The First Sin

by Jessica Brawner

  "Oooh now those are interesting topics. Yes, we have several books on Rome. The Vatican specifically, that's a bit harder to come by." He led me deeper into the shop, the smell of leather and books filing the air. I breathed in the soothing scent; it made the outside world feel muffled and distant. He pulled down several volumes and handed them back to me one by one. They had titles such as The Architecture of the Masters, The Influences of the Vatican on Southern Italy, and others equally dry. When I had a stack of four or five he turned to me. "I think that's about it for the moment. Shall I put them on the front counter while I show you what's new?"

  I heard the bell tinkle at the front of the shop. "It sounds like you have another customer, Monsieur Petri. I will carry these up and let you deal with them."

  He smiled his appreciation and turned, saying "Coming. I'll be right there." After he disappeared around one of the bookshelves towards the front of the shop, I took a slip of paper out of my pocket and scribbled a quick note letting Tyler and Nina know where we were anchored. Leaving it unsigned, I slid it in between two of the books on Rome and put them back on the bookshelf.

  I made my way slowly through the narrow aisles of bookshelves with my treasure, barely hearing the low murmurs of conversation between Petri and the newcomer. Near the front I stopped to pull a title down from one of the shelves that caught my eye. The French Way, an Inappropriate Romance. Chuckling I put it atop my much heavier reading The History of Relics and the Catholic Church. Monsieur Petri came bustling back, passing me with a nod as he headed towards the back of the shop. I smiled as I added the new book to my pile and turned. Rounding the corner of the bookshelf, I ran headlong into a very solid chest and my pile of books went tumbling.

  "Je m'excuse. I am so sorry, Madam. Here let me help you," he said in heavily accented French.

  I stood rooted in place, mind whirling as the young man in blue and yellow picked up my books and handed them up to me. Handing up the last book, Charles stood and made a low bow. "I apologize for my extreme clumsiness."

  His golden eyes looked me full in the face and he blinked, looking puzzled.

  Oh mon dieu what do I say, does he know who I am? Thoughts ran through my head frantically. The last person he had seen me as was Contessa, so I took a deep breath to calm my nerves.

  He shook his head. "We’ve… met…” He thought for a moment. “In Rome... Contessa?"

  "Monsieur... Charles? From Rome, oui?” I pitched my voice higher, using my Contessa voice, and I worked my face into some semblance of surprise. “Are you here on holiday?"

  His eyes opened wide. "You remember my name? I admit I am surprised. What are you doing here, Contessa? And why…" He gestured to my outfit, trousers and a vest, decidedly not appropriate for a Contessa.

  I quickly put a finger over his lips. "Shhh… I am in disguise. Monsieur Petrie is the best bookseller in the region. I like to come do my own shopping, which is terribly improper. He does not know who I really am, and I would like to keep it that way. Will you help me?"

  Charles's lips quirked and his eyes narrowed. "Where is your page? It is not safe for a woman to be out alone shopping, even in the middle of the day."

  I frowned. "Aubagne is safe enough. I do not bring my page along on such expeditions either, as I should like to enjoy my book shopping in peace. Now, will you help me with my charade?"

  Disapproval flit across Charles’ face, but his lips were trying to quirk up in a smile. "Si, signora. I will help you. If I may not address you as Contessa, what should I call you?"

  "Jacqueline will do," I replied.

  He looked slightly startled, but took my hand in his own, bowed over it charmingly then took my stack of books and placed them on the counter. Seeing the novel, he smiled knowingly, glancing quickly at the rest of the stack. "Heavy reading for one so tiny," he joked, looking at me out of the corner of his eye.

  "One must exercise both the mind and the body to stay fit in this world. These will help me to do both. My recent trip to Rome piqued my interest in such things. What type of reading did you come in search of?"

  Monsieur Petri chose that moment to pop up seemingly from nowhere, holding another book. I jumped, startled, having forgotten about him entirely. Monsieur Petri handed the book to Charles. "Your book Monsieur." It was a cheaply made, paper bound pamphlet titled The Weekly Gossip.

  I raised an eyebrow. "I would not have suspected you read such questionable things."

  He looked slightly embarrassed. "I am here on official business, unfortunately, not holiday. I am trying to track down someone who may have stolen an item from the Vatican. While these rags are more sensational than not, they do hold some nuggets of truth. I expect my quarry is somewhere in this area, but I don't know for certain yet, and I wanted to see if there were any unusual activities that had made it to the Gossip."

  "Ah oui. Best of luck then," I replied. "I am sorry you are not on holiday. You should return here when you have a chance to see all of Aubagne’s loveliness instead of working.

  There are several delightful cheese shops, and the mountains trails make for excellent walking and riding."

  "Having seen you, Jacqueline, means I have seen the loveliest of lovelies Aubagne can offer," he replied gallantly, bowing over my hand once more.

  I giggled. "Oh, Charles, you flatter me. Perhaps when you have caught this notorious criminal you will come back and visit our fair city."

  "If you wish it, it shall be so."

  Trying not to blush, I retrieved my hand from his grasp.

  "May I wrap these for you, Jacqueline?" the book keeper asked.

  "Yes, thank you, Monsieur Petri. I will take them with me directly." I turned to the counter and paid. "Thank you for your assistance in finding them."

  Charles paid for his purchase, and we stepped out of the shop together. "May I walk you to your residence? I do not feel comfortable letting you walk by yourself Cont... Jacqueline."

  Oh dear. How do I get rid of him without leading him back to The Indiana. There's a nice hotel up a few blocks I can pretend I'm staying there. Maybe that will work.

  “Very well, monsieur, since you insist. I am not staying far from here. Just up at the Hotel du Frisee." I nodded my head in the direction of the hotel, and hoped it was still there. I hadn't stayed there since the last time I travelled with my father, many years ago.

  After a few steps Charles stopped, and shook his head. "You must think me an unimaginable boor, Jacqueline. Here, let me carry your parcels." He held out his arms to receive the packages, shaking his head. "I cannot imagine why you would travel without your page, it's not ... usual…You yourself are a most unusual woman,” he muttered, more to himself than to me.

  "Charles." I gave him a playfully stern look, maintaining my grip on my books. "You forget yourself. You asked to accompany me. I find you quite charming, but I will not tolerate having my actions questioned by someone I have met by chance in a shop. If you can’t imagine me travelling without my page, you are welcome to imagine me walking without your company; I am quite capable of carrying my own parcels."

  I could see I had wounded him, a little, but he merely replied with, "Hmph." And continued walking with me in the direction of the hotel.

  "Tell me," I asked a few moments later. "How is your investigation going? Do you have any leads?"

  He perked up at my question, but seemed guarded, watching me out of the corner of his eye as we walked. "We had good information the thief was in Marseille. In fact, I very nearly caught h… him, but they escaped at the last minute. I know what the ship looks like, but I need to have more solid proof. There are a couple of ships with similar profiles, and most are honest merchants. If necessary my men will board and search every one, but that would strain political relations in unnecessary ways.

  I went through the airfield in Marseille very carefully yesterday examining the airships in dock, and there was one that ... well, it lifted off before I was able to board, and it did so in a hurry. I would surm
ise that’s my quarry. Aubagne is the nearest airfield to Marseille, and close enough that I thought it worth checking."

  "Oh?" I asked.

  "Yes. I am certain I've seen that ship before, but under a different name." He continued to watch me out of the corner of his eye, and I held a bland, mildly interested expression on my face. He shook his head and stopped himself. "But this can't be of interest to you, my lady. Oh, and here is your hotel." He stopped and looked up at the grand hotel, with a small cafe out front.

  "Thank you for your assistance, Charles," I said, turning to go into the hotel.

  He stopped me. "Might I..." He looked around briefly, stammering. "Might I buy you a coffee?" His golden eyes stared at me longingly and with an unexpected intensity. "Please?"

  Jac, you're playing a dangerous game here. Do not encourage him in this.

  Despite the fact Charles was trying to lock me up (though he didn't know it), I did find him quite charming. Pushing thoughts of David to the side, I replied.

  "One coffee, and then I must retire for the evening." I smiled up at him with wide eyes, inviting flirtation.

  We sat and chatted in the cafe for an hour, sipping our coffee and nibbling on tiny shortbread biscuits. He tried to draw me out about my past, and I spun him tales about the estate, forgoing any mention of my mechanic’s shop, or interest in airships, and drawing liberally from my sister’s hobbies – reading, painting, riding, and other ladylike pursuits. He spoke freely of his time in the guard as a young guardsmen, but any time I tried to draw him out about his investigation, he artfully dodged my questions. When the last dregs of espresso were drained, he stood and bowed over my hand. "I must go, for if I stay any longer I shall be inclined to ask you to dinner." He hoped, I could tell, that I would ask him to stay, but I smiled and bid him “Adieu.” He nodded and left, back straight, cutting a fine figure through the crowd.

  I watched him go, lingering until I could no longer see him. He was headed up the street, away from the airfield, and I did not wish for him to see me leave. When he was out of sight I picked up my packages and rushed back to my airhopper, and the ship, hoping Tyler and Nina had found my note.

  Charles

  Streets of Aubagne

  Charles walked away from the cafe, away from her, with an unsettled, unfamiliar feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Behave yourself. She is a noblewoman, far above your station. You have no right to even think such thoughts about her. The fact she allowed you to have coffee with her indicates only that she is gracious." Charles muttered this to himself as he walked up the street, ignoring the passersby. He received a few strange looks, which he also ignored.

  "On top of that,” he continued to himself, “you are here to do a job. The Holy Father has put his most sacred trust in you to find the Miter, post haste. Do not let the most charming contessa distract you from that, or you may find yourself without employment, and possibly lacking in life."

  But the contessa's petite figure haunted him still. He couldn’t banish the strong desire to wrap his hands around her tiny waist and pull her close. He could practically feel her lithe form in his arms. The brief moment when he carried her at the Vatican came clearly back to him, her smell, the way she weighed practically nothing in his arms.

  She had a way of wrinkling her nose when she was amused that he found entirely endearing. The fact she would consider stepping out without a proper escort bothered him greatly. It wasn't safe, it wasn't ladylike, and it left her open to all sorts of dangers a woman of her stature couldn't afford. Why, her reputation could so easily be besmirched, even by going to coffee with someone like himself!

  His mind, refusing to stay on the topic of finding the Miter, jumped back to the color of Jacqueline’s eyes, and her lustrous hair. He wondered if the faint scent, caught when she bumped into him, was her own womanly scent, or that of a subtle perfume.

  In this state of mind, he found himself in front of a small chapel dedicated to an unnamed saint. He pushed open the door, crossed himself and approached the altar. He had never felt inner turmoil over a woman before – his life was dedicated to the Pope and the Vatican, his every ounce of being focused on serving God and the Church. And yet, this woman, with her polite courtesy and witticisms, had plucked a string within him, that sounded, beckoning him off the path that had been laid before him. Pouring out his confusion and the inner turmoil the day's encounter brought him felt right, and he laid it at the feet of his heavenly father, asking for guidance.

  In the silence, after his plea, he heard a soft, sympathetic chuckle. He whirled around to find a brother, tonsured, with his cowl around his shoulders and a soft rope belt securing his robes standing behind him with a friendly, sympathetic smile.

  "My son, it is always a woman isn't it?"

  Charles stood, anger and embarrassment flaming across his face. "My pardon, brother. I thought I was alone in my prayer. I did not intend for anyone to hear it but Our Lord."

  The brother bowed his head, eyes twinkling, but still sympathetic. "And perhaps our lord heard you, and sent me to answer?"

  Charles opened his mouth to reply glibly and stopped. He had come seeking guidance, perhaps the brother could help. He gestured, inviting the cowled figure to sit beside him.

  "Tell me then, what it is I need to know. Though how a celibate brother could know about women is beyond me." Charles faced the brother, embarrassment still bubbling within.

  "My son, this is France. My order is a small one – we believe that men and women, to be happy and follow the Lord’s teachings must understand one another. And to understand one another is to love one another. You have found your way to the chapel of lovers – so dedicated by the Count of l’Ouray a half century ago. He sought the advice of my order, against the wishes of many, when it came to who he was to marry. He was so in love with his mate, that he had this chapel built, for others to find similar guidance on matters of the heart. Coincidence, I think not. But, as for your plea to our Lord - the best advice I can give you is this. You must see her for who she is. If you insist on seeing her as something she is not, only you will be to blame for your broken dreams."

  Charles raised his hand to protest, stopped and thought about what the brother had said. "See her for who she truly is..." he murmured. "Thank you for your wisdom, brother. I will think on what you have said. God be with you." Charles bowed and started to walk back towards the entrance.

  The brother smiled and made the sign of the cross in the air. "And with you my son. May you find what you seek."

  With great force of will he turned his mind back to the problem of the ship. The Indiana was supposedly the ship of the infamous Captain Jac.

  His mind stopped on that for a moment, as the priest’s words echoed in his head. Jac – Jacqueline. When he laid out everything around his encounters with the contessa her odd behavior, her appearance and style of dress, her reading materials from the bookshop, and the timeline of their encounters, he didn’t like the picture it painted.

  His mind jumped back to The Indiana. It had been sitting right there in port. And he hadn’t been quick enough to board it, and as a result, they had gotten away. He was angry with himself about that. Airfield Master and protocol be dammed, he should have just boarded the ship.

  He re-played the encounter in his head. The ship had looked quite a bit like The Bessie Quinn – not surprising, as that make of ship was common, but even the coloring had been the same.

  He wracked his brain, comparing the two ships - he'd seen a great deal of the interior of the Bessie Quinn, and had studied it from a distance as they pursued it. Were the hull ports in the same locations? The grand poche was of the same design, of that much he was certain. He wanted the contessa to be an innocent, slightly frivolous noblewoman with beautiful eyes and a flirtatious smile. He was afraid she was nothing of the sort.

  “See her for who she truly is…” he resolved. “And if I am correct in my suspicions, I will be seeing her again very soon.”

  Jacquelin
e

  Tyler and Nina made it back to this ship just after I did. Seamus and Niccolò saw to the take-off checklist as I stashed the books in my cabin. David watched our proceedings with the fascination of a small child. This was a different world for him. The trip from Aubagne to Sicily would take about a week if everything went smoothly. When the last of the minor details were taken care of, we took to the sky.

  The first three days we had smooth sailing, clear skies and nothing on the horizon. David and Marie spent hours closeted down in her workshop while I read through the books I picked up in Monsieur Petrie's shop. There wasn’t much of use, but I did find mention of ancient tunnels beneath the city predating Rome and the Vatican. The author, Mestockle, postulated that the tunnels sheltered the early Christians from the wrath of Pontius Pilate immediately following the crucifixion. He also suggested that they were older by far than even that ancient date, housing the secrets of early humans back to the inception of Lilith and the fall of Adam and Eve.

  On the fourth day, David brought me down to Marie's workshop to show me what they had been working on. Parts and components were scattered across the tables — it looked like a small whirlwind had come through the room. This was far from Marie's normally neat and tidy style, but her eyes glowed with accomplishment as she presented their project. Or projects, rather.

  Marie handed me the small cylindrical tube I had taken from one of Charles's men. "That, Captain, is a beautiful little device. As you yourself saw, it is capable of projecting a beam of light. Very handy. It worked on a system of mirrors inside the tube to project the light, and chemical combinations providing the light source. Henri and I worked out which chemicals they were using and have been able to duplicate the effect." She handed me a metal cube about the size of my palm. One of the faces was made of clear glass, and there was a small lever on one side, flush with the metal. "Unfortunately, we don't have the materials onboard to make the smaller cylindrical versions, but go ahead, give it a try."