“Meaning?” Alex was too tired for riddles.
“Meaning if you expect your flat mate to be late, prepare something that’s meant to be eaten cold. That’s gazpacho, you eat it cold.”
It took a minute for Alex to process, but then he just shrugged his shoulders and started eating again.
Iggy sad down beside him at the table and let Alex get halfway through the bowl before interrupting. “Since you seem determined to make me ask, how did it go with the police?”
“Captain Rooney stuck his neck out trying to catch the thief at the customs warehouse,” Alex said, between spoonfuls of the cold vegetable soup. “Now he needs a scapegoat, and if I don’t figure out who killed Jerry Pemberton by Monday morning, he’s going to make it me.”
“That’s dirty pool,” Iggy said.
“You said it,” Alex agreed, even though he had no idea what Iggy meant. “Worse, he’s going to take Danny down with me, so that’s priority number one.”
Alex then told Iggy about his day, searching for whomever had their goods purloined at the warehouse.
“So far everyone seems to be telling the truth,” he said as Iggy set a plate with a slab of cold ham on it in front of him.
“You’re sure one of them is guilty?” Iggy asked.
Alex nodded, slicing the meat into bite-sized chunks. “All the government pouches were sealed and accounted for. That just leaves the businesses.”
“Well,” Iggy said, picking up the newspaper. “It sounds like you had an eventful day.”
“That’s not the half of it,” Alex said, finishing the second bowl and pushing it away. “The Feds came to see me this morning.”
Iggy lowered the paper so he could peer over it. “What did you do to draw their attention?”
“Client of mine’s brother disappeared,” Alex said. “Feds think he was involved in a theft at a government research facility.”
“Was he?”
“I don’t know,” Alex admitted. “He’s an accountant by trade and a runewright on the side. Nothing about him says criminal mastermind.”
Iggy raised the paper back up and continued reading. Alex stood and picked up his bowl and spoon, intending to take it to the sink.
“Hey Iggy,” he said. “You’ve been around a while. Have you ever heard of something called the Archimedean Monograph?”
Iggy nearly ripped the paper in half as he jerked out of his seat. His eyes were as big as saucers, and the color had drained from his face. He recovered quickly, but Alex had been looking right at him and had seen his reaction.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, going to the icebox for two cold beers. He opened them with a church key, then put one in front of Iggy, who had retaken his seat, the torn newspaper forgotten in one hand.
“Where did you hear that name?” he asked, his voice nothing more than a whisper.
“From Sorsha Kincaid. She’s consulting with the FBI on the theft. Six runes were stolen from the government, and all six are supposed to be from the Monograph. Why don’t you start by telling me what it is?”
Iggy put his hand on Alex’s, and it was trembling badly.
“No,” he said, his voice a gasp. “You can’t go looking for it, Alex. You mustn’t.”
Alex put his other hand atop Iggy’s.
“I’m not looking for it, Iggy. I swear. But my client’s brother may have had a part in stealing six pages from it that the government had. I need to know what it is, so I can figure out why he disappeared.”
Iggy took a shuddering breath and leaned back in his chair.
“All right,” he said. He rose and beckoned Alex to follow him. “This is a story that needs a fire, a cigar, and some cognac.” He led Alex into the library and opened the liquor cabinet on the back wall. “Make up a good fire, please,” he said. “I feel a chill.”
Alex poured coal in the grate, then tore out a fire rune from his rune book and lit it over the pile. In a few seconds the coal caught and warmth began to fill the room. Iggy poured a dark brown liquor into two large snifters, then set them in angled holders that tipped them on a forty-five degree angle. Just below the wooden holders were two small tea candles whose flames touched the glass, warming the cognac.
While the candles did their work, Iggy trimmed two cigars and handed one to Alex. Once each man had lit his cigar, they removed the snifters from the warmers and blew out the candles. Alex sipped the cognac and felt a warm glow spread through his body.
“You need to understand something, Alex,” Iggy began. “I’ve only shared this story with one other person in my entire life. There’s a reason I don’t share it.”
“Who did you share it with?”
“My best friend. His name was Felix Tafford.”
Alex caught the slight emphasis on the word was. “What happened to him?”
“All in good time,” Iggy said. “I suppose this story starts when I was in my third year at the University of Edinburgh Medical School. I had it in me to join His Majesty’s Navy and become a ship’s doctor. For a young man with my background, that was a big step up. Problem was, in order to join the Royal Navy and become an officer, I needed someone to sponsor my commission.”
He paused and took a long drink from the snifter, then sat back and puffed on the cigar. To Alex it looked as if the old man were steeling himself for the memories that would come.
“That’s where Felix Tafford came in,” Iggy continued. “He and I were pals at school, only his father was a Captain of the Line. With his connections, Felix could choose any post he wanted.”
“So he used his family connections to get you a commission.” Alex guessed. Iggy nodded.
“Just so. The only condition was that I had to meet Felix’s father and impress him, something that was rumored to be very difficult. I realized that if I was to have any chance at all, I had to present myself to Captain Tafford in person. So, I left school just as our Christmas holidays were starting and traveled south to the naval station on Gibraltar, where Captain Tafford was stationed. As it turned out, I impressed the Captain quite easily. He had picked up a case of the clap and didn’t want that on his service record.”
“Or getting back to his wife,” Alex said with a grin.
“Precisely,” Iggy said with a nod. “I wrote him up a cleansing rune that had him right as rain in a few days and he signed my commission papers right off.” Iggy chuckled at the memory, then his face turned serious again.
“I was waiting for my return ship to England when a strange thing happened. A ship was brought into port having been found adrift at sea with no one on board. This was no little sailboat, mind you, but an American brig, just drifting in the north Atlantic. Her stores were intact, so it was no act of piracy, and the ship was in good order, considering that she drifted over a month. The crew was just … gone.”
Alex sipped his cognac as he listened. Iggy’s voice was as powerful a weaver of magic as his hands.
“It made all the papers,” he said. “It was a sensation. All kinds of theories were offered as to what had happened, but there just weren’t enough facts to come to any conclusion. The admiralty put out a call for help to anyone with scientific, magical, or medical knowledge. Captain Tafford recommended me and I found myself on the deck of the Mary Celeste. That was her name.”
Something stirred in Alex’s memory. “Didn’t Arthur Conan Doyle write a story about that?” he asked. “You had me read it along with his other works.”
“Doyle changed her name to the Marie Celeste, but it’s the same ship.” Iggy nodded. “As I said, everyone had their theories. Anyway, I had just refined my first ghostlight formula, so I searched the ship for any signs of magic.”