A Pursuit of Home

by Kristi Ann Hunter

  Jess certainly didn’t want them throwing those gains away for her sake.

  She shook her head and looked Kit dead in the eye. “Don’t love me, then. I’m not worth it.”

  Whatever Kit was going to say was cut off by a knock on the door. Jess went to let the servant in to set up the dinner they’d ordered. As soon as the servant left, the men joined them to plan their next steps. They had a bowl to find and a country to save.

  Then Jess would disappear again.

  Kit was right. Jess loved them all, and she loved them too much to keep weighing them down.

  While Kit changed into her night rail behind the screen in the corner of the room, Jess donned her dark dress and then climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin and closing her eyes.

  She waited while Kit blew out the candle and got herself situated, then waited some more while Kit’s breathing evened out and the moon rose.

  The evening had been full of discussion about the paintings and examination of the diary notes. With nothing obvious and the sun setting, they’d all agreed to start the search in the morning.

  Only Jess wasn’t waiting. No, nothing was obvious, but nothing was ever going to be obvious. It was going to be like everything else so far. She was going to chase after the next idea and hope to stumble across what she needed as she went. It’d been a life philosophy that had worked well for her so far. Why stop now?

  Once the inn had quieted, as much as an inn ever did, she slipped from the bed and crept to the door, avoiding the squeaky floorboards she’d discovered earlier in the day. The door felt a bit more jammed than it had earlier, and she had to tug at the latch to get it to open.

  The reason spilled into her room and blinked up at her.

  Derek, dressed in a black jacket and brown trousers that looked appalling together but were probably the darkest clothes he’d packed, propped himself onto an elbow and rubbed at his eyes.

  Not wanting to wake Kit, Jess nudged him until he rolled back enough for her to step out of the room and shut the door behind her.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered.

  “Knowing you,” he answered as he stood. “Where are we going?”

  “You’re going back to bed. How did you ever get out of there without Ryland noticing?”

  “I told him he snored and I was going out to the barn to sleep with Jeffreys.”

  If Ryland had believed that, Jess would eat her knife case. She darted a glance around. He was watching from somewhere, but where?

  “Shall we?” Derek gestured toward the stairs. “I’m assuming you haven’t deduced that the bowl is here in the inn.”

  Jess sighed. “I haven’t determined that the bowl is anywhere. I’m just hoping something will make sense if I walk around town.”

  “Good thing I wore dark clothes, then. That is the best way to hide in the shadows, isn’t it?”

  “Dark clothes and stillness,” Jess answered with a nod before heading to the stairs.

  She should try harder to get rid of him, but since nothing was likely to happen tonight, there wasn’t any harm in stealing a few more moments of his company. It was selfish, but she couldn’t help it. Did that mean she didn’t love Derek? Did it mean she loved him more? Did it mean nothing at all?

  Jess needed to find this bowl before it created more questions than she was capable of handling.

  They slipped from the inn and walked toward the older part of town. Unfortunately, what had once been older wasn’t anymore. The market area showed a great deal of recent construction. Jess looked around and frowned. If they’d made significant changes to the town and buildings in the past hundred years, the bowl might be anywhere. It could be displaying flowers in a local manor house for all she knew.

  Near the marketplace was an open area, with a large statue at one end. At some point the statue had probably marked a grand entrance or been surrounded by some type of park, but now it stood awkwardly to the side. Scorch marks on one side of the base indicated a fire in the town’s history, explaining the abundance of newer construction.

  “What did this town look like then?” Derek murmured.

  “We don’t even know for sure when then is. Only the first diary entry has a date.”

  “We know when the queen and her party fled the country,” Derek said with a shrug. “They had to hide the bowl shortly after that in order to know how to place the paintings.”

  Jess squinted her eyes until the moonlight created nothing but silvery shapes. She did that sometimes when looking at art with Derek, as if blurring the details would help her see what he saw. It hadn’t worked yet, but she wasn’t giving up. She could do this. She could forget what was in front of her, forget what she could see, and try to imagine what had been.

  “What did the first passage say?” She nearly had it memorized and assumed he did as well. Though the bowl was at the end of their journey, it would have been the beginning of the queen’s.

  Derek recited the part about hope, despair, and love before continuing, “‘Anoint the king and let him rule, these three shall be his crown, and he will usher in a new day.’”

  “How are hope, despair, and love a crown?” Jess opened her eyes and frowned at Derek. “That’s a weird thing to say, isn’t it?”

  “It’s poetry of a sort, which means everything is symbolic. You can’t take it literally.”

  Jess looked around, but they couldn’t see much from the dark alcove they were tucked into.

  Suddenly, Jess felt incredibly foolish. What had she been thinking? What did she think she would do even if inspiration suddenly struck? The pavement around her was empty and cold, the houses quiet and dark. Piles of boards and stones proved the town was moving on from its prior devastation, meaning the bowl was likely lost and she’d never know it because she didn’t know whether or not she was checking in the right place.

  Whatever had been here when The Six had come through was disappearing. Jess looked up at the statue of some ancient king and gave him a nod. You’re lucky you’re too big to tear down or you’d be next, old man, she thought.

  Despite the fact that this was a fruitless endeavor, she wasn’t ready to go back to the inn yet, wanted to spend these last moments with Derek, collect these last memories. She had to believe that somehow she would find the bowl tomorrow and make a run for it.

  Perhaps it was time to do like Ryland always said she should and send up a prayer or two. It was certainly getting to the point of her not being able to handle the situation on her own. It was going to take a miracle to find the bowl.

  “If you were going to hide something, where would you put it?” Derek asked.

  Jess turned her head toward him. “What do you mean?”

  “Where would you hide something?”

  Leaning back against the stone wall of the alcove, Jess looked about the market area and considered the question.

  Over 150 years ago, a desperate, loyal group had entered this town and decided where to hide something. If she’d been one of them, what would she have done?

  “It would have to be somewhere that would last a long time,” Jess said.

  Derek nodded. “At the time, the Holy Roman Empire was weakening, but Leopold the First’s hold of his family lands wasn’t. They’d know that, at best, it would be years before someone came to retrieve the bowl.”

  “So somewhere that something could remain hidden for years, possibly even decades, through tragedy and weather and people and growth.” She nodded toward the scorch marks. “Not somewhere that could burn down.”

  Derek nodded.

  “It would have to be somewhere I knew I would be able to get back to,” Jess added, following the idea now. “I might bury it, but that’s risky. All it would take would be someone building on top of it to endanger your hiding spot.”

  “I didn’t bring my shovel, so that’s good.”

  Jess blinked and choked back a laugh. Had he just made a joke? She grinned as she continued musing. “If it might hav
e to stay hidden beyond my generation, I’d avoid buildings. Whoever owns them later might renovate or ban you from the premises.”

  “That takes out a lot of places, then.”

  It didn’t leave much, that was sure. She dropped her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. Where would she hide something for an extended period of time?

  When she opened her eyes again, all she could see was the top of the statue and the upper floors of a building across the street.

  She picked her head up and looked at the statue again. Where would she hide something? She’d hide it somewhere that was too much trouble to tear down.

  “Derek,” she said over the excitement building within her, “how large would the head be on a statue that size?”

  “It depends. Some of the great Italian sculptors actually made the head and shoulders bigger so the statue would look proportionate from the ground.”

  “Make a guess.”

  Derek tilted his head and considered the statue before making a circle with his arms. “Probably about this big. Maybe a touch bigger.”

  “That statue. When was it built?”

  “That’s impossible to say from this angle. I’d have to look at the details and—”

  “Old, though, right?”

  “Based on the way the town has grown around it, I would say yes.”

  These three shall be his crown.

  It was the right size. It was the right shape. It was, possibly, the right age.

  If she was wrong, this was going to be very embarrassing, but if she was right—and she really did think she was right—then Jess had found the bowl.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  A brisk night wind blew through the market, cutting through Derek’s trousers and ruffling the tails of his jacket. He followed Jess’s gaze up to the statue. What was she thinking? Did she recognize the man? The pose? Was it some memory from Verbonne?

  He opened his mouth to ask, but before he could she was sliding her spencer jacket off her shoulders and shoving it into his arms. The leather harness that held four of her knives came off next. She slid one knife free and then dropped the harness into his arms as well.

  “What are you . . . ?” Derek trailed off because she had already left their little alcove and was clambering up onto the plinth of the statue.

  One boot wedged into the folds of the king’s robes, then another stepped on the thigh of the leg propped on a rock. Soon her hands were gripping the statue’s shoulders, and her head appeared over the top, knife clenched between her teeth. A few more moments and she was clinging to the back of the statue like a young child. She hooked one leg over the top and then was sitting on the shoulder, hugging the statue’s head, one leg exposed from boot to knee.

  One very shapely leg exposed from boot to knee.

  She took the knife and began banging the top of the head with the handle, giving Derek something other than her leg to look up at.

  Dull thuds rang through the market.

  As much as Derek wanted to drag her down from the statue and ask her what in the world she thought she was doing, his time might be better spent watching for anyone else who might want to come along and do the same.

  After tucking the mass of knives, leather, and fabric under his arm, he set up a pattern of looking from street to alley to house to Jess and then back around again.

  On his third glance up to Jess, which felt like hours later but couldn’t have been because the partial moon still shone down on them, a thin piece of statue flaked away, revealing a glint of metal. It was difficult to drag his eyes away and look around the area once more. On his return to Jess, she’d exposed another portion of metal.

  He could see the shape now. The crown of the statue was a bowl turned upside down and covered.

  Curiosity overwhelmed him, and he darted out of the alcove to pick up a fallen piece of statue. Thin stone with a mixture of stucco and plaster underneath. There was likely a simpler way to remove it from the statue, but Jess wasn’t going to wait around for Derek to figure it out.

  Over the thuds and grunts Jess was sending about the area, another sound emerged. The rattle of wheels.

  “Jess,” Derek hissed, but she was too focused, having just managed to get her knife below the edge of the bowl. The stone casing was falling away rapidly now. Another few minutes and the bowl would be free.

  The question was if she could get it free and get away before whoever was coming their way arrived.

  The best thing Derek could do was hide so that she didn’t have to worry about him as well as herself. He darted back to the alcove just as an old carriage turned the corner. It had once been a grand vehicle, but time and use had left its mark.

  Derek nearly choked as he got a better look at the carriage. He knew that carriage. It drove straight toward Jess and the statue, as if that had been its destination all along.

  A man climbed out, older and with a slight limp. He made his way to the base of the statue and looked up at Jess. “I couldn’t have trapped you better if I’d planned it.”

  Jess looked down at him, somehow managing to smirk even from her crazy perch atop a piece of marble. She pried one more piece of stone loose and flung the piece at the man.

  He stepped back just in time for it to land at his feet instead of on his head. His face was turned away from Derek, but the sneer was clear as he looked up at Jess. “This is the bloodline that I am to believe is fit to rule my forefathers’ homeland? A hoyden willing to expose herself in the middle of the marketplace.”

  “It’s the bloodline that put this thing up here to begin with,” Jess said, not pausing in her work. She stabbed her knife beneath one edge of the bowl and started trying to work it free. “How did you know I was here?”

  “We’ve been following your friends since they left Wiltshire. They made it exceptionally easy, though I must admit I was surprised that they all convened at the Duke of Marshington’s house. They hardly seem the type to socialize in such . . . elevated levels.”

  “Yes,” Jess said with a grunt, “it boggles the mind that a marquis and a duke might know each other.”

  Derek shifted his weight. What should he do? If he ran back to the inn, he’d never be able to get help here in time. Besides, he refused to leave Jess alone, even if he was a measly rescue option. If the limping man kept insulting her friends, she’d be throwing that knife at him. Derek had a feeling the only reason it hadn’t happened already was because she’d only taken one knife up there with her.

  “When the report came to me that you had gotten into a carriage with them and come here, I was surprised. You’ve managed to avoid notice for quite a while.” The man hobbled another step closer, and his horses shifted.

  The jangle of harnesses spurred Derek out of his frozen shock. He needed to do something. As amazing as Jess was, she was stuck up on top of a statue. Unless she’d learned how to fly, she was going to have to climb down that statue, and no matter how quickly she did it, that man was going to be there, most likely with a weapon.

  “Such a shame you couldn’t track me earlier, Lord Bradford. It would have been much simpler to catch me when I was on your property.”

  Derek cringed at the name but pushed away the fear that rose in him upon hearing it. How did she feel facing the man who had taken and possibly even killed her family? Derek couldn’t afford to experience such empathy right now. She needed him to think.

  “So that was you at my home. I wondered. I had to act as if it was.”

  Derek couldn’t overpower Lord Bradford. Neither could Jess. Whatever tricks she might possess, her size could only do so much, and she was up there with only one knife that, by now, would be excessively damaged. Even with a limp, Lord Bradford was taller and had the benefit of being a cruel and—Derek suspected—somewhat insane man.

  There wasn’t anything Derek could do about the confrontation, but there had to be a way he could help. He needed to think like Jess.

  Movement. Forget the details and co
nsider the movement.

  “Such a shame that you didn’t know what you had,” Jess taunted. “You could have found the bowl years ago if only you’d known.”

  “Finding it years ago would have meant nothing. If Napoleon had won the war, my cousin would have been placed in control of the area, as was his right. Since that did not come to pass, now he shall rule the country outright.”

  “Why is she on top of a statue?”

  The whispered voice in Derek’s ear almost made him scream. Only a large hand suddenly covering his mouth stopped the sound. The hand knocked Derek’s spectacles loose, and he reached up to fix them as he turned to look at the whisperer.

  If London could see the Duke of Marshington now, they really would tremble in fright. He was dressed head to toe in black, with a pistol tucked in the waist of his trousers.

  Derek peeled the duke’s hand from his face and said, “Because that’s where the bowl is.”

  “And the man?”

  “Lord Bradford.”

  Derek looked back at the scene in front of him, gaze trailing from the statue to the carriage. “If we can distract him once Jess gets down, can we make a run for it? There’s only one servant, and Bradford limps.”

  Ryland shook his head. “There’s nowhere to run but streets. The carriage will easily be able to give chase before we can get somewhere unless we break into a house. Then we’re still trapped.”

  That made perfect sense. The carriage was also likely where Lord Bradford intended to stuff Jess as soon as she climbed down. The logical thing to do, then, was make sure the carriage didn’t go anywhere. If only he knew how to do that.

  Ryland apparently had other plans, since he was sliding a knife from his boot. “We’ll have to make sure Bradford doesn’t go anywhere.”

  Whatever Ryland intended made Derek’s stomach heave. “Is that necessary?”