by Mari Carr
“I will vouch for Josephine,” Eric said.
“Right. Of course. This will be—”
Arthur once more made slashing motions, hoping this time James would take the hint and stop talking.
“I’m glad you approve,” James finished rather lamely.
There was a pause, then Eric said, “We won’t catch the Domino by force alone. The knights and security officers will continue the hunt, but your group, the keepers of knowledge, our…librarians…will work on the history of this adversary, and perhaps even find a motive for the Domino’s actions.”
James grinned. “I like that name. The librarians. We won’t let you down, sir.”
Arthur smiled. “It’s a good idea, James.”
Arthur was pleased the fleet admiral was willing to listen to and accept new ideas from the membership. Their society would flourish under such a man.
Assuming he wasn’t assassinated.
The Masters’ Admiralty was one of the longest standing and most powerful secret societies in the world. Formed during the Black Plague, the society spanned nine territories—including the whole of Europe, Turkey, Scandinavia, even the westernmost borders of modern-day Russia—and had been instrumental in forming governments, guiding history. They used to control most governments, but now their power was exerted in other ways, financially and politically.
“I have other business to attend to. I look forward to progress reports from the librarians, James. And, Arthur, I trust you will take care of that other matter as soon as possible.”
“Of course, sir.” Arthur disconnected the call and sank down into his seat.
James was kicked back in the chair across from his desk, his injured leg stretched out while he absentmindedly rubbed his knee. James had suffered what was still referred to as one of the worst injuries in rugby ever, and clips of the break that had left James unable to bend his left knee still circulated on social media outlets and sports programs.
Meanwhile, Arthur ran his left hand over his prosthetic right arm. He was still getting used to it.
“What other matter?” James asked.
Arthur really should learn to hold back from his partners, rather than sharing so much of the day-to-day things that came across his desk. The problem was, the job was still too new and he trusted them, valued their input. More than that, they’d forged a strong partnership working together to catch the Domino, before they were married. That habit was proving difficult to break.
“The fleet admiral is forming his first trinity.”
“Really?”
Arthur understood James’ surprise. While not unheard of, it was fairly unusual for the fleet admiral to form the alliances—dammit, marriages—leaving that task to the admirals of each territory. Typically, marriages were made between people in the same territory. The only person with the power to bind trinities between territories was the fleet admiral.
Arthur wondered why the fleet admiral had chosen these three. He knew why Mateo had been chosen, but what about the other two?
“He wants me to call this trinity and tell them they’re getting married. Then he wants the three of them to travel to the Isle of Man, where he will perform the ceremony.”
“Who are the lucky trio?”
“Mateo Bernard, Dimitri Bondar, and Cecilia St. John.”
James let out a long whistle. “My cousin Cecilia…and Mateo?”
“And the fleet admiral expects me to inform the admiral of Rome.”
James winced. “Make sure you wait to call Giovanni until after I’m gone. That man is still pissed we took his principessa. He won’t be pleased to find out Cecilia is off the market as well. She’s brilliant and very well-connected in the finance world. Giovanni likes that about her.”
“Thanks for pointing out the obvious. If I didn’t think it would make me look like a coward, I’d ask Sophia to make the call.”
James chuckled briefly before sobering up. Arthur recognized his look of confusion. It was the mirror image of his own a few minutes earlier when Eric made the request.
“Why Cecilia and Mateo? And who is that other guy?”
“Dimitri Bondar. He’s the wild card. I have no idea who he is.”
“Doesn’t this marriage mean that Mateo will have to step down as head of the Spartan Guard?”
Arthur nodded slowly. “It does.”
He didn’t tell James about Mateo’s opportunity to save his job. Cecilia was James’ cousin, and he wasn’t sure his partner wouldn’t tell her about the caveat to protect her feelings. Arthur would keep that piece of information a secret, as an admiral should.
Too bad it made him feel vaguely ill to lie to his husband. Perhaps he’d grow used to the feeling.
“Won’t Mateo be upset about giving up his position?”
Arthur nodded. “I suspect he’ll be very upset.”
“Well, while I realize I may be prejudiced, I can’t imagine any man would be disappointed to marry my cousin. She’s as beautiful as she is intelligent.”
Arthur gave James a disbelieving look, one eyebrow raised. “Are you practicing that line so you can deliver it with ease to Mateo? Because I believe the word you used to describe her to me was ‘ballbreaker.’”
James chuckled. “How did it sound? Convincing?”
Arthur nodded. “Actually it was. I’ll admit I’m looking forward to meeting Cecilia St. John, given the things you’ve told me about her.”
“Well, it sounds like you’re going to have the chance very soon.” James rose slowly, putting his weight on his good leg, holding the stiff one out at an angle as he did so. “Of course, you have to call our father-in-law first. I’ll leave you to that.”
“Coward,” Arthur muttered.
“I’m headed back to the museum. You mind bringing all that information about the Domino home tonight? Given Cecilia’s upcoming nuptials, it sounds like the librarians would be wise to hold their first meeting sooner rather than later.”
Arthur nodded, chuckling at the name James had clearly adopted wholeheartedly for his brain trust. “I’ll gather it and bring it home. God willing, the six of you can discover something we’ve missed before anyone else is killed.”
“Amen,” James said sadly, limping out of the office at a slower pace than he’d walked in.
“Amen,” Arthur whispered.
2
The Old Library at Trinity College in Dublin made regular appearances on lists of the most impressive libraries in the world and was the permanent home of the Book of Kells. During open hours, it was a hive of activity, filled with tourists from all over the world who came to peer into the glass cases at the famous illuminated manuscript, or to walk through the second-floor Long Room. Velvet ropes kept visitors confined to the center aisle, and away from the old, rare, and delicate books that filled the two-story shelves. Normally, access to the Long Room was limited to paying visitors and the occasional scholar who had very special permission to access the books.
They’d begun arriving twenty minutes earlier, entering one by one through a side door and making their way up to the Long Room via an old, creaking elevator that was closed to the public. The path they took showed the too-modern, behind-the-scenes parts of the Old Library, including staging and storage areas, heavy concrete and steel that had been used to retrofit the old building, and the cleaning supplies used to keep the place from looking like thousands of tourists tramped through every day.
It was an effective setting for these meetings, as nothing got an intellectual’s brain churning more than being surrounded by thousands of delicate, precious books. The fleet admiral and Josephine, the person he’d recommended to be their sixth member, had pulled a few strings in order to use the Long Room for their secret meetings.
There had been promises of dire and painful deaths if they so much as breathed wrong on one of the books.
They were gathered around a narrow scholars’ table between two of the stacks. The Long Room also functioned as a museum, featuring
rotating exhibits. The current exhibit included large banners bearing replicas of stained-glass panels from a cathedral in Northern Ireland. A banner hung across the entrance to the stacks, further hiding them in the narrow space between. It was intimate, with the window on one side looking out over the well-lit green lawns and pale stone of Trinity College, two-story high bookshelves looming over them like friendly giants, and the stained-glass banner filtering the light that fell over their small assembly.
“Okay. If I could just get everyone’s attention, we’ll get things rolling.” James had to speak up to be heard, despite the fact there were only six of them in the room. He was speaking English, which, along with French, everyone spoke fluently. Still, he should be careful not to use colloquial phrases. He cleared his throat. “We’ll begin once everyone is quiet.”
It took a minute, but they quieted down. Nothing worse than a bunch of academic types getting together. Everyone was talking at the same time and clamoring to be heard.
“I assume everyone had an opportunity to read over the file I had delivered to you.”
They nodded.
James grinned, pleased that every person he’d invited to join this special brain trust had accepted without reservation. They really had pulled together some of the best minds of this generation.
Looking around the room, he noted how diverse the group was. Cecilia was seated next to him, and while he’d joked about her powerhouse personality to Arthur, the truth was, she was his favorite cousin—intelligent, interesting and truly beautiful. Her chestnut hair was cut in an efficient yet stylish shoulder-length style that framed her heart-shaped face nicely. She had expressive, bright blue eyes that could pierce through anyone who came up against her more efficiently than a laser. She was tall—everyone in his family was—and slim. She ran five miles every single morning and practiced yoga.
Beside her sat Karl Klimek from the Germany territory, though he himself was Dutch. He had dark curly hair and wore frameless glasses. The glasses seemed more like a disguise than anything. Karl was heavily muscled and had a stern, serious face. He was an anthropologist, specializing in urban settlement. He was the man governments called when construction and renovation projects turned up an ancient city or unexpected pile of bones.
Nyx Kata, their religious scholar, had pale white-blond hair, shades lighter than her medium-tone skin. Her eyes had an almond shape and tilt, and were a blue so pale they were almost translucent. Her pupils stood out stark and black in contrast. She was lovely, but not in a traditional way. She looked like an artist had taken features from a dozen different cultures and ethnicities and combined them into one unsettlingly beautiful whole. She was one of those people who made you feel stupid when you talked to her, not because she was condescending, but because she was just that intelligent.
Hugo Marchand sat at the other end of the table from James. The man’s field of study was political science, which seemed to fit. He had devilish good looks—dark hair with piercing blue eyes, a strong jaw with a dimple in his chin—which would have served him well if he’d chosen to become a politician rather than merely study them. James had caught Cecilia, Josephine and Nyx all giving him sidelong glances when he’d entered, and his cousin had murmured “hello, Superman” under her breath. Hugo seemed entirely unaware of his appeal to members of the opposite sex, not noticing their slight blushes when he’d introduced himself and shook their hands.
Josephine O’Connor had claimed the spot next to Hugo, and while she was sitting, James could hardly call her still. Her hands gestured wildly whenever she spoke, her expressions reflecting every word, every emotion she felt.
“As I told each of you when I issued the invitation, the fleet admiral has entrusted this information to us because he believes it will take much more than brute force to bring the Domino to justice. The Domino is responsible for the deaths of at least four members, two admirals, and the late fleet admiral.
That was a sobering thought, and around the table, the faces of the gathered scholars reflected that grim reality.
“So far, it feels as if he—”
“Or she,” Cecilia interjected.
James nodded. They truly didn’t know if the Domino was a man or a woman. “True, but for our purposes, Cecilia, I think it would be easier to simply use the pronoun he in discussion.”
“It would be just as easy to use she.”
James folded his arms. He loved his cousin to pieces but…she never gave an inch when it came to gender equality. Or anything else she felt passionately about. Normally, him folding his arms made people think twice about pissing him off. Unfortunately, Cecilia was related to him, so the nonverbal threat was less than useless.
“You know, there’s been a great deal of discussion about the importance of pronoun usage in the transgender community,” Karl added. “Misgendering an individual is viewed as disrespectful to many for whom the male/female binary—if you’ll forgive that description—does not work.”
“I’ve read about this.” Hugo leaned back in his chair, and James considered the man’s confident, easygoing demeanor. He looked too bad boy pretty to be a political scientist. Of course, that was probably the pot calling the kettle black. Not that James considered himself a hot ticket, but it wasn’t every day a former New Zealand All Black found his way into a job at the British Museum, studying old coins.
“Isn’t the preferred pronoun ‘they,’ in that situation?” Karl asked.
“Oh, that’s just one possibility,” Josephine said excitedly, pushing her oversized glasses up on her nose. She was the one member of their merry little band of brainiacs James and Cecilia had never met. He’d been curious about her when the fleet admiral asked that she be included. She was a tiny little sprite with bright, curly red hair and a face full of freckles. Cecilia had spotted her when she’d entered the Long Room and noted under her breath that the woman didn’t appear to walk, but instead skip. He’d chuckled quietly at the accurate description. Even now, she was practically dancing in her chair as she continued to speak.
“Linguistically, pronouns have become a hotbed of discussion lately in terms of gender fluidity. They is a common one, but there are others like ze, sie, co, and ey that have been used as well. Personally…I prefer ze.”
“Oh?” Karl said, clearly curious. “Why is that?”
“The simplest solution would be to switch to a better language,” Nyx said quietly. “English is inelegant at best. Perhaps one of the Austronesian languages?”
“Oooo, Tagalog is fun,” Josephine chimed in, pushing her glasses up.
James wasn’t sure where he’d lost control. Then he remembered—and shot Cecilia a dirty look. She gave him a sheepish grin that said she was enjoying his discomfiture, even as she mouthed the word, “sorry.”
“I’m afraid we’ll never accomplish anything,” James said loudly, continuing to speak over Josephine and Karl, who clearly weren’t finished with their discussion. Nyx was staring into space, probably figuring out the meaning of life. They quieted down reluctantly when he continued, “If we don’t try to remain on the topic at hand. For our purposes,” he gave Cecilia a pointed look, “we will refer to the Domino as he.”
She shrugged. “Fine. Though they may actually work better.”
James started to growl, but she raised her hands in a conciliatory manner.
“I’m simply saying history has taught us there is always a Domino—a master-slash-mistress—and an apprentice. This is a two-person operation. They are responsible for these killings.”
James couldn’t fault that observation at all. And since it was on topic, he took the ball and ran with it. “Exactly. As we know, the Domino has been an enemy of the Masters’ Admiralty for centuries.”
Everyone nodded, and James was relieved by their easy acceptance. When he’d first mentioned his opinion that the Domino was in play again to Arthur and Sophia, it had taken a lot of effort—and more proof—to convince them.
Cecilia, never one to mince w
ords or waste time, gave a very succinct summary of hundreds of years of terror wrought at the hands of their enemy.
“It’s typically one person per generation who takes an apprentice, who in turn becomes the Domino in the next generation. Each Domino has their own signature, which is one reason it’s been so difficult to expose and stop them. They leave different calling cards, which are essentially taunts to let us know they’ve acted. In the early years, half masks were left at the scene of the crime. In the first World War, two black dots were drawn on victims. In the second World War, the actual domino game pieces were left behind—snake eyes, typically. Seven years ago, a black mask was left behind after a bombing in the Ottoman territory.”
James added, “And in the case of the killings in Rome, it was the coins.”
“None of that makes much sense,” Hugo said. “The calling cards appear to change with each new crime, but surely there aren’t countless Dominos. Just a master and an apprentice, right? And the apprentice does the master’s bidding, rather than acting alone.”
“The pieces don’t fit together in these more recent crimes,” Cecilia confirmed. “This current Domino and apprentice don’t stick to the same routine. They’re highly organized, but nonlinear, using different methods to keep us guessing, confused.”
“We’re using the present tense, but I thought the person who killed the fleet admiral, and the one who shot the other admirals, were all dead.” That information wasn’t exactly secret from the members of the Masters’ Admiralty, but there had been details in the file James had sent to everyone. Hugo’s point was another good place to start the discussion.
“They are, but—” James was interrupted by Nyx.
“Do you believe in fairy tales, Hugo?”
“What?”
“Fairy tales.” Nyx’s voice was calm and level, as if her question had been totally normal and not a non-sequitur.
“I know a trap when I see it.” Hugo cocked an eyebrow at her.