by Alex Archer
“Is that so?”
“Or rather, in this instance, I may have created a portal to the future. Or the past. Whichever a man prefers. What would you do if you could switch places in time with another man? In what time would you choose to visit?”
“Uh, er...”
What an entirely unexpected conversation. And it wasn’t at all interesting to Garin, until he started wondering if Roux might be interested. And he suspected he may be. Why hadn’t he taken the thing from the safe? He knew they should have taken the entire contents.
But that only proved Roux hadn’t a clue what the thing was they’d left behind. Nor did he, actually. There was something to move a man back and forth through time? It sounded dangerous and impossible.
“I don’t know,” Garin said. “What that has come before us in time would prove of interest to you, maestro?”
“Oh, I’ve no desire to move into the past.” Leonardo settled on the tavern bench now, lifting a leg and propping an elbow on it, as if in thought, but his focus remained on Garin. “I’ve been trying to convince a friend to give it a test, but he refuses.”
“Your young friend I’ve seen accompanying you?”
“Yes, he’s quite a marvelous painter. Daring and adventurous, as well. He was right there to help me test my flying apparatus. But this new device? It frightens the boy.”
“It is the unknown. What man would not be frightened by that?”
“Really?” Leonardo tapped the table and leaned forward. “Signore Braden, you strike me as a man who would take a risk into the unknown.”
“The future may offer great wonders. But stepping back in time? No. How does one traverse through time?”
“Oh, it’s all about resonance. And—” da Vinci cast a glance around the tavern, then pressed in close so only Garin could hear “—the devil’s chord.” He sat back, a grin of satisfaction curling his mouth.
Garin had heard of the musical chord that had been banned by the church. Although he hadn’t heard it.
The devil and music?
It could be possible. He wasn’t much for lutes and harpsichords. At one time he’d found himself in a woman’s boudoir and she’d insisted on bringing in musicians to accompany their amorous liaisons. The devil indeed.
Yet the only devil he believed in was the one who might end his fun. And that man wore long white hair, an arrogant demeanor and could match Garin in a sword fight, stroke for stroke, and never tire.
“One doesn’t so much physically move through time as rather—” Leonardo spread his hands before him as if to part a fabric curtain “—peer through the veil into another time that is occurring simultaneously as the present.”
“So you’re saying all time is cyclical?”
“I think more that it is all occurring at once.”
The man had lost him, and he wasn’t drunk enough to start to figure out any of this nonsense.
“I’ve used the tritone banned by the church, you see,” Leonardo continued. “It exudes magnificent resonance.” He closed his eyes and smiled as if savoring a sweet wine. When he opened them and looked about again to see that no one was too close to overhear their conversation, he again pressed across the table. “You seem a man open to the possibility of what’s out there, Signore Braden.”
Of course he was. He was a soldier, a man of the world, after all. But that didn’t imply he could buy into a man traversing into another time. Yet. “You could say that.”
“There was once a great man, René d’Anjou, who devoted his life to spreading knowledge. To providing the common man with the ability to learn.”
“I knew him,” Garin supplied. He’d kept tabs on the man over the decades. Exhausting to consider all he had done in his lifetime.
“Ah! Then we are connected in so many ways. Tell me, did Good King René ever discuss with you the possibility to peer backward through time, to perhaps alter events?”
“Never. I had always thought him a forward-thinking man, actually. What man needs to go back in time? To change history? That doesn’t feel right to me. Would not stepping back through time alter your existence now? What if I were to kill the man who was to one day be my very father?”
Leonardo dismissed the comment. “You think on this too much. It’s not so complicated as that. I’ve said you’ve only the ability to peer into the past. I’m not sure you could actually function within a time frame that is not your own.”
And if Garin had the chance to change the one event that had altered his world remarkably, he’d turn it down. It had taken the life of a brave woman, but it had given him an exquisite gift to go on living, somehow.
“Have you heard of the Ordine della Luna Crescente, Signore Braden?”
“I have. The Order of the Crescent is a chivalrous order. Isn’t that one of René d’Anjou’s projects? They revere the Virgin Mother, yes? Are you recruiting, then?”
“It lapsed after René’s death. There is still so much to talk about. Shall we?”
Garin toasted his compatriot with his tankard. “To you, sir! And to the future! And to tending the past with great care, yes?”
“Indeed.”
Chapter 26
Roux leaned on the trunk of Evan Merrick’s rental, paging through the notebook as if it were a car-repair manual, and did it really matter if he smudged the ancient pages or even tore them?
Annja’s backpack was in the car. Evan had tossed it in there. She drew out the latex gloves and tossed them to Roux. “Please?”
He put them on.
As well, she grabbed the jacket she’d seen in the backseat and laid it across the trunk.
“Have some consideration,” she said, directing Roux to lay the precious object on the jacket. It was probably too late to care, but— No, she never stopped caring about the proper handling of artifacts. “I suppose you saw the portrait?”
“What portrait?” Roux asked. He was approximately halfway through the notebook.
Annja decided to wait and see what his reaction would be. He continued to slowly leaf through the pages.
Garin had joined them, peering over Roux’s shoulder, ignoring the old man’s protests to step back and give him some room.
“Where was this found?” Garin asked Annja.
Evan, who lingered near the driver-side door, popped up to answer, “Picked it up a year ago while visiting some friends at their castle.”
Garin’s head tilted, as if reassessing the man, and ended with a proud smile. He actually nodded, confirming his approval of Evan’s theft.
“Ah,” Roux muttered. He must have found the page with his image. Annja noted he was studying it carefully. To have had Leonardo da Vinci capture your likeness must have been an honor. Although, she suspected the vicious label must mar said honor.
“First time you’ve seen that?” she whispered, aware Evan stood but six or seven feet away from them.
“No. The man gave me a glimpse as he was sketching it,” Roux said.
“Apparently he didn’t have a very high opinion of you. Care to explain?”
He tapped the word ladro. His eyebrows furrowed. “It’s ancient history, Annja.”
“Right,” Garin said. “You’ve already claimed the sword. Doesn’t matter what some slapdash painter once thought of you.”
“I’m not following,” Annja interjected.
“Sword?” Evan stared at the three of them standing at the car. Annja could almost see the dollar signs flash in his eyes like some children’s cartoon. “What kind of sword are we talking about?”
“None of your business,” both Garin and Roux said.
“Have you seen the sketch of the thief?” Evan asked. “Explain that one, Roux.”
“Me, explain something I’ve just now seen? How do I know you haven’t altered this notebook in some way?” Roux spat.
Good one, Annja thought.
“Please.” Evan wagged a finger in their direction. “I may be a thief, but I do know how to respect the artifact.”
>
“Pretty funny, if you ask me, isn’t it, Roux?” Garin said, tapping the sketch where it said thief. “You were so insistent we were not thieves.”
“I don’t remember the things I did so long ago,” Roux muttered and turned the page.
But he had remembered his conversation with Leonardo, and he seemed to have known the neighborhood where the painter’s studio had once been. Selective memory, Annja decided. Whatever it was he’d stolen from Leonardo must have been valuable for the painter to so angrily have placed the accusation on paper for the entire world to see.
At least, the world would see it now once she presented the notebook to the proper authorities. They should have some idea from where it had originally been stolen. Possibly. Though if no one had been aware of this notebook, then it wasn’t likely to be claimed.
“And what were those things you did so long ago?” Evan moved closer to them.
Ignoring the man’s question, Roux tapped his finger on another page. The one that had the diagram of the music box. Garin whistled and leaned in. “I’ve seen that before.”
“You have?” Now Evan was intensely interested and rushed forward. “Where? Why are we searching here for it if you’ve already seen it elsewhere?”
“Why are you still here, Merrick?” Garin barked. “You’re off the job.”
“I was done working for you the moment you sent your thugs after me at the bistro. You know, they went after Annja instead.”
Garin cast Annja a discerning glance. “She looks no worse for the trouble.”
“You going to take that from him, Annja?” Evan asked. “Why don’t you team up with me? I’ve got the cross—”
Annja faced Evan and grabbed him roughly by the collar. Both Roux and Garin gave her their attention.
“How about you hand over the cross and I won’t let Garin finish the job he started earlier?” she said to him.
Garin whistled and shook his head. “You should heed that warning, Merrick.”
Evan pushed Annja away, but she wasn’t done with him. She’d had enough of his underhanded pranks. And while she didn’t believe either Roux or Garin knew where the music box was, she’d trusted either of them before she’d trust this opportunistic jerk any day.
“How much are you selling the cross for?” she asked.
“You haven’t got the purse for it,” he challenged.
“Probably not. But they do.”
“I’m not paying that man a dime,” Roux said, his attention back on the notebook.
“What? Are you going to steal it and travel through time to hide it away from me?” Evan taunted.
“Let Garin work him over,” Roux said. “He’ll get the cross out of him one way or another.”
And for once, Annja agreed with the suggestion. She shoved Evan toward the towering Garin Braden, who caught Evan by the throat.
“Back inside,” Garin muttered. He dragged Evan, struggling and swearing, inside the warehouse.
“Doesn’t it bother you at all that you were just giving Merrick fodder for his beliefs that you’ve traveled through time?”
“Annja, please. Time travel?”
She was about to counter with the fact that he was the one who had begun this bizarre quest, but she was too stymied by this sudden reversal to make a sound.
“They’ll think Merrick is unbalanced. And we’ve got the notebook now, so...no evidence.”
“Doesn’t matter if we secure the cross,” Annja said, joining Roux to preen over the notebook. “If neither of you have a clue where the music box is, then we’re at a dead end.”
Roux flipped back to the first page that detailed the Lorraine cross. He turned the notebook sideways and ran his fingers along the bottom edge of the sketch, where the lowermost bar of the cross had been done with elaborate scrollwork.
“Tell me what you see there?” he asked.
Annja traced her finger lightly over the arabesques and quickly realized they were not random curls but letters and... “Numbers?”
“Longitude and latitude. Or so I suspect. You have a GPS on your phone?”
She dug out her cell phone and opened an app that allowed her to enter longitude and latitude to bring up a map location. Roux read off a series of numbers and she typed them in. When the related map came up, she announced the location. “Rouen. France.”
They exchanged looks and Annja did not miss the heavy swallow the old man took. Rouen was a particularly memory-laden place for him.
“It can’t be,” she said. “It most likely links the cross to the city of...” Well, that wasn’t right. The city of origin would have been Lorraine, which was east of Rouen.
“Maybe René d’Anjou had the music box?”
“The man was dead when it was already in Leonardo’s possession,” Roux confirmed. “Where did da Vinci die?”
Annja sorted through her knowledge of the painter. “Clos Lucé, uh...Amboise. In central France. I’m not sure if it was his principal residence. I think...a man named Melzi was the heir and executor of his estate.”
Switching from the map app to the browser on her phone, Annja typed in the name. “You knew him?” she decided to ask Roux while waiting for the information to appear on the screen.
“No. Unfortunately not.”
“He inherited Leonardo’s artistic and scientific works, along with manuscripts and other artifacts.”
“I would assume the music box would be another artifact.”
“Likely.” She scanned the information on Melzi. “His estate is about thirty kilometers northeast of here.”
“Then I believe a ride in the countryside is in order.”
At that moment Garin strolled out of the warehouse rubbing his knuckles. He rolled his shirtsleeves down and proceeded calmly toward Evan’s parked vehicle. “It’s in the glove compartment.”
“What?”
“What we’ve been looking for,” Braden reiterated. “The glove compartment.”
Annja ran around the side of the car and opened the passenger door. The glove compartment was locked. “It couldn’t have been,” she muttered. It couldn’t have been right in front of her the whole time she’d been in the car with Evan?
“I need something to pick this lock,” she called out.
“Move,” Garin said, and he tugged her out of the way.
The former elite soldier was brandishing a crowbar he must have spotted in the warehouse. He pried at the glove compartment and it quickly fell open. He reached in and pulled out the Lorraine cross. Tucking it inside his suit coat, he then strolled toward the SUV he and Roux had arrived in, without a word to either of them.
“You don’t know where you’re going!” Annja called out to him.
Roux collected the notebook and trailed after her toward the SUV. Garin was already revving the engine before they both managed to climb inside the vehicle.
“I’d say I’m happy to have you two along,” Garin remarked, “but that would be a lie. Where are we going, old man?”
Roux sighed and shook his head.
“Vaprio d’Adda. Northeast,” Annja directed.
Chapter 27
In an hour the Villa Melzi would be closed to the public. The site was on the shoreline of Lake Como’s turquoise waters. Annja had joined a guided tour of the grounds and a small museum that offered visitors architectural features and various sculptures.
While she enjoyed the tour, the men had decided to walk through the gardens, which she didn’t want to miss, either.
The gardens were an explosion of color, and dozens of tourists lingered, snapping photos. The boardwalk on the shores of Lake Como led to Bellagio, and some tourists headed off in that direction. Annja didn’t spy Roux or Garin and suspected she’d find them digging around in some obscure spot far from prying eyes. Or at least, she hoped.
As the tour group was led to the exit, she remained behind a marble column. She’d taken the time to scan along walls and floors and look for hidden doors seamlessly incorporated i
nto walls, but she found no hint or trace of anything out of the ordinary. If she were to find a hiding spot for lost, ancient treasures, it would be somewhere else and not featured on the tour.
“This couldn’t possibly be the place,” she muttered and went in search of Roux and Garin.
Annja was growing frustrated. What if the music box wasn’t anywhere nearby? The da Vinci collection had surely been scattered across the world.
At the end of a path, she spied Roux’s white ponytail. He saw her and gestured eagerly, so she picked up the pace. It was past closing time now, but some people were still in the gardens, probably allowed to be there until sunset.
When Annja reached Roux’s side, he did not slow down as he said, “We’ve located the spot where the music box might be.”
“How can you be sure?”
“We won’t be until we check, Annja. There’s property next door that has a château that fits the timeline. Trust me.”
“Stranger and stranger,” she said and followed Roux, who had just stepped toward a thick hedgerow. Annja thought he was going to walk right through it, but he angled sharply to the right, then went down ten paces and turned left, disappearing into the green shrubbery.
She stared after him, finding that someone other than Roux had pushed their way through the hornbeam hedge. She had to squeeze into the tight space, holding aside the branches to get to the other side of the three-foot-wide block of foliage.
Once she was there, she stood before a small limestone manor home sporting boarded windows and overgrown vines snaking along the walls. The lawn was neatly trimmed, so someone apparently cared for the grounds, yet she guessed the place was unoccupied.
The house was indicative of a fifteenth-century château, a quiet country residence, stately, noble and likely very expensive. Who owned this estate, she wondered?
Roux obliged her with an answer. “Braden thinks this place is mentioned in the notebook.”
The urge for discovery never stopped Annja from speculating and trying to put together the pieces of any puzzle and she did so now as they approached the house. The idea of using the front door was out of the question. And this side of the house could possibly be seen from the main road, though she suspected the hedges blocked all but a view of the tiled rooftop.