by RP Halliway
“Interesting,” Silas said. “I’ve never heard of this.”
“Of course not,” Bert said. “The crackpot theory is my idea. I’ve been looking through the records of the library for most of my life, and I am at liberty to state and prove this theory.”
Silas looked at Evie and smirked—the current crackpot.
“Looking between the 12th century and 16th century seems like a good starting point,” Bert finished, not noticing the joke passed between Evie and Silas.
“That sounds like a lot of time,” Silas said.
“It’s not really that much,” Olive said. “Because we have a pretty extensive index of possible sources already cataloged. For example, it would be probably drawn out more than written about, and the drawing would be more common and copyable than a written text in that era anyway. There are only a limited number of books containing artwork of that time, but some of them are pretty extensive.”
“That’s amazing,” Evie said.
“It is,” Bert said. “The people back then cataloged artworks by hand, with sketches that were remarkably detailed, and then shipped the actual artwork to major hubs all over Europe. At least from the 14th century on, after the Renaissance started. That is what I am working on now.”
“Can we help?” Silas asked.
“We don’t like outsiders handling the older books,” Olive said, shaking her head.
“Give them a couple books,” Bert said. “And have them wash their hands.”
“No gloves?” Silas asked, raising his hands like a surgeon.
“Not for the older books. Turning the pages gently is easier without gloves, since you can feel the page much better. Don’t be too rough though.”
“We’ll try,” Evie promised.
The sheer magnitude and age of the books and the contents impressed both Evie and Silas as they looked through the pages. Details and colors jumped off the pages and made the art look like it was drawn yesterday, and the skill needed for cataloging and organizing all of the different works of art seemed incredibly impressive, even if computers of today were used.
By early evening Evie and Silas were tiring, and needed to get checked in to the hotel, as well as eat and unwind from the travel. They were back at it early the next morning.
“Have you found anything?” Evie asked. The team of researchers was already hard at work.
“Nothing so far,” Olive said. “But we are hopeful. It isn’t every day that there is a goal of such possible importance.”
The room remained quiet for the entire morning, except for the sound of the carefully turned pages and the occasional closing and moving of books. The research staff filtered out individually or in small groups on breaks and to get lunch. Evie and Silas also took breaks to stretch and relax their eyes.
“Care for some lunch?” Silas asked Evie just after noon.
“Sure,” Evie said. “I could use a stretch too.”
The couple left the library and found a small deli nearby. Ordering the food to go, they walked around the city, taking in the old sights.
“It’s amazing that this is all so old,” Evie said.
“And still standing. Such history everywhere.”
The sights soon took center stage as they walked around absorbing the structures and imagining the history all around them.
“That was a good walk,” Evie said as they returned to the library.
“Yes it was. Thanks.”
“For what?”
“Just for walking with me. It feels nice to do things like that.”
“I like it too.” Evie grabbed his arm and gave it a squeeze.
As Evie and Silas returned to their room in the library, they heard a slight buzz of excitement.
“Hurry!” Olive commanded them as she greeted them at the door. She walked briskly to a place at the table with a book opened.
“Look at this!” Olive motioned to the open book.
Evie and Silas focused on the book, already opened to a page with three paintings cataloged on it. The first painting took the entirety of the left page, and the second painting took a majority of the right page. Down in the lower part of the right page was the third cataloged painting, almost an afterthought.
“Here is a glass,” Bert said, holding out a magnifying glass to the couple.
Silas motioned for Evie to take it, and she leaned in to look at the painting.
“It looks like a painting of a person,” Evie said.
“A standing portrait,” Bert corrected. “Look to the right.”
Evie looked closer, and the portrait was of a man, she didn’t recognize who it was, standing near a desk, most likely his work desk, and with a small painting on the wall on the opposite side of the desk. In the painting was what looked like a four-cylinder device.
“Holy . . .” Evie whispered, standing up and handing the magnifying glass to Silas.
Silas leaned in and scanned the page and the cataloged painting.
“It does look like the artifact, or a working model actually,” Silas said quietly, standing up again.
“We think so too!” Olive said energetically.
“Who is this man?” Evie asked. “Who’s the artist?”
“Well, the good news is that this painting is pretty unremarkable in composition and attributed artist,” Bert said.
“What does that mean?” Silas asked.
“It means that there probably hasn’t been much motion of the painting since it was cataloged,” Olive said, trying to contain her optimism. “Popular or remarkable works typically get bought and sold and travel all over. This one doesn’t seem to fit into the popular category. Nobody has heard of it.”
“We’re cross referencing now,” Bert said, “and trying to find any records of transfers. But the bad news is that because it is so unremarkable, it may not exist anymore. It might be impossible to track down.”
“Oh,” Evie said softly. “That would be terrible. All this work and another dead end.”
“If we are lucky there may be some last records of it, and we might find them,” Olive said, trying to brighten the mood.
“If we are doubly lucky,” Bert said, “the records have found themselves onto the computers, and we might know in a few minutes.”
Evie and Silas stood by as Olive scanned the computer, hoping to find any records of the painting.
“It doesn’t look like there is a popular given name for this painting,” Olive said, her shoulders sinking while looking at the computer screen, “at least that I can make out.”
“All we have now is the catalog number,” Bert said. “And we have to do hand searching for that.”
“How can we help?” Evie asked.
“There are many records books, and this catalog number is the starting point,” Olive said, moving to a stack of books already on the table. “Look through the books for that number, and find any reference for it.”
The task now became reading a compact table of numbers looking for one particular number. All of the researchers, along with Evie and Silas, took frequent breaks to keep from going cross-eyed looking though the old books.
“I have to call it a day,” Silas said. “I’ve never been good at keeping attention when looking through books, and this is even worse with all the numbers starting to run together.”
“There is no rush,” Olive said. “The team will be here tomorrow too, to keep up the search.”
“Thanks,” Evie said. Then to Silas, she said, “Don’t worry. We’re close.”
“I know,” Silas said. “Sorry. I’m just a bit annoyed at this up and down type stuff. We find one thing, only to be sent on another journey to jump through more hoops.”
“I understand,” Evie said, leaning into Silas and grabbing his arm. “I feel the same way, and I’m glad you’re here.”
“This is quite amazing,” Silas said, “the travel and . . .”
“It really is,” Evie replied, snuggled into Silas’ side. “I would have never expected this the first time we chatted.”
“Seems like a lifetime ago,” Silas said. “We have done so much since then, and it has only been a couple weeks.”
Evie looked up at him with a small laugh. “15 days.”
“15 days,” Silas echoed as they spotted the car.
***
The next morning Evie and Silas ran through the rain from the car to the library entrance, and shook off the rain from their coats.
“Good morning!” Olive greeted them. “We are still working. And optimistic!”
“As are we,” Evie replied. She felt refreshed after a good night’s sleep.
Pages turned, and the rain produced a calming atmosphere during the search for the catalog number.
“Here is a number!” one researcher called out, mid-afternoon.
Olive and the rest gathered around to authenticate the record.
“It is a match!” Olive announced after double checking.
“Catalog number matches,” Bert confirmed, his face lighting up. “And the transfer code seems to be valid.” He searched through a short computer list to match the code. “A museum actually.”
“What does that mean?” Silas asked.
“It seems that the artwork passed through Genoa, on its way to a museum,” Olive said, reading the catalog entry. “The French Museum in Marseilles. October, 1523.”
“500 years ago?” Silas asked. That seemed like an impossibly long time.
“Don’t be discouraged!” Olive said. “This is good news. The French Museum isn’t heavily trafficked in non-popular works, so it might actually still be there.”
“Really?” Evie asked, not accepting their luck until they actually can see the painting for themselves.
“Marseilles wasn’t very active in either of the world wars, and the museum pieces that didn’t really appeal to many, probably weren’t taken by the Nazis, or destroyed in any Allied activity,” Bert said. “There is considerable reason to believe this painting will still be there.”
“There is more cross-referencing to do, to make sure there weren’t any other side sales anywhere,” Olive said. “But I would say you could call Postice with the news, and make passage for Marseilles.”
And so France was next on their list.
Chapter 22
“If that is the painting, it probably isn’t going anywhere soon,” Postice told Evie and Silas. “Take the long way to Marseilles. Roger told me of a contact he gave to you in Paris. You should take in the sights and visit them.”
Evie and Silas agreed and decided to take a train trip from Genoa to Marseilles, going over the alps, then up to Paris for sightseeing and to find Roger’s contact.
“We should get a sleeper car,” Evie said.
“Two rooms again?”
“My dad would probably like that.”
“And Chris?”
“Oh definitely. Chris would insist on two rooms. But Red would definitely push for us to share. So there’s that.”
A day and half later, during the cool, but not cold, mid-morning, Silas and Evie found themselves staring at the center of Paris.
“Did you ever think this could be so beautiful?” Evie asked, taking in the ambiance of the city.
“It is pretty, that’s for sure,” he said, not really impressed. “But I wouldn’t call it spectacular or anything.”
“You grouch,” she joked, giving him a push. “The history, the people, and then the buildings. It all is so amazing.”
“I think the only memory I will remember vividly,” he said, looking down at her for a minute, “is you.”
She snuggled into him for a long minute, not saying anything. “Thanks,” she whispered. “That is very sweet.”
“It isn’t just in a romantic way,” he said, causing Evie to scowl at him before laughing. “But also because we’ve done so much in such a short time. I don’t know what I was expecting that first day I picked you up at the airport, but I’ve been amazed at you ever since.”
“Oh, Silas.” She snuggled closer, watching the people pass and the city start to bustle as the day progressed.
“Shall we walk and search for the mythologicals?” he laughed, giving her a small hug before starting off.
“We shall,” she said, looking up with a joyful smile.
The pair walked around Paris, taking in different sights, avoiding other areas that seemed more dangerous to tourists, and reveling in each other’s company.
“What name did Roger give us?” Silas asked, suddenly unsure of his memory.
“He said it was the Centaur’s Stable. Quite a strange name, I would say.”
“That’s what I thought. I haven’t seen it and was wondering if my memory had skipped a beat.”
“I haven’t seen it either, but I don’t mind walking around again.”
“I don’t know,” he said, “my feet are getting kind of tired.”
Evie pulled out her phone, and rechecked the message from Roger and also did a quick search for it. “It doesn’t seem to come up very often. And the location matches where we’ve been walking.”
“Fate—or something—seems to want us to work hard for everything.”
“Wait,” Evie said, zooming in on her phone. “I think I see the problem. We’ve been walking around the back side of the building.”
“This definitely looks like a row of businesses from the front,” he said, pointing to the very obvious doorways facing them.
“That may be,” she said, holding up the phone. “But it seems there’s another culture hiding in the weird street construction.”
Silas looked at the phone and recognized his misconception. “That’s good work, Evie.”
Evie felt her face warm at Silas’ compliment. The couple walked down the street to the end and took the corner. Another narrow street slowly formed between buildings, leading to a small enclave, with maybe a dozen small shops at most.
“I would have never known this was here,” Silas said, entering the small marketplace.
“Me neither,” she said, taking in the different shop names. “This almost looks like a Renaissance Fair. All of these shops seem to cater to medieval themes.”
Silas walked up to the first shop, a small establishment selling candles and lighting fixtures, that might have been common 500 years ago.
“How do?” the proprietor asked, a French accent piercing the mostly silent enclave.
“I am fine,” Evie said, taking a candle and giving it a fragrance test.
“Not much scent,” the proprietor informed Evie. “Mostly for lighting.”
“I see,” Evie said, gently returning the candle to the stand.
“Made here?” Silas asked.
“Yes,” the proprietor said, pointing behind the booth. “Old ways.”
Silas smiled and nodded, noting the equipment in the shop and also understanding the work needed to produce the shop full of candles.
“Blacksmith?” Silas asked the man. The man pointed to the center of the small circular perimeter of shops.
Silas followed the man’s pointing toward the center of the market. The presence of new people—immediately recognized as tourists—had created some buzz among the shops. He stepped into the street again, walking slowly toward the blacksmith. The talent and skill of a blacksmith intrigued Silas, and he hoped to observe some authentic work.
Before Silas could tell if the blacksmith was working, Evie tugged on his arm.
“Centaur’s Stable,” she whispered, nodding toward a small sign on their left.
“How about a circle to there?” he asked. “If we visit more of the shops, we won’t be too obvious as to our motive.”
“That’s a great idea.”
Slowly they made their way through the different shops, stopping for varying times at each one, depending on their interest in the wares.
Silas nodded his head toward a small disheveled man dressed in a raggy outfit, and Evie looked over.
“Real life beggar or actor?” she asked in a hushed tone.
Before Silas could answer, the beggar locked eyes with Silas and moved to stand up. The man’s legs seemed to be fused together at the knees, or he wore metal leg braces. In order to stand up, the man rolled face down, into a push-up position, bent sharply at the waist, and used his arms to propel his torso upwards with enough force to rise to his feet. The man pointed toward Silas and started muttering. The words made no sense to Silas, as this man wobbled at what appeared to be full speed into the market.
Silas grabbed Evie by the arm, preparing to run away from the man, just as a noise stopped the man in his tracks, causing him to turn and rush back to his permanent post.
“That was so strange,” Silas said, releasing his grip on Evie. “Did you understand any words?”
Evie shook her head. “None.”
A small crowd now gathered around the beggar and escorted him off the corner and out of sight. The rattling noise grew fainter as the man continued shaking his metal donation cup, now further away. Silas noted a figure dressed in a shiny thick leather outfit—boots, pants, vest, and hat—quickly walk away from the beggar’s corner in the opposite direction. A few seconds later and the entire crowd disappeared around the corner.
“What just happened?” Silas asked the lone remaining witness to the events as the man walked by.
“Someone gave the beggar a coin,” The man answered with a shake of his head. “A British crown from seventeenth century, almost perfect condition. Worth quite a sum.”
Silas felt his muscles relax at the news. “An afternoon performance?” he asked Evie.