by D. B. Gilles
The vender placed the object in a white plastic bag, which Charlotte put into her oversized handbag. Pleased with her purchase, she decided to head back to her hotel. She’d taken no more than ten steps when Henri approached her with a smile and gentlemanly demeanor.
“Pardon, madame. My granddaughter collects chatelaines. She’s handicapped. If you will consider selling it to me, there’ll be a handsome profit for you.”
Even though Henri was well dressed in an expensive suit and had a dignified, almost elegant presence, Charlotte had been to Paris enough times to be aware of the city’s problem with pickpockets and con men.
“It’s not for sale.”
“In that case, may I have a closer look, to keep an image of it in my head as I search for another?” He smiled at her and affected an almost puppy dog look.
“I suppose.” She removed the object from her handbag. “But I’ll hold it.” She put it in her right hand.
“Might I see its bottom?” he asked politely.
Charlotte complied and turned over the object.
The instant he saw the three miniscule hieroglyphs, he was certain it was The Brimstone. He knew he couldn’t let this opportunity slip away.
“Thank you. Is there any way you will reconsider? I can’t tell you the amount of money I’ve spent to make my grandchild happy.”
Charlotte frowned. “No one should indulge a child, handicapped or not. It gives them an off-balanced view of life. I must go. Au revoir.”
Suddenly, losing his smile and the charm he’d mustered, Henri blocked her way. “Madame, that is not just a bauble. It is more valuable and incredible than you could imagine. There are those who will stop at nothing to obtain it. I am in the employ of someone who would reward you grandly...“
“So this business of a handicapped granddaughter is a lie. I deplore deception. Please leave me alone.” She pointed to a gendarme standing less than fifteen yards away. “If you don’t, I’ll tell him you’re harassing me.”
She gave Henri a threatening look before starting off. Simultaneously, Henri glanced at Serge who was standing nearby pretending to look at old coffee pots. Henri reached for his BlackBerry and called him.
“Take it!”
Charlotte pondered her exchange with Henri as she walked out of Les Puces and proceeded to visit several shops along Rue des Rosiers. She couldn’t make up her mind if he was telling the truth about the object being more than just a piece of jewelry or if he was conning her. She decided not to waste another second thinking about it.
Serge followed her at a discreet distance as she visited several shops along Rue des Rosiers. She came out of each store carrying a shopping bag, which pleased him. It would be easier for him to make a grab and run. She stopped at a newsstand, bought a bottle of Perrier, took a sip and put it in her handbag. Next, she turned into the post office fifteen yards away.
She went to a counter, took The Brimstone from the plastic bag and placed it into a gift box. She removed what he guessed was a card and proceeded to write in it before placing the object inside the box. Then to his horror, she removed a sturdy envelope from one of her bags and placed the gift-wrapped Brimstone inside and sealed it. As she stood in line, she filled out an address label.
Shaking, Serge reached for his cell and called Henri, explaining what had transpired.
“Try to find out where she sent it!”
Serge watched the clerk process Charlotte’s package and handed her the receipt, which she folded in half and dropped in her handbag. She left the post office and went straight to the Metro. He waited until she was halfway down the steps, brushed against her, then in one movement reached into her handbag and took the receipt.
Serge rushed up the stairs to the street, started walking and called Henri. “I have it.” Serge looked at the receipt, noticing for the first time that it felt moist. “It’s going to New York City. To... “ He paused and immediately burst into a cold sweat. “I can’t make it out.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s only a first name. Eliza. Everything else is blurred. She had a bottle of water. It must have leaked onto the receipt.”
“Damn!” Henri said and slammed down the phone.
Back in his hotel in Venice, Henri knew he could do nothing except wait for Luger’s call.
Chapter 15
When Tash walked into Proctor’s office, the first thing to cross Dalton’s mind was how much he’d aged. The swagger he once had was now gone, replaced by a cane and slight limp.
After shaking Proctor’s hand, giving Dalton a warm hug and being introduced to Juliet, Tash sat down on one of the chairs opposite Proctor’s desk.
“Your father did lots of research on The Brimstone, but because there was so little information, even to a fact checker of his ability, he hit a brick wall. He came to me out of desperation. Once I told him what I knew about The Brimstone, combined with all the research he did, we concentrated on figuring out the portal. I was there with him and Eliza the night it happened. We didn’t anticipate the intensity of the lightning. I watched Eliza disappear. She didn’t know your father got hit.”
“You couldn’t help him?”
“He was dead within thirty seconds of being struck. I ran.”
“Why?”
“With my reputation? You know my background, Dalton. I left Trinidad because of my disappearing trick. I didn’t need to be involved in a situation where a man dies and a girl disappears. No one would’ve believed me. I couldn’t help your father and I couldn’t help Eliza, so I ran.”
“Why did you leave The Brimstone behind?” asked Proctor.
“I was convinced it was cursed. I felt I saw the curse in action when the lightning killed Peter. I wanted no part of it anymore.” He turned to Dalton. “I felt responsible for your father’s death and the girl vanishing. It changed me. Many times I wished I’d kept The Brimstone, sent myself to Paris and tried to find her. I never knew what happened to it.” He grabbed Dalton by the shoulders.
“I did promise myself though that if you ever came to me, I would tell you what I know.”
“How did you make the connection to the obelisks?” Dalton asked.
“We found the answer in a grimoire.”
“Another word I don’t know,” said Juliet, frustrated.
Proctor walked to a bookshelf, scanned two shelves and removed a thick book. “This. It’s a textbook of magic. When most people were illiterate, the printed word was regarded as highly suspect and perhaps a bit supernatural. At one point, all books were referred to as grimoires, and over time, the word came to be used specifically for books that pertained to magic. I have six of them. The Vatican has at least three hundred.”
Tash continued. “I had a hunch that the answer might be found in a grimoire, so we poured through one after another. Dozens. Nothing. Finally, we found the right one and realized that the obelisks had to be the portals. From that point on it was just a matter of making the right calculations on The Brimstone and leaving at the right time.”
“What’s the right time?” Dalton asked.
“As close to midnight as possible. Not a second after. The energy is more powerful then. Why are you going to do this?”
“To find Juliet’s sister,” said Dalton.
“It killed your father. It could kill you too.”
“My mind is made up. Tash.”
“We want to go to Paris on the day the girl arrived and find her,” said Proctor. “How do we do it?”
“Tash, please help us.”
Tash hesitated for a moment “There’s a fracture about five feet long running from the base of the obelisk on its eastern side. That’s the point of entry. To the blind eye it looks like a crack due to the elements, but inside there’s a source of energy. There’s a similar fracture in the Paris obelisk, which is where you come out.
Peter made three test runs by himself. He didn’t want to send Eliza off without being sure it could work. The first time he arrived two
years before the correct date. He made adjustments and got there the second time three weeks before the correct date. More adjustments and on the third test it worked perfectly: October fifth, eighteen-eighty-nine, the day before he and Eliza were going to go. So on the night they were leaving, he felt confident.”
“Did he have any trouble returning?” asked Dalton.
“No. Somehow, coming back wasn’t a problem.”
“Peter spent twenty-three-and-a-half hours in Paris. He returned to the obelisk at Place de le Concord fifteen minutes before midnight. He went to the World’s Fair, The Eiffel Tower, Notre-Dame Cathedral. Squeezed in as much as he could. The next night, the three of us went to the obelisk. Everything was going smoothly. The Brimstone worked, the sudden rain, the deafening thunder. Eliza disappeared, then the lightning struck your father and... well, you know the rest. I’m sorry.”
Dalton reached out and touched Tash’s right shoulder.
“If it had turned out differently, Peter was going to go public with it. With his credibility, the news would’ve been accepted without question. He was going to turn The Brimstone and everything we’d learned to science and let them do with it what they will. If you’re gonna do this, stay as close to the obelisk as can be. In Peter’s practice run he was touching it. On the night he died the wind pushed him away and that’s when the lightning got him.”
“Thank you, Tash,” said Dalton. They shook hands.
“Do you know why my sister did this?” asked Juliet.
“She wanted a new life. The life of an artist. She wanted to be around people who would become famous painters. Oh! And Toulouse-Lautrec. She wanted to study painting with him.”
Proctor excused himself to walk Tash to the elevator. Looking dumbfounded, Dalton turned to Juliet and said, “My father made three test runs. Why wouldn’t he have told me?”
“Maybe he didn’t want you to worry.
“But still...“
“Maybe he thought you’d try to stop him.” She touched his right shoulder tenderly. “His last thoughts were of you. You’ll have to hold on to that.”
Dalton nodded in agreement.
A look of excitement was on Proctor’s face as he stepped back into the office. “What we need to do next is select the day we’re going to do this. We should also pay a visit to the obelisk for a little reconnaissance. I haven’t been there in years.”
Proctor’s phone rang. He looked at the Caller ID and thought he might pass out.
“Bonjour, Proctor. It’s Henri Arpin.”
Chapter 16
As soon as Proctor heard Henri Arpin’s voice he felt a thickness in his throat and the blood drain from his face. His suspicion about Ursula was true and his fear of The Duchess came alive.
“I understand you have The Brimstone,” said Henri.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do. Ursula told me everything.”
Proctor hesitated, trying to figure out what to say. Ursula couldn’t have told him everything, only a few things, because Dalton hadn’t given her as much information as he told Proctor.
“I don’t know what Ursula told you, but she did not have all the facts.”
“She sent me a photo. Looks exactly what I saw seven years ago.”
“I gave the object a thorough examination. It is not The Brimstone.”
“In that the case, how about Fed-Exing it to me so The Duchess can have a look? I’ll reimburse you.”
“I’m returning it to the owner.”
“Is she aware of its value?”
“How do you know it’s a woman?”
“Ursula told me. I ask you again: does she know of its value?”
“Yes. She has no interest.”
“Is she of independent means?”
“None of your business.”
“Then what could she possibly want it for?”
“I think we’re done, Henri. Tell The Duchess she will never possess or use The Brimstone and that she will never meet Cleopatra.”
“You’ve figured out how to use it, haven’t you?”
Proctor’s mouth was becoming dry. “On what basis are you drawing such a conclusion?”
“Who was it that you wanted to go back in time to meet, Proctor? The Duchess told me. I’ve forgotten.”
“Who I wanted to meet is none of your concern. Give my condolences to The Duchess.”
“That’s it, isn’t it? You’ve found the portal. And it must be in New York.”
“This conversation is over.”
“You’ve always been a bad liar, Proctor. I can hear it in your voice. You’ve figured it out and the owner is going to use it. Is her name Eliza?”
Proctor froze at the mention of Eliza’s name. Ursula had no knowledge of her so she couldn’t have told Henri the name.
“That name has haunted me for seven years,” said Henri. “The Brimstone was sent to her. I know that. Tell me, is she standing in your office with you right now?”
Proctor was at a loss of what to say. “Henri, Ursula was wrong. It’s not The Brimstone. You and The Duchess can crawl back into your holes. Goodbye.”
Proctor turned to Dalton. “If we’re going to do a trial run it has to be tonight.”
The statement stunned Dalton. “Why so fast? Isn’t this going to need planning?”
“Ideally, yes, but I’m concerned that even as we speak, someone is on his way to stop us.”
“But, leaving so quickly. It’s so reckless.”
“We have to do this! We’re all in great danger.”
“Can’t we call the police or something?” asked Juliet.
“We could, but it would only be a temporary measure. These people will stop at nothing to get The Brimstone. Juliet, it belongs to you. It has to be your decision. I know you don’t want money, but if you turn it over to The Brimstone Society it will be safe. If you don’t, there’s no telling what will happen. If Dalton and I are going to have a chance at finding your sister, we have to do it tonight.”
Juliet looked back and forth between Dalton and Proctor. “I’m going too.”
Both men looked at her. Dalton spoke. “You give me a hard time for going, now you want to?”
“You’ll never find Eliza without me.”
“You haven’t thought this through,” said Dalton.
“Let’s not waste anymore time. I’m doing this.”
“Where will you find clothes for eighteen-eighty-nine?” said Dalton.
“I’ll go to a vintage shop and throw something together. How hard can it be?”
“Actually, that won’t be a problem,” said Proctor. “We’re preparing an exhibit on The Brontë sisters. Despite the fact that we are a museum of the written word, one of my assistants convinced me to include examples of what they wore. We have a plethora of women’s clothing from the era. Charlotte was a bit stout, but Emily’s garments should fit you easily. They’re mid-nineteenth century, but you’re not there to make a fashion statement. Dalton, as for us, I’ll call my housekeeper and see what she can find in my closet that will be apropos until we get to Paris. I’ll have my driver pick them up. We’ll purchase contemporary clothing for all of us when we arrive.” He looked at his watch. “The Museum closes at eight-thirty tonight. That gives us time to go to the Brontë exhibition and find proper attire for you.”
“We’ll need money,” said Dalton. I can go to my place and get the francs.”
“Not necessary. We can get cash when we arrive in Paris. We’ll need to be in a safe place until we make our move to the obelisk. We have has a quite excellent security system and several guards. We’ll be safe here.” He turned to Juliet. “My dear, let’s go see what we can steal from the Brontë girls.”
“I’ll stay here and keep reading Eliza’s journals,” said Dalton.
“Mister Newley?” said Juliet.
“Call me Proctor.” He turned to Dalton. “You too.”
Softly, her eyes filling with tears, Juliet
said, “Proctor, do you... do you really believe my sister made it to Paris?”
Proctor looked at her tentatively. “I sincerely hope so.”
Chapter 17
October 6, 1888
8:14 a.m.
Place de la Concorde
Paris, France
Eliza Kinkaid arrived in Paris exactly where Peter Hillyer said she would, at the foot of the Obelisk of Luxor in Place de la Concorde, the largest public square in Paris. She was dizzy, out of breath, and felt as if she’d been squeezed through a small rabbit hole. A few passersby glanced at her, but kept walking. She was amazed at the sheer number of horse-drawn carriages and omnibuses traveling by her. At least ten cruised past her.
Situated in the 8th Arrondissement, it separates The Tuileries Gardens and The Louvre from the beginning of the Boulevard Champs-Elysées. She’d seen many pictures of Place de la Concorde, but had no idea it was so large. She calculated that it was the length of two football fields.
Although she couldn’t see it, she knew that a little over a hundred yards away, facing south, was The Seine. She stared in awe at La Fontaine des Mers, one of two fountains gracing the square, then turned to the north to gaze at The Elevation of the Maritime fountain. Both aligned with the obelisk and Rue Royale at the end of which was The Church of the Madeleine.
She knew that she was a five-minute walk from Rue de Rivoli where the best hotels, restaurants and shops were located. Still disoriented, she spun around in a circle slowly, taking in the fact that she had indeed made it through to Paris, eighteen-eighty-nine.
What frightened her was that Peter wasn’t there. He had insisted on accompanying her to be sure she would arrive safely.
As Eliza got her bearings, she stared up at the 75-foot high pink granite monolith given to the French in 1829 by the viceroy of Egypt, Mehemet Ali. She noticed how pristine it looked compared to the ravaged obelisk in Central Park. She observed a three-foot long crack in the edifice on the south side and assumed it was where she’d come through.