“You shouldn’t read in the dark, mate,” said a cheery, gravelly voice. “You’ll ruin your eyes.”
“Anders,” she said, breathless.
As usual, he was dressed in a sleek designer suit. His hair looked freshly bleached, and as he set a paper cup on her desk she noticed that his fingernails were perfectly buffed and trimmed.
How can he be a spy, Deirdre? Clearly he spends all of his free time grooming.
Despite her dread, the thought actually made her laugh, but she swallowed it, and it came out more as a gagging sound.
“Are you all right, mate?”
Deirdre answered with the truth. There was no reason not to. “Not exactly. I just got this in my morning paper.” She handed him the note, then took a deep, restorative swig of the coffee.
When he finished reading the note, Anders let out a low whistle. “Crikey, you were right next to him this time. He’s been taking bigger and bigger risks to communicate with you. Seems to me like he’s getting a little edgy. Things must be desperate for him.”
Deirdre hadn’t thought of that, but Anders was probably right. As usual, he had seen things in a way she hadn’t. And that was why she hated being suspicious of him. She needed Anders–she needed his sharp wit and his absurd good cheer and his coffee.
Only you can’t have them, Deirdre. Not if you can’t trust him.
But maybe she could; maybe there was still a chance. If he would answer one question for her, then she would know for certain that he was still on her side.
“Anders,” she said, and cleared her throat. “Anders, there’s something I’ve been wondering. And it’s important to me. Very important. I need you to answer a question.”
He shrugged his big shoulders. “You got it, partner. Anything.”
She met his vivid blue eyes. “Why do you still carry a hand‑gun? I’ve never received any orders regarding it, but I know Nakamura is aware you still have it and hasn’t done anything about it. Why?”
For a moment he didn’t move. His eyes stayed locked on hers. Hope surged in her chest.
Then he winked at her and grinned. “Not that old chestnut again,” he said, his voice big and affectionately mocking. “I swear, you’re like a dog with a bone, mate. Only there’s no meat left on this one. Like you said, Nakamura knows all about it. Now, how’s your coffee?”
The hope burned to ash in her chest. She clutched the paper cup. “Great,” she said, and she took a sip, though she didn’t taste it.
Beltan showed up at the door then, and Deirdre was grateful for his interruption. Deirdre offered the blond man a sip of her coffee, and he slugged it down in one long gulp, returning the cup and the last dregs to her with a sheepish look.
“You seem raring to go this morning,” Anders observed.
“We spoke to one of the Scirathi like you said we should,” Beltan answered, looking at Deirdre. “Now it’s time to get the keystone and use it to lure the thieves who stole the arch.”
Deirdre wished Beltan hadn’t drunk all the coffee. She could have used a sip to gather herself. “You heard what the sorcerer said. The Scirathi don’t have the arch.”
“That doesn’t matter.” Beltan’s green eyes were overly bright. “Whoever it is the Scirathi were working for, surely they will be lured out of hiding when we dangle the keystone before them. Else they might send more Scirathi to fetch it for them. Either way, the thieves will lead us to their hiding place.”
Deirdre wanted to tell him that it was too risky, that they didn’t know enough yet about those whom the Scirathi were allied with. However, she knew by the set of his jaw that Beltan was going to get the keystone if he had to tear up the Charterhouse with his bare hands. She opened her mouth, unsure what she was going to say.
“Good morning!” said a voice every bit as cheerful as Anders’s, only higher‑pitched and far more grating.
“Hello, Eustace,” Anders said with a wave.
The diminutive apprentice bounded into the office. He grinned at Deirdre, then looked up at Beltan with an expression of awe. “Do you think . . . do you think maybe I could touch him?”
“Only if you want to lose a hand,” Deirdre said, noticing the look of annoyance on the big warrior’s face. She stepped in front of Eustace just in case the young man tried to make a dash for it. “So what’s going on?”
The apprentice managed to tear his gaze away from Beltan. “Sasha told me to give you this.” He handed a manila envelope to Deirdre.
She took it, wondering what it might be, but set it on her desk. Now was not the time to open it.
“So how do you like Earth?” Eustace said to Beltan once Deirdre stepped out of the way.
Beltan didn’t answer.
“Can you understand me?” Eustace spoke the words slowly and loudly, with exaggerated enunciation.
Beltan snorted, then looked at Deirdre. “Is he simple?”
Before Deirdre could reply to that, a knock sounded at the door. They all looked up to see a middle‑aged man standing in the open doorway. He was balding, and his mustache was as crooked as his bow tie. A threadbare cardigan sweater and thick glasses lent him a professorial air.
“Paul,” Deirdre said with a sigh of relief. “What can I help you with?”
Paul Jacoby hurried into the room, his small eyes excited behind his glasses. He held a folder in his hands. “I have something for you, Deirdre. It’s not much, but I was able to–”
“Sorry, mate,” Anders said, laying a hand on Eustace’s shoulder. “This is where you step out.”
Eustace let out a groan. “I’m never going to be a higher Echelon.”
“Not with that attitude,” Anders said. “Now off you go.”
Anders gave him a firm push, and Eustace scooted out the door. Deirdre shut it behind him.
“So, is everyone in the room cleared to see this?” Jacoby said to Deirdre, patting the folder.
“Yes,” Deirdre said, forcing herself not to glance at Anders. “What have you got?”
Jacoby headed to the table in the center of the office. He opened the folder and spread out several photographs and diagrams. “As I said, it isn’t much. However, a few of the symbols on the stone arch are identical to those on the clay tablet you gave me a photo of several years ago. In addition, I ran several diachronic analyses on the computer, and the results suggest that some characters in Linear A could possibly be derived from characters in the language on the arch. On the assumption these derivations are accurate, I can tentatively make some attributions for symbols in the sample you gave me.”
Deirdre’s head buzzed. “Meaning?”
“Meaning I was able to translate a few of the words on the arch.”
They gathered close around the table.
“Here we go,” Jacoby said, holding up one of the photos of the arch. “These characters signify sun. This means distance, or journey.” He picked up another photo. “I can’t make out most of these, but this word appears on the clay tablet– blood–and this group of characters almost certainly signifies death. Although what the symbol placed in front of it means, I don’t know. It might alter the meaning of the word.”
“Is that all?” Anders said.
“No, there’s more.” Jacoby picked up another photo, clearly quite excited. A sequence of symbols was circled in red marker. “I was able to translate an entire phrase here–assuming the results of my diachronic analysis were accurate, of course. It reads, the flame and the awe.”