by Alex Archer
“Stop! Stop the car!”
The driver did stop, but he came to a rocking halt beside Annja and Fiona. In the backseat, Edmund flung the door open, his face tight with anxiety.
“Get in.”
Annja wasted no time sliding in, and was immediately followed by Fiona. The police officer who’d first spoken yelled in protest and gave chase on foot, but none of them fired their weapons.
The driver, Siasia, was a young West African man who wore his multicolored hair in dreadlocks and chewed gum incessantly. Despite the situation, he blew a pink bubble as he wheeled out onto the next street and churned through traffic.
Edmund stared at the case. “You got the lantern.”
Annja nodded. “Now we get to see what secrets it holds.”
31
Two hours later, back in the safe house Georges had provided, Annja had to admit she was stumped. If the lantern had any secrets, and she was certain it had to, then it was stubbornly holding on to them. Her back aching from the prolonged strain—and maybe from leaping out of buildings and wrestling thugs—she sat up straight at the dining table and massaged her back.
The bronze dragon held on to the lens in its mouth, as well as any secrets it had, and seemed to mock her. She knew that was just her imagination and frustration, but she couldn’t keep from personalizing the little monster.
Fiona and Edmund sat across from her. Fiona occupied herself cleaning their weapons. Edmund had watched every move Annja had made but had thankfully kept his questions to a minimum.
“Is there anything at all you can tell us about the lantern?” Edmund looked a little desperate and worse for wear.
“No more than I’ve already told you.” Annja glumly surveyed the object on the dining table. “The lantern is authentic. Handmade. At least three hundred years old.” She shook her head. “Other than that, I can’t find anything.”
“No secret markings? No hidden code?” Edmund’s disappointment colored his words and showed in the slump of his shoulders.
“None that I can find.” Annja gestured at the array of chemicals and powders she’d used on the lantern. “There are no inscriptions, no contact points that could be braille or glyphs.” The Chinese written language was a collection of strokes that fit neatly into a square shape, and those were sometimes referred to as glyphs.
Exasperated, Edmund leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. “But that doesn’t make sense.”
“I know.”
“There has to be something.”
“If there is, I haven’t found it. The only discrepancy I’ve found is in the lens placement.”
“The fact that there are three grooves for the lens in the dragon’s mouth?” Edmund nodded. “I’d already noticed that.”
“Do you know why they’re there?”
“To focus the lens better during projection. Probably marked off for different distances. Depending on the image.”
Annja looked at the lantern. The reasoning was as sound as anything she’d come up with. “The lens in the dragon’s mouth isn’t the original, is it?”
Edmund shook his head. “No. That was too much to ask for.”
Annja leaned forward again and popped the lens from the dragon’s mouth. It didn’t come out easily.
“I got the best fit I could. I intended to have the lens ground to a better size at a later date. Once I’d figured out what I was going to have painted on the lens.”
“What were you thinking of?”
Edmund frowned. “A black-and-white image of Anton Dutilleaux. Nothing terribly imaginative, I’m afraid.”
Annja tried the lens on the other grooves and couldn’t get it to fit. She finally surrendered and placed it back in the original groove.
Edmund drummed his fingers on the table nervously. “Men have been killed over that lantern. Not just now, but two hundred years ago Anton Dutilleaux was killed for it. There has to be something.”
“I know.” Annja wished she had more to say. She ran her fingers along the lens grooves.
“It could well be that the treasure, whatever it was, is already gone.” Sitting nearby, Fiona poured herself a cup of tea. The aroma lifted Annja’s flagging spirits. Noticing Annja’s look, Fiona pushed the tea across the table to her. “I’ll pour myself another.” She glanced at Edmund. “Would you like one?”
“No. I couldn’t.” Edmund sighed. “Yes. Please.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I simply can’t believe that we would have to undergo all of this for nothing.”
Annja sipped her tea. “Not every mystery gets solved. Not every treasure gets found. Imagine how disappointed Laframboise and Puyi-Jin are going to be.”
Edmund paled. “They’re not going to believe the treasure doesn’t exist. They’re still going to hunt us.” He looked at Annja. “Aren’t they?”
“Unless we can stop them or make them believe it doesn’t exist.”
Fiona returned with two cups. “That’s going to be hard to do, I’m afraid. Now that we’ve had the lantern in our hands, even if we give it back they’ll assume we’ve already figured out whatever secret was there. We’re dealing with greedy men. I daresay they may not even trust themselves.”
When Edmund tried to pick up his teacup, the porcelain tapped against the saucer because his hand was trembling. “We’re in an impossible situation, aren’t we?”
“Getting the lantern didn’t help as much as I’d thought it would.” Annja felt bad about that.
“In one respect, no, it didn’t.” Fiona opened a tin of shortbread cookies. “However, we have definitely set Laframboise and Puyi-Jin at each other’s throats, so that should buy us some time. Otherwise, either of them could have pursued you, Professor.”
“Perhaps we should go to the police at this point.” Edmund looked hopeful. He squared his shoulders. “After all, it is me those two want. Me and the lantern, actually. If I were to turn myself over to the police, they could provide protection and the two of you would be left out of this whole sorry mess.”
Fiona snorted. “I must apologize. I’m not very polite, am I? The police have their uses, Professor, but they’re not so good when it comes to protecting individuals.”
“But as long as I’m with you, I’m putting you in danger.”
“Annja and I are adults, perfectly capable of making our own decisions. We involved ourselves. We could have let you go hang, after all, instead of showing up to rescue you.”
Edmund smiled slightly. “I’m awfully glad you didn’t.”
“Of course you are. Now you need to have a little faith and let us work through this situation.” Fiona leaned back in her chair. “Now, we can kill Laframboise and Puyi-Jin, or we can solve the riddle of the lantern.”
Edmund’s jaw dropped.
“The first will, of course, take some time, but it can be managed. I am not without my resources, and—given the base natures of our opponents—I am not without resolve.” Her eyes glittered like glass. “And after all we’ve been through, I am certainly motivated.”
“Doesn’t sound like I’m going to be getting back to my life anytime soon.”
“That wouldn’t happen until we manage this problem, anyway, would it?”
“No, I suppose not.”
Fiona glanced at Annja. “Not to put any pressure on you, dear, but a solution on your part would certainly be faster and involve less bloodshed and less potential police interest than anything I can offer at this point.”
“I know.” Annja stood. “Let me have some time.”
“Of course. We’re perfectly safe here for the moment. You tend to your investigations, and I’ll see about making more arrangements.”
Annja took the lantern and her backpack, then headed to her room.
* * *
THREE HOURS LATER, ANNJA sat cross-legged and short-tempered on the small bed in the room she’d been assigned. She wished she was back in her loft apartment in Brooklyn. There, surrounded by her books and her personal thi
ngs, she thought her best.
She stared at the lantern, perfectly balanced on the bed. The dragon looked like it was perched and ready to leap out at her.
“Try it. Just give me any excuse.” Annja shook her head. “Talking to the artifact isn’t a good sign. Threatening it is even worse.” Carefully, she got up, put the lantern back in its case and headed out into the living area.
The television was on, replaying a story about the shoot-out at the office building. She’d watched the footage in her borrowed bedroom. So far Laframboise and Puyi-Jin had been mentioned, but no one had dropped Annja’s or Fiona’s names. Magdelaine de Brosses had stated that thieves had broken into her office and stolen the object Laframboise had brought her.
No fingers had been pointed, but Annja knew the fortune-teller was more involved than she was letting on. Puyi-Jin’s men hadn’t found the second room by accident. Laframboise had been set up, and he was probably aware of that, as well.
Although Laframboise probably wasn’t going to be held accountable for much more than defending himself and his property, the legal entanglements would at least slow the man in his pursuit.
Edmund sat on the couch with a deck of cards. He kept making them disappear and reappear mechanically. His eyes were unfocused, unseeing, and he didn’t notice her until she stepped directly in front of him.
“Going somewhere?”
“Rooftop. I need to clear my head.” Annja looked around. “Where’s Fiona?”
“She went out with Georges. They’re up to something, but she didn’t say what.” Edmund squinted at her. “What’s on the rooftop?”
“Peace of mind, I hope.”
“You still haven’t gotten anywhere with—” Edmund stopped himself and sighed. “Of course you haven’t. Otherwise, you’d say.”
“I would.”
“Are you going to be all right on your own?”
“Yes. In the meantime, why don’t you look back through the Dutilleaux material. See if there’s some new angle. Anything.”
“What should I look for?”
“If I knew, I’d tell you. Hopefully we missed something. We need a new trail.”
Glumly, Edmund nodded and reached for his computer.
Annja went down the hallway to the fire escape. The window was unlocked and she went out it.
The traffic noise from the street below was muted as Annja looked out over the city. Cooing pigeons lined the roof’s parapet. Occasionally one or a small group of them took flight in an explosion of gray and white.
Annja started slow, limbering up her body with stretches, then falling naturally into martial-arts katas. Her muscles loosened and warmed, taking less and less thought as she worked into the familiar routines. She’d started different martial arts while still in the orphanage, and she’d stayed with them all of her adult life.
After a few more minutes, she reached for the sword and pulled it onto the rooftop with her. The keen blade cleaved the air and reflected the late-afternoon sun. She whirled and danced, feinted and struck and blocked and counterstruck. The blade was a part of her, an extension of self. Continuing her workout, a fine sheen of sweat covered her and cooled her body.
Her mind freed up and went dormant. In her mind’s eye, she studied the dragon lantern, turning it over and over and around.
The secret is incomplete.
The realization jarred Annja, but she continued to exercise, to become one with the sword. How was the lantern incomplete? The missing lens? That was one way.
But was there another?
There was something there. She sensed it. All she had to do was grasp it.
Her phone rang and she had the immediate impression she should answer it. She came to a stop with the ease of a leaf falling and was suddenly at rest. Holding the sword in her right hand, she fished her sat-phone from her cargo pants.
Doug Morrell.
Annja didn’t want to deal with Doug at the moment, but she knew she had to answer. “Hello.”
“Just checking in.” Doug sounded relaxed, and Annja chose to view that as a good thing. “How’s it going with the magic lantern?”
“I’ve got it.”
“That’s great, Annja.” Doug suddenly started whispering conspiratorially. “You haven’t used up all the wishes, have you? Because we had an agreement. You know, a wish each and then—”
“I remember.” Annja stared at the Eiffel Tower in the distance. “I’m afraid I haven’t figured out how to get it to work yet.”
“That’s cool. We can figure it out somehow. We just gotta find the instructions.”
Instructions.
A chill ghosted through Annja and she felt certain she had part of the answer she was searching for. “Thanks, Doug. I’ve got to call you back.”
“Wait—”
“As soon as I know something, I’ll call you.”
“But what—”
Annja closed the phone and tucked it back into her pocket. When she turned to face the fire escape, she spotted Fiona sitting there, watching.
“How long have you been there?”
Fiona smiled a little. “I honestly couldn’t tell you. Long enough to tell that you and that sword were made for each other.” She shook her head. “I’ve never seen anything like that. Was that dancing?”
“I don’t know.” Annja blushed. “It’s just…natural when I’m with the sword.”
“Don’t be embarrassed. That was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen, and I can tell you, I’ve seen some beautiful things.”
“Thank you.” Annja didn’t know what else to say. “I just realized that we missed something. Is Edmund still downstairs?”
“Poring over his records of Anton Dutilleaux when I left him.”
“I’ve got to talk to him.” Annja started for the fire escape.
Fiona stood. “Maybe you shouldn’t take the sword. He might get the wrong impression.”
Smiling ruefully, but no less excited, Annja released the sword and the weapon disappeared before it hit the rooftop.
32
When they returned to the flat, Edmund was pacing the floor with nervous energy while he spoke on the phone. “Yes, yes, of course. No, this is very important. Those things should have been together. No, I’m not placing any blame on you. Do forgive me if I sounded that way. It was not intended.” He continued apologizing for a moment longer. “Please let me know what you find out.”
Fiona sat in the easy chair in the corner and steepled her fingers together. She smiled inquisitively at Edmund. “You sound like you’ve had an epiphany, Professor.”
“Not an epiphany. That would be putting a happy face on it. No, I’ve made a dunderheaded mistake is what I’ve done.” Edmund turned to Annja. “Do you know what I missed?”
“There were papers in the lot that had Anton Dutilleaux’s magic lantern.” Annja was so thrilled with her breakthrough that she forgot to let Edmund have his victory. “Papers that had belonged to Dutilleaux.”
“That’s right.” Edmund looked troubled. “How did you know that?”
“If Dutilleaux took the lantern, if there was a treasure somehow attached to it, then he might have had something else, as well. Other belongings.”
Edmund grinned. “Exactly. It came to me as I went back through the original auction I attended that the lantern might not have been the only thing Dutilleaux left behind. There was an assortment of magic books, and I had all those, but—as it turns out—there was a diary.”
“But it wasn’t his.”
A frown knitted Edmund’s brows. “You’re more magician than I am. How are you coming up with this?”
“I didn’t know there was a diary until you told me. I was hoping there might at least be papers or letters.”
“I don’t know if there were any papers or letters. I should probably ask.”
“Tell me about the diary.”
“What? Don’t you already know?”
“It’s written in Chinese.”
“And so…?” Annja prodded him.
“The sellers were going to list the lantern and the diary together. Those items, after all, were discovered together. But they had no way of knowing that Anton Dutilleaux had ever owned the diary. In fact, I was only guessing that he might have. I was looking for anything written that had been in that lot. The sellers thought they might get more money offering the lantern and the diary separately. But I should have thought of that.”
“You went there looking for the lantern.”
“I did.” Edmund scowled. “Once I’d heard of it, and of its possible history, I’m afraid that was all I could think of. Blindness on my part.”
“Why would you have wanted a diary written in Chinese, and probably not even written by Dutilleaux?”
“True. There was nothing in his past that mentioned his knowledge of written Chinese.” He shook his head. “Though, in retrospect, given my awareness of his history as a banking employee in Shanghai, I should have at least considered that.”
Annja grinned. “Tell me about the diary.”
“Not much to tell, I’m afraid. The diary popped up with the lantern when Robertson’s assistant’s things were found in an old boardinghouse three months ago, and is listed as having belonged to Dutilleaux, but that’s all that’s really known about it.”
“No one’s had it translated?”
“No one’s cared to. It’s over two hundred years old. The sellers figured that whatever was in the pages of that diary surely weren’t of interest to anyone in this day and age. They thought it was a keepsake. Nothing more. Possibly a volume of Chinese literature or a family history.”
“It may yet be that.”
“I know. I can’t imagine what it might be, but surely it must be something. Anton Dutilleaux wasn’t the kind of man who would travel from the Orient carrying things that were useless to him.”
Annja nodded. “Where is the diary now?”
Edmund frowned. “It was sold. I asked the sellers if they could let me know the name of the person who bought the diary. They’re not in the habit of disclosing information, but I pointed out that Jean-Baptiste Laframboise certainly got hold of my information.”