Each comment was delivered with the best wishes of the giver along with a pledge to help their newest member in any and every way possible. Cass thanked them all for their good advice.
Later, as they were having their coffee out in the courtyard under the stars, Tess sidled up to her. “Smell the jasmine,” she said, inhaling the sweet, heady scent. “Absolutely heavenly.”
“It’s always been one of my favourites,” Cass replied, drawing in the perfume-laden night air. “Ever since I was a little girl.”
“You seem distracted,” Tess observed. “Has someone said something to upset you?”
“No, not at all. On the contrary,” replied Cass quickly. “It’s just…” She hesitated, then confessed, “I feel a little daunted, is all. Overwhelmed. So much has happened all at once, and I know so little about any of it. I feel like I’ve got a mountain to get over.”
The old lady regarded her with a sudden intensity, then announced, “I’m going to adopt you, dear heart. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” Cass replied. “But do I look like I need adopting?”
“Not in the least,” Tess answered. “I do it for purely selfish reasons. I am far too old to pursue the quest anymore, but I can still be involved in my way. I can uphold you in prayer, for example.”
“Prayer is our greatest and most salutary weapon in the eternal battle,” put in the man called Schecter, joining them. He took a sip of coffee and continued, “No less than gravity, prayer is one of the elemental forces that moves the world. We underestimate it at our peril.”
“Keep your sermons to yourself, Robert,” Tess told him. “I saw her first.” She took Cass by the arm. “Come, we’ll go where we can speak a little more privately.”
“You cannot keep her all to yourself,” Robert called as Cass was pulled away. “We all hope to get to know her better.”
They found chairs in a leafy corner of the courtyard and sat down together. “Robert is right, of course, but he will pontificate so,” said Tess. They settled themselves, and Tess leaned close. “Are you a believer?” she asked in her forthright way.
“In prayer?” wondered Cass.
“In God-Creator and Sustainer of the Universe.”
“Well, yes-ever since I was a little girl.” Cass regarded her elderly companion. It was not easy to believe that she was as old as she claimed to be; the vitality radiating from her was almost contagious. “Why do you ask?”
“Because it means there is so much less that one must unlearn.” She leaned back, and a smile spread across her wrinkled face. “I should know-I was the most obnoxious atheist you ever met. In my unenlightened years I positively relished playing the cat among the pigeons with my God-fearing acquaintances. I thought it great sport to poke holes in their reasoning and rhetoric, to point out all the inconsistencies, and to ridicule their muddled thinking. Although so much religious dogma serves only to buttress power and befuddle the masses, it really deserves to be ridiculed. I mean, you hear these so-called revivalists banging on about heaven and hell and what notwhat do any of them reall y know about such things? They claim to know what God wants and what he demands… Bosh!” She tapped Cass on the arm. “Anyone who tells you he knows the mind of God is selling something. You can take that to the bank.”
She looked at Cass’s mildly perplexed expression and sat back. “Good gracious me-I seem to have gotten rather carried away. This is not what I wanted to talk about at all. I want to talk about your assignment. Has Brendan mentioned it yet?”
“He hasn’t said anything about any assignment.”
“No? Well, in my day all new members were required to undertake a purposeful project-something of material value to the advancement of the society, something we need doing.”
“He didn’t mention anything like that. If he did, it failed to register.”
“Maybe it has gone by the wayside,” the old woman sighed. “It has been so very long since we had a new member, you see. Perhaps we don’t do that anymore.” She passed her gaze around the courtyard. “I wonder what has become of Cosimo? I want to introduce you. I’ve never known him to miss an induction-or a dinner, for that matter. He is usually the life of the party…” Her voice trailed off.
“Cosimo Livingstone?” wondered Cass.
“You know him?”
“Brendan told me about him.”
“Well, I should very much like you to meet him. I shall look forward to introducing you personally.”
“Are you very good friends?”
“Friends, yes, and something more.” Her voice took on a wistful note. “Cosimo and I were once engaged to be married.”
Cass raised her eyebrows.
“Oh, it would never have worked out,” Tess continued quickly. “We had just come off a particularly harrowing journey together- exploring one of the leys on Cosimo’s piece of the map. We had grown very close-extreme danger can do that to you, so take that as a word to the wise.” Her voice quavered slightly, taking on a wistful note. “Dear Cosimo and I had made all these grand plans, and then…”
The silence stretched. “What happened?” asked Cass at last.
“We came back!” Tess laughed, recovering her former good mood. “That is also much the way of things. Once we had returned, we realised it was all a bit fervid and overwrought-passion of the moment, shipboard romance, or what have you. It was simply not to be.”
“Oh, I am sorry,” Cass sympathised. “I’ve never been in love like that, but I can imagine.”
“We were very fond of one another, still are. But I had my life and he had his, and that was that. Marriage would have made us both miserable in the end. Besides, it would probably have meant that I would have had to give up questing-which in those days it did, anywayand I was not about to do that.”
“But you did give it up, eventually,” considered Cass. “Do you miss it?”
“Sometimes,” sighed Tess. “But one gets so old, don’t you know.” She gave Cass a sad smile. “I have my memories, and I still travel a bit-like coming to these society functions. But it is for younger folk to shoulder the burdens now. Still, while there is life and breath, I can help. And that is what I mean to do through you.” She reached for Cass’ hand. “I want you to know that I pledge every resource at my command to aid you in the quest. Whatever you need-money, advice, a soft place to land, the expertise gathered from a lifetime of questing-it is yours. Do not hesitate to ask.”
“Thank you, Tess. That is the best offer I’ve had in a very long time.” Cass turned it over in her mind for a moment. “You said Cosimo had a piece of the map,” she continued. “You’ve seen it?”
Tess nodded slowly. “Seen it, yes, and held it in my hands-a hundred times if once.”
“Brendan also told me Cosimo’s piece of the map has gone missing.”
“Has it now? That is interesting. I had not heard about that.” She pursed her wrinkled lips. “I wonder if that is why Cosimo isn’t here-he’s out searching for his bit of the Skin Map.”
“Not exactly,” countered Cass gently. “It seems Cosimo has disappeared too.”
“No!” The old woman gasped. “Disappeared, you say?”
“That’s what I’ve been given to understand,” Cass confirmed. “A man named Sir Henry is thought to be with him-and also someone called Kit, his great-grandson, I think.”
Tess made a sour face. “Oh, I don’t like that. No, I don’t like that at all-not one little bit. Something will have to be done.” She leaned forward and took hold of Cass’ arm. “Finding them is a matter of highest priority.” The old woman leaned close. “I see it now. This is why you are here!”
“Pardon?” said Cass. “I don’t follow.”
“Dear heart, you are here for such a time as this. Someone is needed to find Cosimo and Kit, and someone has been provided.”
“Me?”
Tess gave her a solemn nod and released Cass’s arm. “There is no such thing as coincidence. All that happens to us happ
ens for a reason.”
“I’m happy to help, but I must tell you I don’t know very much about Cosimo-or anything else, come to that.”
“That is easily remedied,” declared Tess. “Cosimo doesn’t have a permanent home, but he keeps a flat in London-a little bolt-hole where he has a bed and change of clothes and what not. He spends a lot of time with Sir Henry Fayth at Clarimond House. I would try there first. Brendan can give you the coordinates.” She stood abruptly. “Where’s Brendan got to? Ah, there he is!” Tess declared, striding briskly across the courtyard. “Come along, there is no time to lose.”
Which is how Cassandra Clarke, the newest member of the Zetetic Society, found herself in the hills north of Damascus, walking along a path between two stones, taking her first steps to find Cosimo Livingstone.
CHAPTER 33
In Which Haste Makes Hideous Waste
The French doors of Charles Flinders-Petrie’s study were open to the garden, and the drapes pulled back to allow the fresh air into a room that had been sealed all winter whilst its occupant was away on his foreign travels. Those journeys completed, Charles had returned to a London in the midst of a glorious spring, and he revelled in the balmy day. Outside he could hear a steady snip, snip, snip as Cumberbatch-his caretaker, gardener, and menial-trimmed the box hedge with his long-bladed shears.
The easy rhythm seemed to give shape to his thoughts as he pored over his ledger. The household had functioned reasonably well in his absence, but there were gaps and oversights to be reconciled and rectified. Had he known he would be so long away, he might have made better arrangements. Still, his plans had come right in the end, and the trifling matter of the accounts was nothing that could not be put right with a visit to the bank and a few letters of apology.
All things considered, he was more than satisfied with the result of his latest, and most demanding, labours. He was ready now, to rest and let nature take its course.
There was a stirring of the drapery, but Charles, fully engrossed in his work, thought nothing of it until he heard a brushing step and the creak of wood on the threshold. Glancing up from his reading, he saw a long, thin shadow on the Persian rug, and raised his eyes as the intruder stepped into the room.
“Douglas!” he gasped. “Good heavens, son, you gave me a start.”
“Sorry, Father,” replied the young man. “It was not my intention to startle you.”
“I daresay.” Charles closed his book and stood. “What are you doing creeping around the garden anyway? Why are you here during term?”
“I’m done with Oxford, Father,” said Douglas. He crossed to the leather wingback chair across from the desk and slouched into it. “Or perhaps, Oxford is done with me.”
“Oh, Douglas.” Charles returned to his chair behind the desk. “Do not tell me you have been sent down!”
The young man made a sour face. “I have not been sent down. I have left the place.”
“We have had this discussion before. You must finish your studies.”
“Must I, Father?” he sneered. “Why must I? You never did.”
“Now, see here!”
“No! You see here.” Douglas leapt to his feet and began pacing in front of the desk. “I have been taking orders from you all my life, and I am heartily sick of it. I’m not going back there. I don’t care what anybody says.”
“Lower your voice, Douglas.”
“All those petty potentates swaggering about their tiny fiefdomsnothing but stuffed shirts, gasbags, and idiots, the lot of them.”
“That’s unfair-”
“It is a bloody waste of time.”
“Mind your language in this house!” Charles regarded his wayward son, struggling to keep his temper in check. “What have you done this time, boy?”
“Don’t patronise me!” Douglas stalked in front of the desk, restless, bristling with anger. “I won’t have it.”
“You cannot expect to live here as a guest. You must have work. What do you intend to do?”
“I am taking up the quest,” he replied haughtily. “After all, it is the Flinders-Petrie stock in trade.”
“Oh, Douglas,” his father sighed. “We’ve been over this before. We agreed that you would wait until you finished your studies. If you abandon them now, you will be in no way prepared to meet the challenges you will face.”
“I am ready now.”
Charles studied him for a long moment. “You know that is impossible.”
“Why? Because you say it is?”
“Do we have to go into this all again?” Charles said. “You know how I feel.”
The slender young man stood with his hands at his sides, tight as a coiled spring. “I have come for the map.”
“No. It is out of the question.”
“I’m not leaving here without it.”
“It will do you no good. You do not know how to read it.”
“I’ll learn.”
Charles gave a mirthless laugh. “That I heartily doubt,” he scoffed. “It is not like reading a road map, you know. You must know the code.”
“Then tell me.”
“I will-and gladly-on the day you finish your studies.” His father made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Go back to Oxford. Apply yourself. Show me you can finish something for once in your life.”
“I’ll show you,” Douglas said, lurching for the desk. He snatched up the bronze Etruscan mask his father used as a paperweight. “I’ll show you what I can do. The key-”
“Douglas, you may leave now. This conversation is over.”
“Give me the key, old man.” Douglas hefted the heavy artefact dangerously.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The key to the iron chest,” he snarled. “I want the map. You think I don’t know where you keep it?”
“Don’t be hasty, Douglas. Taking the map won’t get you anywhere. Sit down, let us talk this out.”
“All you ever do is talk. I’m through talking. I want the key to the chest.” Douglas, eyes bulging, his long face red with anger, raised his arm to strike.
“Put that down!” shouted Charles.
“I warned you, Father,” snarled Douglas. On his smooth forehead a vein throbbed visibly like a purple spear of forked lightning as he swung his arm in a murderous arc.
“Douglas!” Charles put up his hands to ward off the attack. “No!”
The weighty bronze smashed into the elder man’s skull. Blood spouted from the gash that opened on the side of his head.
“Douglas, no,” Charles moaned. He grabbed his head. “Think… think what you’re doing. Don’t be stupid. I can’t-”
But the bronze mask landed a crushing blow to Charles’ left temple. Charles lifted himself from his chair. Hands shaking, he beseeched his son in pitiful tones, begging him to stop.
Again and again the brass weight slammed down. The hard bone of the skull cracked under three savage blows. Charles slumped to his knees, his eyes rolling up into their sockets, showing only white. He gave a little groan and toppled slowly to his side. A tremor passed through him, and he lay still.
“Good-bye, Father,” muttered Douglas, dropping the paperweight to the floor beside the body.
Stepping quickly around to the desk, he opened the wide centre drawer and removed the ring of keys he knew would be there. Then, turning to the bookcase in the corner of the room, he pulled out a row of volumes to reveal an iron strongbox, which, though it seemed to rest on the shelf, was instead secured to the wall. He put the first key into the lock and turned; the key met with resistance, and the second key was much too big, so he moved on to the third. The lock gave at once, and he raised the heavy lid.
Inside the strongbox was a gilt-edged leather folder tied with a green ribbon. Douglas snatched up the folder and moved back to the desk. As his fingers fumbled with the satin binding, he heard a sound in the hallway, and there came a knock on the door.
Douglas glanced at once to the body on the fl
oor, his mind racing. How much could be seen from the doorway? What if he were found with the body? Where could he hide?
The knock came again, followed by a voice: “Mr. Flinders-Petrie, sir? There’s a rag-and-bone man come to call. Do you have anything for him?”
It was Silas Cumberbatch, the caretaker.
“Send him away,” Douglas growled in gruff imitation of his father’s tone. “I’m busy.”
“Very good, sir.”
Douglas waited until he heard the footsteps receding. Then, unwilling to further risk being caught with the murdered corpse of his father, he tucked the gold-edged folder under his coat and moved to the French doors. He stepped outside, cast a swift glance around to make sure he was unobserved, then darted across the lawn to the border hedge and a place he knew behind the holly bush where he used to climb over the garden wall as a lad. Once over the wall, he proceeded down the service alley to the road and hailed a cab to take him to Paddington Station.
He bought a ticket and hurried to the platform where the train was waiting, found an empty compartment in one of the carriages, and let himself in. It was only after the train had left the station and was past Ealing and heading for Slough that Douglas removed the leather folder once more.
Setting it on his knee, he carefully untied the strip of green ribbon and opened the cover. Inside was a single piece of paper with a simple handwritten note. It read:
Forgive me, Douglas. It is for the best.
Your loving Father
The Skin Map was gone.
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