“Yes,” Geaxi answered. “According to a source we know well, someone who has seen it with his own eyes, the sphere is in a dacha once owned by the Minister of Culture under Stalin.”
“Who is the source?” Sailor asked.
“A man I did not recognize initially. He is older now and his face and arms are badly scarred. I am sure you remember Giles Xuereb of Malta.”
Sailor and I looked at each other in disbelief. Long ago, we both had assumed the Fleur-du-Mal had killed Giles Xuereb in revenge for lying to him, even while being tortured and carved one slice at a time. “I am glad to hear he is still alive,” Sailor said. “He is the last of his line.”
“Where is Sochi?” Nova asked.
“Sochi,” Zeru-Meq said, “is a mere five or six hundred miles to the east, straight across the Black Sea.”
“Is the dacha occupied?” Opari asked.
“At the moment, yes,” Geaxi said, removing her beret.
“Sounds like all we need is a little ‘breaking and entering,’ ” Ray said. “And that’s right up my alley.”
“Ray is correct,” Sailor added. “Occupation should not present a problem.”
“Normally, no. This time, yes … a slight one.” Geaxi slipped her beret back on her head and adjusted it to the proper angle. She looked Sailor in the eye. “The current owner and occupant of the dacha, at least for the next month, is Nikita Khrushchev, the Premier of the Soviet Union.”
A few moments passed. Sailor never changed expression, nor did Geaxi. “I suppose you have something in mind,” he said, “for this ‘slight’ problem?”
“Yes, I do.” Geaxi rose off the bench and began walking slowly toward me. “We are fortunate. However, we have only two days to prepare.”
“We?” Sailor asked. “Geaxi, do you mean all of us?”
“No,” she said, stopping about six feet from me. “We will likely have one chance to see the sphere, and it will be brief. I will need someone to help me make sense of what I see, and help me remember it.” She took another step toward me. “Possibly even read it.”
Everyone turned to look at me. Opari smiled. Ray was still twirling his beret on his finger. He winked. I didn’t have to say I would do it; everybody knew I would do it. I looked at Geaxi. “I’m in, but tell me, why two days? What is happening in two days?”
“Nikita Khrushchev’s birthday. A party is scheduled, along with entertainment. Through the generosity of Giles Xuereb, you and I, young Zezen, will be performing.”
“Performing as what?” I asked.
Geaxi grabbed her beret, did a perfect standing back flip with a half twist, then spun in a gentle, graceful pirouette until she was facing me again. She flashed a smile and said, “Acrobats.”
There was a moment of silence, followed by Ray howling with laughter. Opari had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing. Then Geaxi explained by recounting what had happened to Giles since we last saw him.
In 1923, after months of healing and rehabilitation, Giles Xuereb was released from the hospital on Malta. Though horribly scarred on his face, arms, chest, and back, his one thought and concern was the Fleur-du-Mal. He knew the Fleur-du-Mal would come back to kill him as soon as he realized Giles had lied to him. He knew he must leave Malta and disappear, quickly and completely. There was only one place where this might be possible. It would also be the safest.
Giorgi Zhordania was a name Giles had known most of his life. His father had told him as a boy that if Giles ever needed safe haven and protection, there was one man who would always provide it. The man and Giles’s father were once the only survivors of a passenger ship that went down in a Mediterranean storm. Six days and nights they were alone together in the cold sea. They shared their life stories and each promised, should they survive their ordeal, to always welcome and offer sanctuary to the other and his family, no matter what, forever. It was a pact that Giles’s father said was as true and sacred as any a man can make. Now Giles would find out for himself.
After an arduous journey to Sochi, Russia, he traveled into the Caucasus Mountains and found his way to the tiny town of Zuratumi. He asked and was given directions to a rambling old house and courtyard a few blocks away. As he approached, he heard shouts coming from behind the walls of the courtyard. The long gate was swung wide open. He walked inside. The first thing he saw was a boy in red tights flying through the air, turning three somersaults and landing squarely on the shoulders of a slightly older boy, who was standing on the shoulders of two other boys beneath him. Surrounding them in a loose circle, several more boys and five or six girls, some in their teens, shouted their approval. An older man, probably in his seventies, sat off to one side in a straight-backed chair. He was leaning forward on a cane and speaking softly in an ancient Romany dialect. “Again,” he said, “you must do it again, Giorgi … again and again … until you do not doubt. I detected doubt. There must be no doubt and no fear.”
Giles looked up at the boy on top of the human tower and the boy was staring back at him. The boy pointed at Giles, and all eyes turned to look, including the old man with the cane. Giles cleared his throat and spoke in Russian. “I am seeking a man named Giorgi Zhordania.”
A squat, muscular man about forty years old with thick black hair and heavy eyebrows stepped out of the shadows. He motioned for the boy to climb down, then walked over to Giles, staring at the multiple scars on his face and neck. “I am Giorgi Zhordania,” he said. “Who are you?”
Giles hesitated. “My name is Giles Xuereb.”
The man looked Giles over once more. “Have we met before?”
“No. Never.”
The man’s eyes were coal black, and he stared at Giles without smiling. “What is your purpose? Why do you seek me out?”
The courtyard fell completely silent. Not one person moved or made a sound. Then the old man rose out of his chair and made his way over to Giles, tapping his cane on the ground along the way. He gazed up and into Giles’s eyes, then smiled. “He does not seek you, Giorgi. He seeks me … and he needs no purpose for being here. He is welcome for any reason and for any length of time.” The old man took hold of Giles’s hand. “You are the son of Manoel Xuereb, no?”
“Yes,” Giles said, covering the old man’s hand with both of his. “Yes, I am, sir.”
The Great Zhordanias, as they had been called for at least a hundred years, were an extended Rom family of acrobats and musicians well known throughout the Caucasus Mountains and southern Georgia. Because of the elder Giorgi’s words, Giles was treated as an honored guest and accepted into their clan as much as any guest could be. He told Giorgi of the “evil one” who had scarred his face and body, and he warned Giorgi that the “evil one” might return to finish his handiwork. Giorgi told Giles there was no need for worry; the Zhordanias of this town and valley could sense when mizhak, or “evil,” was near or in their company. Several years passed and Giles became a kind of booking agent for The Great Zhordanias. Then, in 1937, Stalin built a massive and secluded dacha in Sochi. For Stalin’s birthday on December 18, the Minister of Culture staged a birthday party that included The Great Zhordanias as entertainment. Stalin loved their act, and they began a tradition of performing for him and his staff whenever he spent his birthday in Sochi. It was on one of these occasions that Giles was shown an unusual collection of bones and artifacts in a dacha owned by the Minister of Culture. Giles intuitively knew the stone sphere and its strange, carved script would be of interest to the Meq. Then Stalin died and the Minister of Culture “disappeared,” though his dacha and its contents remained. Nikita Khrushchev became the Premier and new “owner” of the spacious villa. When told of Stalin’s birthday parties in Sochi, Khrushchev decided to continue the tradition, and The Great Zhordanias were asked to perform on his birthday April 17. Using a long-standing mutual contact in Istanbul, Giles was able to find Geaxi and relay his information. Geaxi knew this could be an opportunity for the Meq to see the sphere, and sent word to us. Now it was April 14 and I had less than three days to become one of the leaping, flying Great Zhordanias. Geaxi didn’t seem to think this was a problem. She said she would teach me everything I needed to know.