The Fiddler's Dagger

by W H Lock

  He grinned in response. It was a grin that started slow, just a little tug at the corner of his mouth and then it would ignite like a 10,000 mega-watt bulb. He pulled a few gold finesses out of his pocket and slid them across.

  "Keep the change," he said.

  Leslie just grunted in reply. She weighed out what he'd paid on the small scale next to the register. She pocketed the rest. She poured him a dark beer and slid it across.

  Quinn leaned over to look at the paper. Bria pretended not to notice him but felt the need to lean over to block his view.

  "Did you see that ludicrous display last night?"

  Bria didn't respond.

  "What was she thinking sending Walcot on that early?"

  Bria stood up and tucked the paper under an arm. She said, "I gotta take a dump."

  Quinn took a sip of the beer. He made a face that tried to cover up his grimace. It didn’t work. He pushed the beer away and said, "My name is Quinn."

  "I heard the first time," Leslie said.

  After several minutes of silence, Quinn said, "I used to run around Cleveland and Chicago. You might have heard of me?"

  Leslie shook her head. "Should I have?"

  Bria came back a few moments later, carrying the hamburger that Quinn had ordered. She slapped it down in front of him and then tossed a roll of flatware next to it.

  "Damn it," she said. "I forgot to wash my hands." She went back to the bathroom.

  Quinn looked at the plate. He slowly pushed it away with a finger wrapped in a napkin.

  "Look," Quinn said. "Maybe you can help me out? I'm looking for someone. He likes these sorts of places. He's got black hair like mine, slightly darker skin, and green eyes? He goes by Oscar. Seen him?"

  Without missing a moment, Leslie said, "Ain't seen anyone like that here, pal. Ever."

  "Are you sure? He likes to recruit in these sort of places when he--"

  "No. I know that kind of guy. But the guy you described? Nope."

  "What about the other--"

  "No."

  "Anyone else?" He turned to look around the bar.

  "Nope."

  "Maybe if I leave a message?"

  "Nope."

  "Look, I get it," Quinn said. "You're mad you're stuck out here away from where the big action is at, but that's not my fault, okay? I'm just trying to find a friend to warn him about a poison apple. You know what? This burger smells like shit. There. I said it. Literal shit. And this beer is crap too!"

  "It's not my fault no one knows who you are, pal. You don't need to take it out on me."

  "Damn right you don't know who I am. I'm the crown prince of crime! I've pulled cons that netted more money than any you will ever see!"

  "Tell it to the streets, pal," Bria said as she appeared behind him. She grabbed him by the back of his suit coat and physically hauled him out of his chair. In short order, she frog-marched him across the narrow room. She unceremoniously tossed Quinn out of the bar. She slammed the steel door closed behind him.

  Leslie waited a few moments and pulled out her cell phone. She thumbed through her contacts looking for a specific unnamed number. When she found it, she texted: just like you said. He even did a dance number.

  The response: Cool. Did you say you’d never heard of him?

  Leslie typed out: twice for good measure.

  Good job came the response. There'll be a bonus in this for you.

  Any time, Oscar, Leslie typed out before deleting all the messages and the contact number.

  Bria took a seat back at the bar with her paper. She said, "Well, if he's not going to eat that." She reached over and pulled the hamburger and beer over in front of her.

  Chapter Four

  Vatican City, Italy

  Quinn loved Italy. He had been to Sicily but had never made it to Rome. He was glad he was making the time to check Rome out now. For Quinn, Rome was a delight. The juxtaposition of the ancient with the modern was a wonder. In his travels, Quinn had seen many magical constructs. Incomprehensible magical constructs like the Nazca Lines. Elegant ones like the catacombs of Istanbul. Intricate magical wonders like the Forbidden City in Beijing. But they paled compared to Vatican City.

  The centuries-old magical fortification for the city was the Leonine Wall. The physical wall had been built on foundations that were themselves millenniums old. The layered magical protections had been reinforced every day since Rome had been invaded in 846. In most places around Vatican City, the physical wall no longer existed, but the magical version of the Leonine Wall still operated at full capacity.

  The glowing eldritch lines of magical force burned in the sky, day or night, extending the protections well above the buildings. The vast majority of humanity passed through the Wall without ever noticing. But magical creatures were a different matter altogether. A single message reverberated from the Leonine Wall; join or leave. Quinn felt the constant drumbeat against his magical senses, pushing him to leave or fall to his knees to swear fealty.

  Which he ignored.

  Quinn folded in with a group of tourists going through Saint Peter's Basilica. Unlike his normal tailored suits, Quinn wore a black shirt with the classic white collar, black blazer, blue jeans with cowboy boots. He topped it off with gold wire-rimmed eyeglasses. He tucked his hands back behind his back and walked with a slow, deliberate gate.

  Quinn strolled through the Basilica. He stopped from time to time to admire a point of interest before making his way outside. As much as Quinn enjoyed the tour, he wasn't here to see the Vatican or its extensive art collection. He wanted access to one specific building. The Mater Ecclesiae.

  If the Vatican was the heart of the Catholic Church, the Mater Ecclesiae was the heart of the magical Catholic world. The building was small and unremarkable. It was nestled between Sala Clementina and Casina Pio IV in the extensive Vatican gardens. The building housed the Order of Saint Cyprian. The Order of Saint Cyprian served the Pope and the Catholic Church in all things magical and supernatural or as the church referred to it, all things miraculous. If Gwen was a nun skilled in the arts of magic, she would be a member of the order.

  Quinn's plan was simple. He would pose as a priest and walk into the Mater Ecclesiae. Once there, he had no doubts he would find something. Something that proved Nelson wrong. Something that would show Quinn that Gwen hadn’t played him for a sucker. He didn’t know what was going on, but he was sure she hadn’t conned him. He knew it.

  The building was composed of three parts. The oldest being a four-story-high bailey tower with a conical roof made from orange tiles. It was the oldest building in Vatican City. A chapel made up the second part of the building. The last section was a simple, square, and energy efficient three-story office building.

  The crushed white gravel path wound through the Gardens to the front door of the chapel of the Mater Ecclesiae. An intricate wrought-iron gate blocked entry. The large gate had a smaller person-sized door built into the overall design. Lines of power flowed along the intricate geometrical shapes of the gate.

  If the wards around Vatican City were porous, then the wards around the simple three-story building of the Mater Ecclesiae were diamond hard. Generations of masters had worked on these wards. Invisible to mortal eyes, the lines of force gleamed with a diamond-hard clarity in the serene landscape of the interior of Vatican City.

  Quinn wasn't an expert on wards, but he'd seen a lot in his time and cracked a fair number. He knew instinctively that no one could walk into the Mater Ecclesiae. Someone would have to invite Quinn through the wards. Quinn grinned. The weakest part of any defense was the people behind it. Quinn hadn’t met a person yet that he couldn’t charm. He took off his glasses, fished a cloth out of his pocket and cleaned the lenses. All he needed now was just one person.

  "This area of the city is not open to tourists," someone said from behind Quinn. The man's voice was low and dangerous. It was the voice of someone who wanted trouble.

  Quinn didn't suppress his surprise. He y
elped and jumped at the sudden and unexpected voice coming from behind him. He added a bit of play acting by bobbling his glasses in his hands before they fell to the ground. He knelt and squinted as he patted the ground theatrically searching for his lost glasses.

  From his perspective on the ground, Quinn got a good look at the stranger. The man was short and wide. He was solidly built as if he had been carved from rock. He wore a white tailored suit, a white shirt with a scarlet red tie and matching red pocket square. His hair was in a short military style. He wore combat boots.

  "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm-I'm-I'm not, I'm not, I'm not, I'm not a tourist, you see. I am here on business. Officially Catholic sort of business." Quinn stood up and tugged at his black and white collar. "Catholic business."

  The man just cocked his head to the side, slowly and deliberately until the joints popped. He reached into his jacket pocket as if he were reaching for a phone or a pack of cigarettes.

  Quinn didn't like the way this was going. He dropped one hand behind his back and began the spell to summon his Wind Blade. This guy looked like the sort that enjoyed getting his hands on his work. With his Wind Blade, Quinn would make short work of this jackass.

  "Can you help me find my glasses,” Quinn said, reaching out with his other hand. "I seemed to have dropped them when you startled me."

  The man in white pulled a sword from the inside his jacket, the same way a clown pulled an endless chain of colored handkerchiefs.

  This had gone south too fast, Quinn thought to himself. With a snapping flick, Quinn brought his Wind Blade into existence. The blade was weightless and capable of cutting through almost any material in the mortal world. He’d make short work of this lunatic’s weapon and then cut him to ribbons.

  "Perhaps I can be of assistance here, Brothers?" A much calmer female voice interrupted the two men.

  The man in white pushed the sword back into his jacket and snapped to attention. Quinn released the Wind Blade as it formed and turned to look at the person behind him.

  She was a nun. Unlike other nuns, her clothing was the same as many of the male priests Quinn had seen in the Holy City. However, this woman’s cassock was silk, and not cotton or some other cheap fabric. Her shoulder cape was pipped in blue with matching blue buttons with a matching blue sash. The sash tied off at her left hip. The end of the sash dropped to her knee. The end was embroidered with a complex golden Celtic knotwork around a silver cross.

  "Oh, Sister, uh, thanks, I was, uh, I asked our brother about a sister I had planned to meet here at the Ecclesiae. Sister Gwendolyn?"

  The nun had a controlled lack of reaction to the name. She looked at the man in white and nodded. "I can handle this, brother."

  The man in white nodded curtly without breaking his glare at Quinn. After too long of a moment he turned and walked away.

  Quinn gave the nun his best smile. The one full of hope and light. The smile that said we are such good friends. "Can you tell Sister Gwen that I am here? I can go in the Mater and wait...in the...um...waiting room?" Quinn had envisioned this going smoother.

  The nun said nothing. She turned at the waist, keeping her feet and legs still. She murmured to herself in Latin and moved her hands out stiffly in front of her. She brought her hands together at heart level; fingers bent at the knuckles to form right angles. In a series of small, swift, complex movements with her hands that ended with rotating her waist back while keeping her left hand at her side and gesturing with her right in a wide sweep she summoned a glowing map of Vatican City and its magical defenses.

  Across the map were white, blue, and orange dots. Except right in the center was a single red dot. Quinn didn’t have to guess who the red dot was supposed to represent.

  "Even without the wall marking you, it is obvious you are impersonating a priest," she said in her neutral tone.

  "Oh, yeah, how's that?" Quinn said.

  "You're wearing the shirt and collar of a Jesuit but the jacket of a Dominican. And neither would be seen wandering the Vatican grounds in blue jeans and cowboy boots." She ended on a sly grin and a sidelong glance at Quinn.

  Quinn shook his head and hooked his thumbs into his jeans. He kicked at the gravel and said, "I thought I’d be a cool casual kind of priest, one that works with teens. From Texas."

  "You should think on it more," she said. “Come with me.”

  Together they turned and walked away from the Mater Ecclesiae and deeper into the gardens surrounding the building. Quinn felt the magic being funneled in through the garden. It made the bottoms of his feet tickle.

  "Tell me, Sister..." Quinn paused and left room for the nun walking next to him to add in her name. When she didn't, he continued, "I really am here to meet with a friend. Sister Gwen. She is a member of your order."

  "There is no Sister at the Ecclesiae by that name, I am sorry," the woman said.

  "Maybe she went by a different name? If I may," Quinn stopped under the shade of a tree and held his hands up, suggesting by a motion he wanted to cast a spell.

  The nun stopped in front of Quinn. She turned to face him. After a moment of consideration, she nodded.

  Quickly, Quinn summoned a Circle of Rhith. The aquamarine circle hovered over his outspread left hand. The intricate swirls and lines of the magical circle glimmered as they moved in and out of visible light. There was briefly the scent of ivy and rain on the wind.

  A short column of light arose from the center of the circle. In response to Quinn's whispered commands, the column collapsed and revealed the glowing figure of a woman in a dress. In his right hand, Quinn drew the Rune of Siap in the air. He took hold of the glowing rune and used it to shape the glowing female form as a sculpture shaped clay. With delicate strokes and touches, Quinn summoned how he remembered Gwen when she was happy. They were walking in the park, the day that later they spent together in her bedroom. She looked back over her shoulder, her hands reaching to hold his and to lead him on into the darkness. She was laughing; her head tilted to the side and eyes partially closed in delight.

  He held up the illusion of Gwen. The circle rotated in his hand, spinning the image of Gwen around as if she were a dancer.

  After a long moment of silence, the nun asked, "Why do you seek this woman?"

  Quinn looked at her and then did what he did best, "Work brought together us but…." He looked at the image of Gwen glowing above his hand. "Some things happened between us. I said something I shouldn't have? I don't know. But I wanted to reconnect with her. To maybe..." he looked away and shrugged.

  "There is no Sister here by this name," the nun repeated. She looked at the memory that Quinn had shaped. In her careful and measured tones, she said, "This woman. I imagine, if she had served in the Ecclesiae as a novice, she would have been gifted in her studies but troubled by her past and given to extreme solutions. She may even have heeded voices she should have eschewed. My advice to you: forget her. Let her go into whatever darkness calls her. Do not chase her. That is the path to ruin."

  Quinn let the Circle go. The memory of Gwen twirled as it faded, flaring the skirt out before dissolving into sparkles. He nodded and walked away without saying a word.

  Once he was outside of the Vatican, Quinn found a pay phone somewhere in the back roads of Rome. He dialed the international number for the FBI. When someone answered, Quinn said, "Tell Nelson to meet me in Savannah." And he hung up the phone.

  On his way out of Rome, Quinn changed his mind about the city. It wasn't interesting how the old and the new mixed. Rome needed to let go of the past. Bury it and pave over it for a parking lot. And then forget it. Quinn couldn't imagine ever wanting to come back.

  Chapter Five

  Savannah, GA

  Quinn had never been to Savannah. Savannah was the oldest city in the State of Georgia. To Quinn, the city had an elegant and easy charm. Quinn thought he should have felt at home because the English founded Georgia as a penal colony. But there was something off-putting about the city. Something Quinn couldn’t p
lace.

  Quinn had received a text message from an unknown number to meet at Forsyth Park. The park was thirty acres nestled in the oldest part of the city. It was a perfect city park. Just large enough to feel significant but not so big you couldn't walk around it during lunch. The interior had several fountains and open green spaces for kids to run around. The southern charm of the city had been refined and distilled to its purest essences in the neighborhood surrounding the park. Everywhere he looked, everything was surrounded by wrought iron and elegant topiary.

  Quinn found Nelson sitting on a bench on the north side of the park. The older man was still dressed in his white shirt, black tie and pants, and brown wingtips. From behind, Quinn could see that Nelson was losing his hair on the crown of his head and by the way that he combed it, Nelson didn't give a damn.

  Quinn slid on to the bench beside Nelson.

  Nelson held up a small brown paper bag. "I'm a sucker for roasted peanuts. The fresher, the better.”

  Quinn waved off the offer of freshly roasted peanuts. “I’m more of a toasted almonds guy.”

  Nelson nodded, chewed some peanuts, and then said, “What can you tell me about that house?" Nelson pointed at the large home on the corner across the street from the northeast corner of Forsyth Park.

  Quinn studied the house. "They're old money. I'd guess going back before the Civil War old money. Without any Circles, I can’t tell you much about the wards other than it has some. The light has likely faded from the family fortunes, but they're well-off with only the poor cousin's having to work for a living. Probably not a lot of cash on hand, most of it tied up in bank accounts both on and offshore. The Greek columns with the swoopy bits on top of the windows are a nice flourish. In my professional opinion, these people think the world is rigged in their favor."

  "Nice," Nelson said without any meaning. "That is the home of Jeremiah Beauregard Gartrell the Fifth. The Gartrell's helped found Savannah. They were good Catholics. And they made the bulk of their fortune on the backs of others."