by Lisa Oliver
“Don’t muss the suit,” Artemas grumbled, although he relaxed into the hold. “Where did you get a British passport and driver’s license? Can you even drive?”
“Probably as well as you can,” Silvanus chuckled. “Just don’t ever ask me to get on an airplane. I have to draw the line somewhere.”
“Oh, my gods yes,” Artemas screwed up his face. “Being locked in a tin can with a hundred other people is not my idea of a good time.”
Dropping a kiss on Artemas’s well-groomed hair – Silvanus was missing the casual look already – he pulled away, going over to the small bar tucked into the corner of the room. “Drink?” He offered, holding up a very nicely aged whiskey. “I imagine our appointment will be here shortly.”
Artemas nodded, dropping down onto the curved couch. “It worries me, not knowing what type of being this person is. I mean, you heard Zeus. If the person who wants your book was paranormal or human, Zeus would have found him.”
“That doesn’t leave much else. It could be another god, or demi-god maybe. There’s enough of them around.” Silvanus poured two double shots of whiskey into square cut crystal glasses, thinking about the falcon he saw when they were in the desert.
“If this person is a god, then they would know about you,” Artemas said thoughtfully, taking the glass Silvanus offered him. Sitting beside him, Silvanus nodded.
“In theory, yes. While I’m not wildly popular, most gods and demi-gods know of my existence. Although, if I recall, Zeus and Poseidon were worried I hadn’t been seen for a while, so it’s possible someone thought I’d ceased to exist. But have you ever thought maybe it’s not the book they’re after? Maybe they just want to talk to you.”
Anything Artemas might have said was interrupted by the discreet trill of a phone. Reaching over, Artemas answered it. “Yes, yes. What was the name again? Yes, I see,” he said quietly, “send him up.”
Putting the phone back on the cradle, Artemas sat back again. “We’re about to be visited by a Mr. Crane. Ring any bells with you?”
“I thought Zeus said the man looking for you was using the name Melrose Jackson.”
“And Zeus also said there was no way that was the guy’s real name,” Artemas looked just as worried as Silvanus felt. “It could be this guy has been sent by the illusive Jackson to check me out?”
“If this Mr. Crane is not a god, he won’t have a clue who either of us are,” Silvanus pointed out. “It might be best to keep it that way.”
“I agree.” Artemas leaned back on the couch. “Coping with a human meltdown when they learn the ancient gods exist is such a bore.”
“You… you haven’t, have you?” Silvanus was stunned. Then he noticed the tiniest twitch on the side of Artemas’s mouth and chuckled. “I can’t believe it, you’re teasing me.”
“Ah well.” Artemas’s cheeks were pink. “All this mystery over one auction item. Yes, I know the book’s vitally important to you, but I have happily not thought about it for two weeks. I just want to find out what this guy wants and send him on his way.”
They both tilted their head as they heard the elevator ding. Silvanus got to his feet. “I’ll get the door. Let’s see what this guy has to say for himself.”
Chapter Nineteen
Artemas didn’t bother getting to his feet as Silvanus let Mr. Crane into the suite. It was immediately apparent the man was human. A rather flustered human, with a shock of bright red hair, carrying a bulging briefcase. “Are you Mr. Klaxon?” he asked, tilting his head to look up at Silvanus who was a good eighteen inches taller than him. “No, no, that can’t be right. You’re not the man I saw at the auction.”
Crane looked around, his eyes widening when he spotted Artemas. “Mr. Klaxon, I am so pleased to finally get to meet with you,” he said hurrying over, swapping his briefcase from under one arm to the other so he could hold out his hand. “I’m Mr. Lazarus Crane, at your service.”
“Charmed, I’m sure.” Artemas quickly shook the hand offered, and waved to the single seat facing the couch. “Perhaps you could take a seat and tell me why you’ve been plaguing my office with calls.”
“No one would tell me where you were.” Crane fussed about, getting himself seated, leaving the brief case on his lap. His suit was crumpled as though he’d slept in it, and Artemas thought he spotted a ketchup stain on the man’s tie. “I mean, all they would say is you were traveling, but if they’d told me where you were, we could’ve met weeks ago. I would’ve come to you, anytime.”
“I’m still failing to see what we have to talk about Mr. Crane,” Artemas smiled as Silvanus sat right next to him, despite the size of the couch. “I take it you were at the Sotheby’s auction I attended a while ago?”
“Yes, yes.” Crane beamed, and then his face fell. “Although, I doubt you’d have noticed me there. I wasn’t bidding on anything. I had hoped to get the book, you see, but the opening bid was ridiculously high, and it just got worse from there.”
Artemas reminded himself Crane was human and wouldn’t understand Artemas’s disinterest in money. “The amount paid was higher than expected,” he agreed. “But if the opening bid of one hundred thousand was too expensive for you, surely you’re not here to try and buy the book off me when I paid two million pounds for it?”
“Heavens no, our little institution doesn’t have a budget like that.” Opening his briefcase, Crane pulled out a pile of papers. “I’m hoping you’ll lend it to me,” he looked up, his eyes wide, “for study purposes of course.”
“Lend it to you?” Artemas flicked a glance at Silvanus, who seemed to be trying to suppress a grin. “It’s a book, Mr. Crane….”
“Oh, please call me Lazarus.” The man looked up from his papers, his eyes now covered with round spectacles.
Artemas’s jaw tightened. “It is an old book, Lazarus, with no provenance, written in an ancient language no one has read about before, clearly a journal of some kind. I fail to see what there is to study.”
“Then why did you buy it?”
Crane’s challenge took Artemas by surprise. “I found the cover fascinating and I have a fondness for one of a kind items. You’d agree, there’s nothing like it anywhere else.”
“Definitely.” Crane shuffled his papers. “I’ve done countless searches. Your book is one of a kind.”
“Mr. Crane, if you’ll excuse the interruption,” Silvanus said. “Why do you have such a passionate urge to study my friend’s book? Is it something to do with the institution you mentioned earlier?”
“The Center for Enlightenment? Yes.” Crane smiled proudly. “Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”
“I’ve heard of a number of organizations with similar names, usually providing holistic spa and de-stress services,” Artemas said drily. “Perhaps you could be more specific.”
If Crane was put off by Artemas’s tone, he didn’t show it. “Our place is entirely different,” he said excitedly. “We, that is my colleagues and I, came together when we realized we have a common goal.”
“Which is?” Artemas’s tension must have been showing, because Silvanus surreptitiously nudged his hand.
“To prove the existence of ancient gods of Rome, Egypt, India, Greece and the Norse gods. Now before you say anything,” Crane held up his hand, although Artemas had no intention of interrupting. “I know you probably think we’re some crackpot group who have too much time on our hands, but the proof is there if you look for it.”
“Are you referring to the hieroglyphics, paintings and other such things found in ancient sites in Greece and Rome for example?” Artemas asked. “Because I have been at those sites, and have seen that evidence for myself, but nothing I’ve ever seen suggests the entities you describe exist beyond the minds of the relevant cultures at the time.”
“Pah. Hieroglyphics,” Crane waved his hand. “What we have is far more conclusive than the scribblings of ancient man. Our friend, who has to remain nameless for privacy’s sake, but our friend has had a vision. He knows th
e gods exist.”
“A vision.” Artemas and Silvanus exchanged glances. This could either be a real concern, or the biggest laugh in history. “Is there anything you can tell us about this vision?”
“Oh, it was marvelous to hear him talking about it.” Crane clasped his papers to his chest, his head tilted to look at the ceiling. “Hang on, I have the notes about it right here.” He shuffled through his papers. “He said, and I am quoting now, ‘The glorious hall was made of marble, with columns over a hundred feet high. Large openings in the walls revealed scenes of nature more beautiful than anything on earth. The sky was a brilliant shade of blue with barely a hint of cloud’.”
“Sounds like the guy was a bit of a romantic,” Silvanus muttered.
Crane glared. “If you don’t mind, there’s more. ‘And in this hall were beings far bigger and more magnificent than any human walking the earth. The men were tall, broad shouldered with ageless faces, emanating wisdom and light. The women were equally tall, with an ethereal classical beauty unrivaled by any other on earth. They were all clothed in white robes – short for the men, long for the women, held in place over the shoulder with glistening jewels, their waists cinched with golden belts’.” Crane lowered his papers. “Well, what do you think about that?”
“I’m wondering if your visionary friend has ever watched the movie, Percy Jackson and the Lightening Bolt Thief,” Artemas said gently. “Only the scene described sounds very reminiscent of the climatic scene when Percy faces the gods.”
“You can mock,” Crane said angrily, stuffing his papers in his brief case. “I should’ve known a business man like yourself can’t see what’s right under your own noses.” Silvanus coughed, probably to mask the laughter. “Movies like Percy Jackson are based on fact. The gods did walk among us. They still do. There are demi-god children all over the place, full of powers they have to keep hidden, emotionally traumatized by the gods who abandoned them.”
Crane didn’t know it, but he was right on one score – the ancient gods did roam the earth and they had the morals of an alley cat. Poseidon was a classic example. But there hadn’t been an incident of a demi-god born in well over eight hundred years.
“Mr. Crane, Lazarus,” Artemas said, “I apologize if you feel I’ve made a mockery of your ideas. But you have to admit, a single vision is not exactly concrete proof in a modern world.”
“Over two billion people follow the teachings of the Bible, and don’t question it’s sources, provenance or even if the people who wrote it were sane at the time,” Crane said bitterly.
Touché. “There have been extensive research studies on both the contents of stories contained in the Bible and the men who wrote them,” Artemas said smoothly. Then it clicked. “Is that why you want my book? Because you think it will help prove the existence of ancient gods?”
“I saw that book before it was auctioned,” Crane said fiercely, brushing back a lock of his hair from his face. “I held it in my hands. I studied the carvings on the cover. There is no way something that detailed, that magnificent, could have been created with the tools or skills of anyone in the age before Christ. How did something in wood survive so long without a scratch or a mark, if it wasn’t protected by a god? Why is it written in a language no scholar on earth can read, unless it was written by a god?”
“Your last question points to the biggest issue you have. No one can read the contents of the book. Believe me, Mr. Crane, I have invested thousands of dollars, approaching scholars in universities all over the world, trying to find someone who can decipher it. Their conclusion, and I hesitate to say this, but their conclusion is that the book itself is an elaborate hoax. Oh, the cover is real enough, or at least as old as the carbon testing indicates,” Artemas added as Crane opened his mouth in protest. “But the contents are most likely a huge hoax. There are no points in the language in the book that relates to any known language at all.”
Instead of being angry, Crane looked excited. “But that’s great. Your research proves my point exactly. Don’t you see, if the language used in the book was made up, it would still show language markers relevant to the prime language of the perpetrators. It’s impossible for anyone to write consistently in a language that doesn’t exist. Which means this one does exist and as it’s not known among us mere mortals, it has to have come from a god. An old god.”
Artemas let out a long, slow, controlled breath. He didn’t realize he was squeezing Silvanus’s fingers until the man gently squeezed back.
“Mr. Crane,” Silvanus said firmly, “What is it you intend to do with the book, if Mr. Klaxon allows you to study it?”
Chapter Twenty
Mother, save us from overzealous fools with their fanatical ideas. Silvanus didn’t have a problem with Artemas lying about the book’s authenticity. It was a good idea. But Crane was more than a cute redhead in a bad suit, he was clever too, and that made him dangerous.
“What is it you intend to do with the book, if Mr. Klaxon allows you to study it?” He said again.
“Duh, dude,” Crane shook his head. “No disrespect but you’re not from around here, are you? You answered your own question. I want to study it. That’s why I’ve been trying to get in touch with your friend.”
“But you don’t need to see the book to study it, do you?” Silvanus ignored the insult. “I bet you took photos of the pages when you examined the book at Sotheby’s. If your only objective is to try and decipher a language no other scholar in the world can read, then you can do that from the photos, surely.”
“It’s not the same.” Crane’s cheeks turned the same color of his hair. “Besides, my friends at the Center haven’t seen it. Maybe my friend can get another vision by touching it.”
“Excuse me,” Artemas interrupted. “Are you suggesting I’m going to let you take my book away to some undisclosed place, to be pawed over by your friends all in the name of studying? I’m not a lending library. That book cost me over two million pounds including commission.”
“Well… er… uhm…” It was clear that was what Crane was hoping. “Ah, but you said yourself your experts claimed it was a hoax, so it’s not really worth anything at all.”
“It is to me,” Artemas said firmly. Standing up, he buttoned his jacket. “I apologize for wasting your time, Mr. Crane, and I have the utmost sympathies for what you’re trying to achieve….”
“Wait.” Silvanus touched Artemas’s hip to gain his attention. We need to find out who this person with the visions is. The slightest twitch of Artemas’s lips let Silvanus know his mate had heard him which, was something they could have a lot of fun with, at a later time. “Mr. Klaxon is understandably protective of his collectible works, and will not, under any circumstances simply lend it to a random person off the street. I’m sure you can understand that.”
“We’re an established non-profit organization,” Crane said, pulling his jacket tight around his middle. “Many collectors loan their works out to researchers all the time.”
“That may be the case, but this book is a one of a kind, and impossible to replace should it become damaged or lost, wouldn’t you agree?” Silvanus wasn’t entirely sure Crane was honest in his motives.
From the way Crane’s eyes darted quickly to one side and then the other, Silvanus had a sinking feeling getting “lost” was exactly Crane’s intention with the book if he could take it away. “I have a suggestion,” he said, hoping Artemas would agree. “Why don’t you take another look at the book here, tomorrow. You could even bring your friend who had that first vision along too, if you like. That way, you can take any additional photos you need to further your studies, and your friend can handle the book under supervision. That’s a fair compromise, don’t you think? Shall we say, eleven o’clock?”
“I’m not sure if my friend can make it.” Crane wouldn’t meet his eyes. It probably didn’t help that Artemas was still looming over him, glowering.
“That’s fine, we’ll just expect you then, shall we?”
His smile firmly in place, Silvanus kept his voice and breathing even.
“Look,” Crane looked around, as though hoping to see the book. “My friend doesn’t travel much. Barely at all in fact. Seeing as you have the book here, why I don’t I take it overnight, and bring it back to you tomorrow at eleven? My friend can’t just produce a vision on a whim. It takes time, he has certain rituals he goes through and he can’t do that here, in front of you two. He’s a very private person.”
I bet he is. Silvanus was getting more suspicious of this “friend” with every passing minute. He stood up, nudging his shoulder against his mate. “Then he’ll have to miss out I’m sorry. This is a one time offer. You can see the book tomorrow at eleven if you want, in this suite, with us present. Your friend can come, or not, that’s up to him. Now, if you don’t mind, my friend and I have other appointments.”
“Yes, of course.” Crane got up, but it was clear he didn’t want to leave. He was moving slower than a sloth on Sundays. “Mr. Klaxon, please, just let me borrow the book for one night,” he begged as he inched towards the door.
“Mr. Forest made a generous offer, one I’m not certain should’ve been made in the first place. You seem to forget, that regardless of its lack of provenance, the book is still an extremely expensive item that would be impossible to replace. I am not in the business of lending out works I’ve paid for, on a whim to anyone, let alone someone with absolutely no credentials from a respected research establishment.” Artemas said crisply. “Your persistence will only take you so far, Mr. Crane. Don’t push your luck.”
Crane must have realized he was beaten, but it was still another two minutes before Silvanus heard the ding of the elevator. Waiting another thirty seconds, he poked his head out of the door, making sure the annoying man was gone. “Well, that was interesting,” he said, making sure the door was firmly latched again. “Do you fancy some dinner? We could go out.”