Night of a Thousand Stars

by DEANNA RAYBOURN

  “You sacrificed your own happiness for her safety,” I said simply. “It’s heroic.”

  His mouth worked a moment, but nothing came out. Finally, he managed a simple grunt and a nod.

  “Has no one ever put it to you like that?” I asked gently.

  “No,” he said, his voice rasping. “No one except Evie.”

  “Then you have seen her,” Sebastian put in.

  Gabriel nodded. “She came to Damascus to find me. I was in the Badiyat ash-Sham, working on an archaeological expedition.”

  “How did she know where to find you?” Sebastian asked evenly, but there was an icy edge to his question.

  “Because I sent her a photograph with my general location on the back,” Starke answered. “I needed to make amends. I brought her out here because I had something to give her, something she would stand a far better chance than I would at getting out of Syria.”

  Sebastian’s jaw tightened and his hands curled into fists. “You gave her the gold.”

  Gabriel held up a hand. “Calm yourself, Slightly. I’ve no wish to be on the receiving end of your temper for a second time tonight. I didn’t give Evie anything that belonged to the Lost Boys.”

  “The Lost Boys?” I asked.

  Sebastian’s hands relaxed. “That’s what our little band was called. There were seven of us who didn’t fit into any other work the bureau wanted. We were the leftovers, the flotsam and jetsam of the department. It was Gabriel who called us the Lost Boys the first time we met and the name stuck.”

  “Where are the others?” I wondered.

  Starke shrugged. “Dead, missing, scattered by the war. I’ll admit I didn’t make it my business to find out.”

  “No, you were too sunk in self-pity and recrimination to wonder about the rest of us,” Sebastian shot back. He rose, wincing only a little. “I’ll be back in a minute. I want to make certain Demetrius’ shop is still secure.” He let himself out through the little door in the wardrobe, and I turned to find Starke smiling after him.

  “The boy looks good. He still had a bit of puppy fat the last time I saw him. Glad to see that’s been worked off.”

  “He’s rather hard on you,” I ventured.

  Starke swiveled his head, fixing me with those devastating blue eyes. “I only found out recently that when the war ended and I walked away from it all, he was rotting in a Turkish prison. I don’t think I’d blame him if he had slit my throat the minute I walked in the door.” My stomach gave a lurch as he went on, softly, “I don’t know what they did to him. But I know what they did to Lawrence, and those are things I wouldn’t do to a rabid dog. The fact that he’s still alive and sane means he’s a far stronger man than I am. He’s got the heart of a lion, that boy. And the rage of a Viking berserker,” he added with a knowing wink.

  I blinked. “But he’s a clergyman,” I said.

  Starke grinned his pirate’s grin. “Clearly you’ve never seen him in a knife fight.” Before I could decide if he were joking or not, there was a rustling at the door and Sebastian appeared with a fresh skin of wine. He tossed it to Starke, who opened it and poured out a full measure for all of us.

  “So what did you give Evangeline if not the gold?” Sebastian asked, settling into a chair.

  I darted a surreptitious look at him from under my lashes. There were no scars, at least none I could see, and I wondered what horrors he had endured at the hands of his captors.

  Starke was speaking. “The abandoned monastery outside Ashkelon, the last night we were all together, do you remember? It was the night before we went our separate ways to take up our roles in the great charade. There was a storm outside, raging, and we took refuge in that old wreck up on the hill. But the roof was gone, and the wind and rain drove us down through the crypts and into the old temple of Venus. We burned whatever we could get our hands on to stay warm, furniture and barrels and packing crates. And that’s when we found the manuscripts, cached there when the monks abandoned the place.” His words were directed at Sebastian, but he did not look at him. His gaze was soft and unfocused, and I knew he was seeing the scene in his head, unrolling like a moving picture. The storm raging outside, the little band of spies, brothers, gathered together one last time before they embarked upon a mission that could destroy them all.

  “We didn’t know what they were at first, not until you deciphered them. But they were ordinary, lists of caravan goods and orders for chapel goods. Until you came to the one that told of the Templar treasure, Crusader gold brought to this land to finance the wars of the Middle Ages, the wars between gods and men, a treasure lost to time. But this document was more than a history. It was a map, and someone recognised it as being a copy of the same manuscript Lady Hester Stanhope had purchased on her travels.”

  “Jocasta,” Sebastian said softly. “It was Jocasta. She specialised in modern Levantine history.”

  Starke gave a quiet laugh. “Jocasta. How could I have forgot? She was giddy as a schoolgirl when she realised what we had found. A treasure map detailing the location of the Ashkelon hoard, the gold that Lady Hester spent her fortune in search of.”

  I shook my head. It seemed fantastical that they were discussing Lady Hester so casually. She was a real historical personage, but her story was straight out of myth. She had served as society hostess to her bachelor uncle, the younger Pitt, when he was Prime Minister, but a disappointment in love had driven her to travel. She had struck out for the East, adopting the dress of a Turkish man and Eastern customs as they suited her. She had established the first modern archaeological dig at Ashkelon, looking for ancient art and, according to rumour, something more fabulous—a cache of gold pieces hauled to the Holy Land by the crusading Templars.

  “Did she ever find it?” I asked.

  Starke roused himself, seeming to see me for the first time. “No one knows. She retired to a sprawling house on a hillside, and lived out her days in splendid squalour. But that doesn’t mean anything. She may well have found it and hidden it again. All her family were famous eccentrics. It would have amused her to keep the secret.”

  “It would,” Sebastian agreed. He turned to me. “We know at Ashkelon she unearthed a priceless statue of Zeus, the greatest archaeological discovery to date. And she ordered it smashed and the pieces hurled into the sea.”

  I remembered the incident from the book I had read. “It was outrageous,” I said hotly.

  Sebastian nodded. “That it was. And what for? Sheer bloody-mindedness? Desire to thwart the Turks, who would have claimed it for themselves? No one knows. But if anyone was capable of discovering a treasure of Templar gold and never telling a soul, it was Lady Hester.”

  I looked at Starke. “What did you do with the map?”

  He smiled, and it was a ghost’s smile. “We did what any group of people facing their own mortality would do. We put it back. It had clearly lain undisturbed for a few hundred years. We made a pact to leave it in peace until the war was over. When it was finished, then we would claim it and share it out—a pact I have not broken,” he added with a meaningful look at Sebastian.

  “Then what did you give Evangeline?” Sebastian returned.

  “There was another document, a second map,” Starke said. “This one led to a very different sort of treasure.”

  “What treasure?” I asked, eyes round with anticipation.

  “The True Cross.” I shook my head stupidly.

  “The True Cross? You mean the actual Cross, the one that— Oh, my heavens,” I said weakly.

  “Exactly,” he said with a shadow of a grin. “The document detailed what happened to it after it was removed from Golgotha, tracing its movements throughout history. It suffered in the process and bits of it were burnt or hacked off, but a sizeable portion remained. To most historians, it was lost after the Battle of Hattin.”

  �
��Hattin? Wait, I know that name,” I said quickly. “How do I know it?”

  “Because it was fought here,” Sebastian supplied. “On a desert plain between two peaks called the Horns of Hattin. The army of the King of Jerusalem clashed with that of Sal¯ah al-Di¯n—known to our historians as Saladin. The Bishop of Acre himself carried the Cross into battle. They were crushed by the heat and the Mohammedan army. Sal¯ah al-Di¯n picked it up and carried it in triumph here to Damascus. He had it paved into the stones of the place as his greatest trophy, but it was lost to history.”

  Starke broke in. “Lost to Western history,” he corrected. “As it happens, easterners have known all along what happened to it. Their chronicles explain that the Cross was badly damaged in the Battle of Hattin, and Sal¯ah al-Di¯n brought what was left to Damascus—a fragment of the original, but still the largest piece left anywhere in the world. He had it embedded in the floor of the Great Mosque, and it didn’t leave again until 1400 when Tamerlane sacked the city. He had the mosque burnt and prised up the Cross, carrying it back to Samarkand. After a century, it was recovered by a group of Christian monks whose monastery was in the Badiyat ash-Sham. They reset it in gold and crystal, preserving what was left. They kept the secret of its existence—a little too well. One of the usual tribal wars erupted, and the monks scattered. One of them hid the Cross and documented its whereabouts. But he and his brethren died, and the Cross was lost again.”

  “Until you,” Sebastian said thinly.

  “Yes, well,” Starke said. He cleared his throat. “As it happens, I did find it. And I gave it to Evie. Or at least, I meant to.”

  “Where is it now?” Sebastian demanded.

  “Burnt in an aeroplane crash,” Starke answered cheerfully. “There was someone else after it, and he was rather tenacious. He crashed his plane in the Badiyat ash-Sham and the Cross was melted in the fire. Nothing left but a puddle of molten gold, although I suppose the Bedouin have helped themselves by now,” he finished, stroking his chin.

  “And you would have kept it for yourself,” Sebastian said, his tone clipped.

  Starke held up a hand. “I did not break our pact, Slightly. We all gave our word not to go after the Ashkelon hoard alone, and I didn’t. I went after something altogether different. And I’m happy to relinquish my claim to the Ashkelon gold if it’s ever found,” he added. “That’s more than enough to make up for taking the Cross for myself.”

  “How much is the Ashkelon gold worth?” I asked as a matter of curiosity.

  Starke gave me a cool smile. “Three million.”

  “Three million pounds?” I squeaked.

  Sebastian shook his head. “No, child. Three million pieces.”

  I stared from one to the other. “You can’t be serious. Three million separate pieces of gold. But it must be worth—”

  “Fairly incalculable,” Starke said gently. “And I wash my hands of the business. My seventh is to be shared out amongst the rest, however many there may be left. If they can find it.”

  Sebastian’s gaze sharpened. “What makes you say that?”

  Starke sighed. “I had to go back to the monastery to retrieve the map to the Cross. The Ashkelon document was missing, Slightly. It’s been taken. And without it, you’ll have the devil’s own time finding the gold.”

  Sebastian’s face was livid. “I don’t believe it.”

  Starke was gentle. “You must. I’ve come to terms with it, and so must you. One of our merry band is a traitor.”

  “In that case—”

  Starke held up a hand. “In that case, the likeliest suspect is me. But I didn’t take it. I give you my word. And whatever else I’ve done, I think we both know that’s still worth something in this part of the world.”

  Sebastian flushed. “I know, Gabriel.”

  Starke rose and drained the last of his wine. He held out his hand for mine, and when I gave it to him, kissed it. “My dear Miss March, it has been a most unexpected pleasure. Most unexpected indeed.”

  He smiled at some secret amusement, then turned to Sebastian, hesitating. He put out his hand slowly, and Sebastian took it. They clasped each other’s hands, then leaned in, resting their foreheads together in an Eastern gesture of respect for a brief moment before Starke withdrew, clearly in the grip of strong emotion.

  “I don’t know if I’ll see you again, Slightly. I’ve told you all I can. Rashid is in Damascus. I can spare him for a few days if you need him. And mind you take care of Miss March,” he added with a significant glance at me.

  And then he was gone, disappeared through the secret door.

  I turned to Sebastian, feeling as though the air had gone out of the room. And without warning I began to laugh.

  He turned his head. “What is it?”

  “I’ve only just puzzled out why he calls you Slightly. You were the Lost Boys, Peter Pan’s band of adventurers,” I said through peals of laughter. “And you are Slightly Soiled.”

  Sebastian did not find the remark nearly as funny as I did. He gave me a sour look and threw a length of wool at me, gesturing towards a straw pallet on the floor as he did so.

  “You need rest now. So do I, for that matter.” Beyond the kohl darkening his eyes, I saw shadows, crescents of purple smudged just above his cheekbones.

  I wrapped myself in the wool and lay down on the rough pallet.

  “Haven’t you slept?”

  He shrugged. “Not much. Too busy chasing down leads on where I might find Gabriel.” He folded a bit of wool and eased himself down into a corner, still wincing slightly.

  “Should you have a look at those ribs?”

  He gave me a faint smile. “Only bruised, my dear Miss March. If they were broken, I would know.”

  “You sound as if you have experience with that sort of thing.”

  “I do. Now go to sleep.”

  I closed my eyes, but sleep was the furthest thing from my mind. A kaleidoscope of pictures tumbled in my mind, splintering and chasing and breaking again as they formed new images. I could not believe so much had happened in so little time. I saw Hugh’s face, twisted with avarice, and Sebastian dashing to my rescue like something straight out of myth. He was exhausted, but still he sat up, attentive to every noise, waiting for danger.

  I forced myself to sit up, rubbing my eyes.

  “Can’t sleep?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “I keep seeing it all over again.”

  “It takes people like that sometimes, their first experience with this sort of thing.”

  “I hope it’s not my last,” I told him solemnly.

  He cocked his head, taking me in from tumbled hair to impractical shoes. “Do you really think you’re cut out for this sort of thing?”

  “I don’t know,” I said slowly. “But I should like to try.”

  “Why?” His voice was blunt. “It’s dangerous and dirty, and if you’re only in it for a bit of fun, you’ll get yourself killed.”

  I thought and chose my words carefully. “It’s because I’ve never really belonged.”

  He quirked up a brow. “The society debutante with the millionaire stepfather has never belonged?” The words were cutting, but he had the grace to say them gently.

  “That’s just it,” I explained. “Reginald’s money opens doors, but what I do when I go through them is up to me. And usually I’ve just made a mess of it all. I can’t ever seem to settle down to doing what other people expect of me. That’s how I ended up running out on poor Gerald. I thought I was doing what was right, what I’d been bred for, but I just didn’t fit. I never have. Not in school, not even in my family. Mother had the twins and then the boys came along, and through it all Reginald was really rather wonderful to me. He has always treated me as his own, but I don’t look like them. I don’t speak like them. I’m not one of them.
I am the cuckoo in the nest.”

  “And now you’d like to fly your own way, is that it?”

  “Precisely. Only I never knew what that way might be until recently.”

  His gaze sharpened. “What happened recently?”

  “I discovered my Aunt Julia’s memoirs. She was a detective, you know. Not on purpose, you understand. She fell into it. Her husband was the one with the inquiry agency, but he made her a partner, a real partner. And she learned to be herself. That’s what I want.”

  “You think international intrigue is the way to go about that?”

  “Heavens, no! That bit is your fault.”

  He choked a little. “My fault?”

  “By disappearing so dramatically. I thought there must be something terribly wrong. I was worried about you,” I told him.

  Suspicion seemed to dawn then, and he lowered his chin, fixing me with an icy stare. “Do you mean to tell me you came out here on a rescue mission? You thought you were saving me?”

  “Well, yes, actually.”

  He said nothing for a long moment, and then the words came in bursts. “Of all the— I can’t imagine— The most insulting, infuriating—”

  “Of course, that’s before I knew you,” I said. But he wouldn’t be placated. He clamped his jaw shut, the muscle in his cheek working furiously.

  “Sebastian?”

  “Go to sleep.”

  “I didn’t mean to insult you, really I didn’t. I thought you were just an unprepossessing clergyman who had been abducted or assaulted, and I honestly believed—”

  He cut in with swift brutality. “I am not at all interested in your beliefs, Miss March. Now go to sleep.”

  He rose and flung his bit of woolen fabric around his shoulders as he strode to the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  He turned, giving me a cold stare. “I am going to keep watch. Don’t worry. If I get into any trouble, I’ll shriek for help.”

  He stalked out, closing the door carefully behind him.

  I lay back down, cursing my own chattering tongue. I hadn’t meant to make him sound so much like a milquetoast, but I had thought I was coming on a rescue mission. How was I to know he was some sort of spy, I asked myself irritably. I punched and thumped the lumpy straw into something passably comfortable, but it was a long time before I slept. I had come to know Sebastian well enough to know that he would be racking his brain to find some way of getting me back to England safely. If I wasn’t lucky, I would find myself packed onto a steamer the very next day.