by Alex Archer
She started for the front of the pub, noticed the police car pulling to a stop out on the street in front of the building and headed for the back door. She was in the wind before the police arrived.
8
A few blocks from the pub, Annja stopped at a bodega and used the pay phone. She called the number she’d found for Gaetano Carlini’s home and listened to it ring twice before it was picked up.
“Hello?” Gaetano sounded half-asleep.
“It’s Annja Creed. I’m sorry to be calling so late.” Annja glanced at the clock on the wall behind the counter. The young Indian male working the counter watched her, though whether he just liked looking or was suspicious she couldn’t say.
“Ah, Annja.” She heard fumbling noises over the line. “It’s very late, isn’t it?”
“Or very early, depending on your point of view.”
Gaetano chuckled. “Yes, it is. Are you all right?”
“I am, but I’m afraid something’s happened to Edmund. He’s not with you, is he?”
“No. Why would he be with me?”
“I was just hoping he was there because he’s not at home.” Annja quickly brought Gaetano up to date on her attempted kidnapping and Edmund’s probable abduction.
“Oh, dear. You’ve gone to the police?”
That required a further explanation.
“I see.” Gaetano sounded thoughtful and more awake. “I could, as Edmund’s friend, insist that something be done to find him. You said this inspector’s name is Westcox?”
“Yes. But I was hoping you might be able to help out a little more.”
“How so?”
“What do you know about the magic lantern Edmund bought from the auction house?”
“Only what he’s told me, but I can find out more. I have a number of contacts throughout the city. I’ll try to uncover what I can.”
“That would be awesome.”
“What about you? Are you safe?”
“I think so.”
“But you can’t go back to your hotel, can you?”
“Not without a forced audience with DCI Westcox. And he might be successful in putting me on the first plane out of London.”
“Well, we won’t let things go that far. However, it’s plain that you can’t do anything else until we know more, and you require safe habitation while we look. Would you feel comfortable coming here? There’s an extra room in my quarters, and I don’t mind putting you up.”
Annja almost sighed in relief. Being on the run in London, which she was partially familiar with as a tourist but definitely not as a fugitive, sounded horrible. Her chances of getting caught by the police grew exponentially the longer she stayed on the streets. The trip to London wasn’t turning out the way she’d expected it to.
“You don’t mind?”
Gaetano laughed. “One of my neighbors is an old spinster who is convinced that—because of the magic—I am in league with the devil. I can’t wait for her to catch a glimpse of you arriving at all hours.”
Annja didn’t much feel like laughing.
“Meet me here at the shop. I’ll put on some of that terrible coffee that you Americans treasure so much. And try not to fret about Edmund. He’s a resourceful lad and a skilled escapologist. I’m sure he’s handling himself just fine.”
Even though she wanted to believe that, Annja didn’t hold out much hope. Escapology was all about knowing the traps inside and out. It wasn’t about escaping from people determined to kill you.
* * *
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, ANNJA stood in front of the entrance to Carlini’s Magic Bullet Club. The morning had grown colder and the fog had gotten more thick.
Less than a minute later, it opened with the same theatrical creak as before. The weak light in the corridor flared to life as the door closed behind her. For just a moment as she stood there, alone, Annja felt nervous.
Her chances of getting out of the corridor if this turned out to be a trap weren’t good. Just as she felt ready to explode, the door on the right opened and Gaetano stuck his head through. He wore a colorful bathrobe over flannel pajamas.
He waved her forward. “Come on, then.”
Annja walked through the door. As she’d noticed earlier, all the doors actually led to the foyer outside the dining area. The puzzle was that in name only. Of course, a guest could still be wrong, but he or she wouldn’t be turned away.
“You haven’t heard from Edmund?”
Gaetano shook his head as he led the way back into the dining room. “No. I’ve tried some of the friends we have in common. Woke them up and worried them, as well.”
“Then he is missing.” The news hit Annja hard. She’d hoped that the break-in at his flat only signified that his home had been violated and that he might yet be free.
“Yes. I’m afraid so. Please. Sit.” Gaetano gestured to the table he’d set up with a coffee and tea service.
Annja slipped out of her coat and draped it over a chair. She sat in the chair Gaetano pulled out for her, then watched as the man took a seat across from her. He poured coffee and pushed the cup and saucer across.
“Would Edmund call you if he was in trouble?”
Gaetano poured a cup of tea for himself. “About something like this? Something involving magic?” He nodded. “Of course he would. In addition to knowing a lot about legerdemain and the art of illusion, I also know a great number of people. Like, for instance, the auctioneer that worked the estate sale where Edmund picked up Anton Dutilleaux’s magic lantern.”
Gaetano poured milk into his tea before continuing. “There was nothing special about the sale. Merely a descendant of a collector getting rid of items no one else cared about.” He set the creamer down and looked at Annja.
She blew on her coffee and waited. She wrapped her hands around the cup to absorb the welcome heat.
“In the case of Dutilleaux’s magic lantern, there was another interested party, but he learned of the sale too late to bid. This is where it gets interesting. And, perhaps, more troubling.” Gaetano laced his fingers. “Have you heard of a man named Jean-Baptiste Laframboise?”
From the way Gaetano said the name, Annja knew the person wasn’t a good man. She missed having her computer and a ready internet connection. In seconds she could be infinitely more knowledgeable than she presently was. “No.”
“Neither had I, but the auctioneer told me about him. As it turns out, Laframboise is a black marketer. One of those chaps who can—no matter how difficult or how illegal it is—get it for you. For a price.”
“Laframboise deals in antiquities?”
“Not as a regular field of operations, no. In fact, the auctioneer inquired after Laframboise to a policeman friend of his. A man in Scotland Yard who deals with forgeries and the like. According to the detective at the Yard, he’s made quite the name for himself in the drug trade and human trafficking.”
“Then why is he after Dutilleaux’s magic lantern?”
Gaetano shook his head. “I have no earthly idea. The auctioneer went on to tell me that Laframboise was quite distraught when he discovered the magic lantern had been sold.”
“When did Laframboise find out?”
“He talked to the auctioneer two days ago.”
“When was the sale?”
“A few weeks ago.”
“Laframboise just found out about it?”
Gaetano shrugged. “Evidently. The auction was a small thing. I remember that Edmund was worried someone might snatch up his prize. Professors don’t make a lot, you know.”
Annja nodded. She knew. That was one of the reasons she didn’t teach full-time. But the main reason was because she’d rather be at a dig getting her hands dirty. The chance to see something no one had seen in a very long time was exciting. A lot of archaeologists lived for it.
And a lot of them had died for it.
“How did Laframboise find out about the auction?”
“My friend didn’t know.”
&nb
sp; “How did Laframboise track Dutilleaux’s lantern to Edmund?”
A deep frown creased Gaetano’s face. “Two of Laframboise’s bullyboys showed up on my friend’s doorstep and assaulted him.”
“He didn’t think to tell you or Edmund?”
“This only happened a few hours ago. And they threatened him if he told anyone. He has a family to think of. He was very scared the whole time he was talking to me. Had I not gone to him and had we not been longtime friends, I don’t think he would have told me.”
Taking a deep breath, Annja pushed her anger away. “There are a lot of innocents involved in this.”
“Exactly my thoughts.” Gaetano sighed. “I fear I, too, have been remiss in the assistance I could have given Edmund.”
“What do you mean?”
“Edmund was thrilled with his acquisition. I’d promised to help him research the matter and Anton Dutilleaux and I hadn’t. I’m currently endeavoring to correct that oversight by calling in some favors.”
For a moment, Annja was silent, chasing thoughts of her own. “There is one other possibility.”
Gaetano cocked an eyebrow.
“I was at Edmund’s flat. His collection of magic props doesn’t appear to be there.”
“No. He keeps them in a storage unit.”
“Do you know which storage unit?”
Gaetano smiled when he realized what she was actually asking. “Of course I do. That’s where Edmund shows off his collection. There’s no room at his flat.” He pushed himself up from the table. “Let me go change clothes. I have a car around back.”
While waiting for Gaetano to get dressed, Annja wandered the dining area and stared at the caricatures. Most of the names were unfamiliar to her, but she recognized the famous ones.
Then, on the third wall she examined, she found a caricature that she recognized immediately, though the name was new to her. It had been drawn thirty-three years ago.
The man in the picture hadn’t changed in the intervening years. He was gaunt to the point of emaciation, had white hair that hung to his shoulders and a beard that extended to his chest. He held a long staff in one hand and was dressed in a robe and tall, pointed hat. His eyes were deep-set and she knew the color of them even though the caricature had been done in charcoal and sprayed with a fixative.
Roux.
9
The name came unbidden to Annja. She was aware that she smiled and grimaced at the same time. Roux and Garin Braden were the two people who, like her, were somehow connected to the mystical sword she carried.
Five hundred years ago, Roux had been charged with watching over Joan of Arc, and he had failed. As penance, he and his apprentice, Garin, had been assigned—or cursed—with finding Joan’s broken sword, reforging it and placing it once more in the hands of a champion.
Most days, Annja was pretty certain a mistake had been made regarding her role as a champion. But she had to admit that the sword had changed her life in a number of ways.
“What do you see?”
Startled, Annja looked at the doorway where Gaetano stood. She didn’t know what to say.
Gaetano walked over to her and pulled on a pair of glasses. He studied the picture. “Ah, yes. The fabulous Raymond the Red.” He smiled happily. “He was quite an amazing performer.”
“Was he?” Annja looked closely. “He looks kind of crotchety and unpleasant.”
“If you can see that, then my father truly captured the essence of this man in his sketch.” Gaetano shook his head. “Raymond the Red had a sweet-and-sour disposition. You never knew what you were going to get with him. Children and women loved him, though.”
“Seriously?” Annja’s own experiences with Roux had left her between camps. She loved him as a mentor, and perhaps even as a father figure—though she couldn’t be sure since she hadn’t known her own father—but he often got on her last nerve. Roux could be vexing and irritating, and incredibly demanding.
Over the time they’d known each other, she’d come to look forward to and dread every moment they spent together.
“Oh, yes. I was just a boy when I first met Raymond the Red. Perhaps eight or nine. The adults didn’t care for him so much. He was far too opinionated for their tastes, and he didn’t seem to delight over magic the way they did. But he had the gift.”
“The gift?”
“For magic.” Gaetano shook his head. “He was fantastic. Things appeared, disappeared and changed into other things. Even as practiced and experienced as the audience here was, there were a number of his tricks no one could explain. It was as though he were truly able to work magic.”
Annja didn’t comment on that. “Raymond the Red asked to be drawn as Merlin?”
“No. That was my father’s idea. I asked him about it once, but he told me Raymond could be no one else.” Gaetano gestured toward the door with his hat. “Shall we?”
“Yes.” Annja led the way, but she couldn’t resist taking one more look at the drawing.
* * *
SINCE THEY WERE IN GAETANO’S car and moving through the early-morning London traffic and wouldn’t be easily traced if DCI Westcox had assigned someone to look for her, Annja turned on her phone and called Roux. The phone rang three times.
“What?” Roux sounded as gruff as always.
“Dutilleaux’s magic lantern. Have you ever heard of it?”
“You called me for a game of Twenty Questions?”
“No. Actually, I don’t have a lot of time.”
“Neither do I. I’m in Atlantic City and the tables are running hot. I’ve got a private poker game set up in…twenty minutes.”
“I’m in London and the police are looking for me. Do I win?”
Roux harrumphed theatrically. “Okay. Tell me about it.”
Annja grinned at that. Roux treated her like she was a pain, like she was the child that kept returning to the nest, but he cared about her.
“I don’t have time to go into all the particulars. I’m trying to help a friend. He got mixed up with something called Dutilleaux’s magic lantern. From the old phantasmagoria shows.”
“I know what a magic lantern is and I’m familiar with phantasmagoria. Childish theater for adults. Shameless.” In the background, a croupier called for bets.
“I thought it might be one of those things you sometimes look for. This one’s supposed to be cursed.”
“No. Not to my knowledge. I’ll have a look around. Later.”
“Sure. Just any time. I’m sure I can keep the police waiting till you decide to act. And as long as I don’t actually have the magic lantern, it’s not like the curse can harm me or my friend.”
“Sarcasm isn’t an endearing trait.”
“It wasn’t intended to be.”
“Did you kill someone?”
From anyone else, the question would have been ludicrous. But not from Roux. He was serious. He had been with Annja when they’d left dead men lying in their wake. “No.”
“And you’re not with Garin?”
“No.”
“Because getting in trouble with the police is something I’d expect from Garin.”
Garin Braden lived outside the law but he was so rich that a phalanx of attorneys protected him from most repercussions.
“It’s not like I planned this.”
While he drove, Gaetano glanced at her with polite but definite interest. He had an easy touch on the wheel and the sedan glided through the traffic.
“Are you going to be in London long?” Roux sounded only mildly interested.
“Maybe longer than I’d planned to if this doesn’t work out right.”
“I’ll text you the number of a private inquiry agent there in London.”
“A private inquiry agent? Like Sherlock Holmes? I’ve got goose bumps already.”
“Don’t be insufferable. Do you want the number?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll text it to you now.”
“Just tell me. When I get off th
e phone with you, I’m turning the phone off. I’ve got the police looking for me, remember?”
“How am I supposed to know if anything happens to you?”
His concern warmed Annja, but she wasn’t going to relay that to Roux. They’d only both be embarrassed. Roux was as uncomfortable with airing personal feelings as she was.
“Even the London police give me one phone call. I’ll call you.”
Roux sighed. “You know, I just got away to do a little gambling. It’s truly depressing when an old man can’t relax in his twilight years.”
“As long as you’ve lived, you’ve already passed your twilight years.”
“Don’t be impertinent.” Roux gave her the phone number and made her repeat it. “Should you contact her, give her my name. Tell her she will be compensated for her time.”
“I can pay my own way.”
“This woman is one of the best I have ever seen, Annja. She’ll surprise you.”
Roux didn’t speak highly of many people other than himself.
“Whatever she tells you to do, or even suggests, don’t take it under advisement. Just do it.”
“All right.”
“And take care of yourself, Annja. I still find you more interesting than vexing.” Roux hung up before she could respond.
For a moment, Annja sat there dazed and a little mystified. Roux and Garin were part of her life because of the sword, which Garin wanted to destroy or control, but she sometimes forgot that their relationships went deeper than that. Roux and Garin had started out as master and apprentice and often carried on more as father and wayward—very wayward—son. Now, when they weren’t operating under a truce, they occasionally tried to kill each other.
It was all very complicated.
She remembered to shut off the phone, then dropped it into her pocket.
“An old friend?” Gaetano glanced at her.
“Yes.”
Gaetano was waiting for her to reveal more, but magicians weren’t the only ones who could keep secrets. She glanced at the dash clock. It was 2:48 a.m. She decided to wait till later in the morning to call the number Roux had given her.
If she didn’t have Edmund Beswick back by that time.