Xander does,” Nick replied.
“Of course he does,” Ava muttered under her breath.
“Xander will be there to interpret everything and determine if it’s useful or not. He’s arriving in St. Petersburg in a couple of days to get your operation headquarters set up. He’ll have clothes and wigs and all the tech support you need to make this run as smoothly as possible.”
“Um . . . did you say ‘wigs’?” Ava asked.
“Yeah.” Nick nodded. “You’ll need to disguise yourself. Sorry, kiddo, but your look is way too distinctive. You won’t get away with anything over there.”
Ava ran her hand through her short hair self-consciously.
Nick smiled. “This is the fun part of the job.”
“Nicky”—Sylvie leaned forward and stared him down across the room—“you’re sending these two kids—and Carol—to Russia with disguises and instructions to hack into the files of a Russian museum. To Russia!” Her eyes widened. “What on earth do you think will happen if they get caught sneaking around in disguise . . . in Russia?”
Nick nodded. “I didn’t say this wouldn’t be dangerous.”
Ava swallowed. She avoided eye contact with her mom, knowing what she’d find there. She instead looked at Zak. He stared back at her.
“I’m in if Ava is,” Zak said.
“Ava—” Carol began, but Ava waved her off.
“I’m in,” she said, shifting her gaze to Nick. “We’ll be careful, and we will follow your instructions.”
Nick nodded. “And listen.” He turned to Carol, who had leaned back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest. “I have Xander on full security detail. If there’s even a hint of trouble or danger, he knows the protocol to abort and get you guys out. And he’s got Anatoly lined up and ready to go. Anatoly was born and raised in St. Petersburg. He knows the city like the back of his hand. He and Xander will make sure that everything you do is tracked, covered, and traced.”
Carol stared back at him, the lines in her face deepening with the skepticism that flashed through her eyes.
“In all my years of hunting,” Nick continued, “I’ve only ever gotten close to being caught once. I know what I’m doing.”
“Yes,” Carol replied. “And yet, you’ll be here in Florida, tucked in your bed, while these two will be essentially operating as spies on Russian soil.”
“We will be supremely careful, Miss Carol,” Zak said.
Carol sighed. “I’m sure you will, Zak, but I’m still very uncomfortable with all of this.”
“Mom?” Ava turned to face her. “It’s going to be okay. I really believe that it is. Like Zak said, we’ll be careful. And we’ve got a guy named Xander Majors on security detail. I mean, seriously. If this were a book, the guy named Xander would obviously be the hero of the story.”
“Well, or the love interest,” Nick said. Zak coughed.
Carol shook her head. The corners of her mouth tugged upward as she fought off a smile. “Don’t be cute with me right now.”
Nick looked back and forth between Ava and Carol, trying to decipher the hidden messages passing between mother and daughter. “Okay, well,” he finally said, “let’s take a break. I need to rest just a little bit.”
“Come on, you three,” Sylvie said, standing and walking toward the door. “Let’s go make a plan for dinner.”
“Uh, Ava?” Nick said.
Ava turned to look at him.
“I’d like a word alone with you for a moment.”
“Oh.” Ava swallowed hard. “Um, okay.”
Sylvie narrowed her eyes, then waved her hand for Carol and Zak to follow her out as Ava sank back down in her chair next to Nick’s bed. They stared at one another for a long minute.
“So”—Nick broke the silence—“that was the guy you got to come with you as your tech expert?”
“Well, you only said I needed a computer wiz. You didn’t say I needed someone with basic social skills.”
Nick chuckled. He picked up the spreadsheet Zak brought and looked it over. Ava glanced at the door. It was the first time she’d been alone with her father in years. He was still a stranger to her. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. Then she opened and shut it again.
“Got a question?” Nick put the paper down and turned to Ava.
“Just one?”
He smiled.
“Well, I do have something that I still don’t understand.”
“Shoot.”
“I do believe that your hunch is right, and that there’s an egg out there to be found. But I don’t understand why this egg would hold any value. It never belonged to the Imperial family. It has no real knowable history. What makes you so sure people will even care about this egg?”
Nick crossed his hands in his lap and looked at Ava for a long moment before answering. “What gives a painting its value? Is the value determined by the particular paint a painter uses on a canvas?”
Ava shrugged. “Not necessarily.”
“Is the value determined by the subject matter of the painting, or the weight of the canvas used?” His eyebrows raised. “What precisely gives the painting its value?”
Ava paused before answering. “I guess the value comes from the painter itself. It comes from the skill of the one who painted it, and from the value that that particular painter brings to the art.”
“Exactly!” Nick snapped his fingers and pointed at Ava.
“Exactly what?”
“Why do you think the Mona Lisa is worth an estimated one billion dollars and kept hanging behind bulletproof glass?”
“Because she was painted by da Vinci, and she’s regarded to be one of the most unique paintings to come from the Renaissance.”
Nick nodded. “You know about art.”
Ava shrugged. “Again, history major. I took a few classes that dealt specifically with the arts.”
Nick studied her, smile fading. He cleared his throat and glanced away. “Okay. So, the Mona Lisa gets her value from da Vinci because he is generally regarded to be one of the most masterful painters in history, right?”
Ava nodded.
“So, her intrinsic value isn’t found in the paint that was used, or the canvas on which she was painted.”
“She was painted on a poplar wood panel, actually,” Ava said. “Not canvas. And it’s more than da Vinci’s name that makes her famous. It’s the techniques he used, the way he manipulated shadows to make it seem like her eyes are following you, and the way her smile changes depending on what angle you look at her. That painting was, and still is, cutting edge.”
“Yes. But she could only have been such in the capable hands of a master painter. Da Vinci gave Mona Lisa her value because he knew how to employ those techniques to create a stunning piece of art.”
“Yeah, okay.” Ava nodded. “So, you’re saying this egg has value because it was created by Fabergé? That the intrinsic value of this egg lies in the fact that it was created by a master craftsman?”
Nick nodded. “The value of an object comes from the one who sculpts it—the one who crafts it with care and skill, and who breathes creative life into it. The master craftsman determines the worth.”
“Okay, but still . . . Fabergé created other eggs that aren’t nearly as valuable as the Imperial Easter eggs. Why would this one be any different?”
“I just . . . have a hunch,” Nick said with a shrug.
“That’s it? You just have a hunch?” Ava tossed him a look of exasperation.
“Yes. Fabergé wanted to hide this egg. When the revolution happened in 1917 and everything started falling apart, Fabergé made sure that this egg got into the capable hands of someone he trusted. There had to be a reason he didn’t want it found. I believe that secret, combined with the fact that Fabergé’s initials are on the egg, will give this piece of art immense and extraordinary value.”
“But based on Alma’s sketch, this egg seems so ordinary. It looks very similar to the very first egg he created for Empress Maria in 1885—the Hen Egg.”
“You have a good eye for detail,” Nick said, a hint of admiration woven in his words.
Ava shrugged, her cheeks flushing.
“My guess,” Nick said, “is that the surprise on the inside is going to be a doozy. That’s what Fabergé wanted to hide.”
Ava leaned back and crossed her arms. They were both silent for a long minute.
“You ready for your first treasure hunt?” Nick finally asked.
Ava nodded. “I’ve been ready for this for years,” she said, her voice soft. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and she blinked hard. She stood quickly, stepping away from Nick’s bed. “I should go. You need to get some rest.” She turned toward the door.
“Ava,” Nick said, his voice cracking.
Ava stopped and looked back at him. He opened his mouth, then shut it. The room had darkened except for the dim light from overhead. Ava watched his eyes flicker from her face to his hands and then back.
“Nothing,” he said. “Sleep good. We only have a couple more days before you guys leave. There’s still a lot of work to be done.”
Ava gave him a single nod, then turned and left the room, closing the door gently behind her.
“Night, Dad,” she murmured into the empty hallway, testing out the weight of the word on her tongue. It felt strange and a little uncomfortable. “Nope. Not time for that, yet.” She walked up the stairs, her heart thumping, from anticipation or from the almost-connection she had with her father, she could not tell.
St. Petersburg, 1906
A tap at the door made Karl jump, and his eyes flew up in surprise.
Albert stood in the doorway watching him with a mixture of amusement and concern. “Were you sleeping?”
Karl shook his head, then offered a shrug. “Perhaps only for a moment.”
Albert stepped into his office and closed the door behind him. “I’ve just received word that the tsar wants to move forward with his order for an egg this year.”
Karl leaned back and let out a long breath. “Really? Now?” He glanced at the calendar on his desk. It was only weeks from Easter. Did the tsar know what he was asking?
“Yes, now. We’ll just give him the eggs we prepared two years ago.”
“Yes, of course,” Karl said absently. He thought of the two eggs that had been sitting unwanted in the safe for the past two years. The future of those eggs had been so uncertain with the war in Japan dragging on and the economic crisis that accompanied it. Karl had wondered how long he could maintain the company under such circumstances, but something had told him to sit tight and wait patiently. He’d continued to pay his employees handsomely when they worked, and he’d also made sure they knew to stay home when the tensions in the street made it too difficult to come to the shop. Albert and Augusta had both encouraged him to make cutbacks in the past two years, but Karl had felt certain the tides would turn. Perhaps this was the moment.
“The Moscow Kremlin Egg is one of the finest pieces of art this company has ever designed. It is the perfect way to reintroduce ourselves to the tsarina.”
“I don’t know,” Karl murmured, his brow furrowed. “Perhaps now it will evoke unpleasant memories for her.”
“You mean because of the grand duke?”
Karl nodded. Both he and Albert grew silent as they thought of the assassination of Grand Duke Sergei Alexandrovich in 1905. The governor of Moscow, the grand duke had also been the tsar’s uncle, and his wife had been the tsarina’s sister, Ella.
“He was murdered by an assassin just beyond the Kremlin,” Karl said, processing out loud. “His wife watched his carriage explode and picked up pieces of her husband’s body in the street. Will an egg that lauds the Upenski Cathedral of Moscow be acceptable given these circumstances?”
Albert was silent for a long moment before answering. “Perhaps not. It may be painful, but what other option do we have? We cannot create another egg in this short amount of time. We’ll barely be able to get this egg polished and ready as it is right now.”
Karl pinched the bridge of his nose and nodded. “Of course, you’re right.” He didn’t mention the egg he’d been working on in secret through the still hours of the nights. It wasn’t near ready either, of course. It was tedious work creating this egg on his own while the rest of his employees slept. He was still working on the diamond trellis design on the outside, having slowed down his progress significantly in order to set each stone just right so that they crisscrossed in a perfect pattern. It wasn’t his specialty, setting the stones, so the progress was slow.
“Sir?”
Karl looked up. “Yes?”
Albert studied him for a moment before asking his question again. “I suppose that we will go ahead and prepare the Swan Egg to be gifted to the empress as well?”
“Yes, yes,” Karl replied with a wave of his hand. “Of course. It’s a lovely egg. The empress will adore it.”
“Neither of these eggs make mention of the young tsarevitch, though.” Albert clasped his hands in front of his body and furrowed his brow. “Will this be a problem?”
Karl leaned back in his chair and mulled it all over. “I think the tsar and his wife will understand. We’ll plan a grand surprise for the tsarina next year that hails her son.”
If he is still living, Karl thought to himself. Only a few knew of the young heir’s disease. It was a secret of the utmost importance, and Karl did not intend to ever speak a word of the horrible truth—that the young tsarevitch would likely not survive childhood due to hemophilia. The rumors had circulated throughout the inner circle of the tsar. Though there had been no official confirmation, Karl had spoken to the family’s personal physician out of both curiosity and respect. When the doctor confirmed the suspicions, Karl made the decision to protect the heart of the tsarina in all future designs by avoiding the color red in her eggs.
Connecting with the tsar’s young wife had been a challenge. Alexandra Romanov was quiet and shy. She seemed to want to be a part of the action but didn’t at all know how to interject herself fully into the role of tsarina. Though she came off as aloof and snobbish, Karl suspected she was merely unsure of what her place was inside the royal world.
Motherhood suited her well, though. For all her shortcomings as tsarina, Alexandra far made up for them in the way she doted upon and loved her children. It was clear that she much preferred that role to any other.
Her close connection to the self-proclaimed holy man Rasputin was an issue that needed to be resolved, though. Karl thought back to the conversation he’d had with his wife just the day before.
“The tsarina has got to get away from that wicked man,” Augusta had clucked. “I’m hearing terrible things about him around town. He’s not good, and he is no minister of God. If he were, I’d want nothing to do with that god.”
Karl had nodded absently at his wife’s ranting, though truth be told, he couldn’t agree more. He had wished often that the tsar would put his foot down and remove Rasputin from the royal court, but whatever hold the religious man had on the Romanov family seemed untouchable.
“Ahem.”
Karl looked up, surprised to see Albert still standing in his office. How long had he stood there silently?
“Have we decided then?” Albert asked.
Karl nodded. “I suppose we have. Have the eggs polished and prepared for delivery to the tsar.”
