by R. L. King
“Yes…”
“Okay. And that company said the stuff was probably stored in hardcopy in a warehouse somewhere?”
“Yes…”
She rolled her eyes at him. “This has been a mess to trace, I hope you know.”
Stone made a go on gesture.
She picked up a legal pad and consulted some notes. “Well, they finally got back to me. They identified the warehouse where the records from that period were stored, and surprisingly it still exists. Knowing your luck, I was half-expecting it to have burned down, or been overrun by mutant space rats or something.”
“Mutant space rats can be inconvenient,” Stone agreed. His heart was beating faster. “So, what did you find?”
She gave him an airy wave. “Just hang on, boss. It took me a long time to find this, so I want to give it to you in the right order.”
He pulled a chair over and dropped into it. “Fine. You’ve got a captive audience.”
“Okay. That’s better.” She grinned, but then sobered. “Okay, so here’s the part you might not like.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“Don’t know yet. By the way, you owe five hundred dollars for the search fee. Apparently, some flunky had to spend several hours digging through a bunch of seriously dusty old files to get this info. I charged it to the agency, but Jason’s gonna want it back.”
“I’ll write him a check,” he said impatiently. “What did they find?”
She turned back to her screen and pulled up a file. It looked like a photo of a handwritten list. “Fortunately, everything was arranged by lot number, and that catalog entry you gave me had the lot number.” With a loud sigh, she added, “but this is the part you won’t like.”
“Why is that?” He leaned closer, trying to read the tiny text.
She hit a key several times, paging through the document. “The lot number for the thing you’re looking for was 1723548. Believe me, I’ve got that memorized after all this time.”
“Okay. And did you find it?”
“Just look.” She reached the page she was looking for, scrolled down, and zoomed in on several rows. Then she backed away so he could move in closer.
Each row showed a lot number, a brief description of the item, the starting bid, the final selling price, the name of the purchaser, and a signature and date showing it was picked up. As soon as he got close enough to read the lines, Stone saw the source of Gina’s evasion.
There it was: lot number 1723548. The description read, “black stone pedestal with markings.” The starting bid was listed as twenty-five dollars.
The rest of the rows were blank. There was no selling price, purchaser name, or signature.
“Bugger,” Stone murmured. “There’s nothing about the purchaser. What does that mean? It was put up but nobody bought it?”
“I wondered about that too. It’s the only one in the McGrath collection that doesn’t have that info.” She paged back slowly, then forward. “There are three pages of his stuff here, and every bit of it sold.”
“So…I don’t understand. Are you saying it did sell, but they didn’t include the data?”
“That’s what I thought, too. But I figured I’d better check for sure before I contacted you, so I called the auction people back and asked them.” She zoomed in further on the page. “See this?”
The writing on the rows was so small and close together, Stone had missed another tiny field next to the opening bid. “It’s a tick box. What’s it mean?”
“See how all the other ones are checked, but this one isn’t?”
“Yes…”
“That means it wasn’t sold. As in, it wasn’t even offered for sale.”
He frowned. “You mean it wasn’t included in the auction?”
“That’s what they said. If that box is checked, it means it was put up for sale. No check, no sale.”
Damn. “Did they have any ideas why?”
“No good ones, given that the auction happened fifty years ago and by a different company. But you’re in luck—I got a person who actually gave half a damn about her job, so she did a little more digging for me. I think she was bored.” She swung her chair around to face him. “Her best guess is that, since this was such a big collection, maybe the item was included in error. Like maybe they wrote up the descriptions from a photo, or worked off a list provided by the relatives, or something like that. Either that, or McGrath’s relatives pulled that one at the last minute, after the paperwork was all completed and it was too late to delete it. I don’t think you’re ever going to find out for sure, unless you’ve got a TARDIS or something. Sorry, Doc. I think we’ve hit a dead end, unfortunately.”
Stone sighed loudly. “Damn.” It had been a long shot, for sure, but after he’d managed to find the catalog, he’d hoped they could trace the auction.
“Sorry…” Gina bowed her head, clearly dejected at her failure.
“No, no, Gina,” he said hastily. She was usually so confident, almost cocky, that he sometimes forgot how young she was. “Don’t worry about it. You did a brilliant job. You can’t find what isn’t there to find. You got us a lot farther than I expected to get, honestly. Thank you for your efforts.”
She brightened. “Yeah. I just wish I could have found something better for you.”
“Eh, we don’t always get what we want. And I’ve still got a couple other leads to pursue.” He stood. “Thanks again. And don’t worry—I’m keeping a tab for what I owe you.”
Stone’s frustration overshadowed his thoughts as he drove back to Encantada.
That was it, then. The catalog had been his last solid lead to the second piece, but without the auction record showing who’d purchased it, the object could be anywhere. It could be hidden away in someone’s private collection anywhere in the world, languishing in someone’s attic, or even in a landfill somewhere. As much as he wanted to, there was no way, not even with all his magic, to go back fifty years and see what had happened to the thing.
He pictured the white-bearded Leander McGrath laughing at his efforts, reveling in pulling off one last disappearing act before he died, and wondered what the old man would have made of some twenty-first-century mage chasing all over the country trying to find what he probably thought of as a useless bit of kitsch.
The image reminded him of where he’d first seen the photos of McGrath—the grainy, black-and-white ones in the book Eddie had shown him back at the Library.
What if Leander McGrath actually had been a mage?
If he’d known the item was both magical and potentially dangerous, he might not have kept it out on display—especially if he’d realized its true nature later on.
What if he’d stored it away somewhere? Somewhere his mundane relatives didn’t know about and couldn’t find?
Stone tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
It wasn’t possible. He was grasping at straws again. The whole thing was starting to take on all the aspects of an unhealthy obsession.
I should let this go, and concentrate on finding the people who tried to steal the pyramid.
But he was already pulling his phone out and hitting a number. He tapped the speaker button and put the phone on the dashboard.
Eddie answered on the second ring. “Evenin’, Stone.”
Stone heard the low hubbub of conversation, music, and clinking glasses in the background. “Are you at the Dragon?”
“Yeah, ’ere with Ward and a few other mates. What’s up?”
“Listen—” He took a couple breaths and slowed his voice. “Remember that book you showed me before? The one with the writeup on Leander McGrath?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I need to look at it again.”
“Right now?”
“It’s important, Eddie.”
Eddie sighed. “Yeah, yeah, it’s always important wit’ you. You seriously need to take up knittin’ or origami or summat.” He didn’t sound annoyed, though—more amused. “Fine. Yo
u do whatever that poppin’-over thing o’ yours is, and I’ll meet you there in a ’alf-hour. That soon enough for ya?”
“That’s fine. That’s great. Rounds are on me next time.”
“Too right they are. See you then.”
Stone was already waiting at the Library door when Eddie’s cab pulled up.
“Bloody ’ell, you are impatient, aren’t you?” The librarian was dressed in jeans, West Ham jersey, and brown corduroy jacket. His unsteady gait as he approached told Stone he must have been at the Dancing Dragon for quite some time prior to his call. He leaned to the side in an exaggerated motion, staring at Stone from the side. “Well, your arse isn’t on fire, so that’s a good thing, I s’pose.”
“Thanks for coming on such short notice. I had a brainwave, and I want to pursue it while it’s fresh.”
“Yeah, okay.” He used magic to open the door and led Stone inside and back to the sitting area. “Sit yerself down and I’ll fetch it.”
Stone was far too keyed up to sit, so he wandered the room, examining the collection of dusty, nonmagical books on the shelves.
“’Ere we go.” Eddie swept back into the room, moving more steadily now, and dropped the heavy tome on the table. “’Ave at it.”
Stone noticed with more amusement that he didn’t seem in any hurry to leave. “You can go back to your mates now if you like. I’ll lock up, and you know I haven’t got a clue how to get to the stacks even if I wanted to.”
“’S’allright. Now you’ve got me curious.” Eddie plopped down on the brocade sofa.
“What doesn’t get you curious?” Stone was already paging through the volume.
“Oi! This is you what’s sayin’ that? Shut up and get on with it.”
He opened the book to the pages on McGrath, looking over the photos with a new eye. “Got a magnifying glass?” he asked without looking up.
Eddie levitated one over to him. “You see somethin’?”
“Not yet. Give me a moment.”
At first, he didn’t think he’d find anything. He studied the images from the magic shows, looking for any sign of the black pedestal in the background, but didn’t see it. The photo with McGrath’s son was taken outside, in a grove of trees. The others appeared to be inside McGrath’s home, usually taken in front of impressive-looking bookshelves with strange artifacts on them. Stone bent low over each of them, trying to make out anything unusual.
“What are you lookin’ for?” Eddie asked. “Maybe I can ’elp.”
Continuing to pore over the photos and the text, Stone told him about what Gina had discovered. “I was just thinking if the item was never sold, it might be because it was never included as part of the collection in the first place. If McGrath was a mage and had even an inkling about what it was, maybe he concealed it somewhere in his house.”
Eddie leaped off the couch. “Wait!” he yelled.
“What?”
“’Old on. Be right back!” He ran out of the room, as usual without a word of explanation.
Stone was used to it by now. He returned his attention to the book, wishing the photos weren’t so grainy. Half the time, it was hard to make out what was part of a bookshelf and what was merely streaks or flaws in the images.
It took Eddie longer to return this time, carrying what looked like an old periodical box.
Stone had given up squinting at the photos by that point and was reading through the text again. “What did you find?”
“Maybe nothin’. Just…do what you’re doin’ for a few more minutes.” He slid the box out of its slipcase and spread a series of magazines across the table. The title on each of them read The Sphinx in old-fashioned script. He ran his gaze over them, then snatched up the first one and began riffling through it.
Stone had a hard time focusing on what he was doing, since he’d already examined the photos and the text in his book several times and nothing new was popping up. Instead, he watched Eddie gently toss aside the first magazine and pick up the second. He worked with quick efficiency, but Stone noticed the care in which he handled each one.
He got through four before he jerked his head up with a triumphant grin. “’Ere we go!” He thrust the open magazine across the table. “This is a publication for magicians, from the early part of last century. ’Ave a butcher’s at this! And pay particular attention to the third paragraph in the second column on page thirty-three.”
Handling the magazine with the same care Eddie had, Stone looked at the open pages. The date on the header was March, 1912. On the left side was an obviously staged publicity photo of McGrath the Magnificent in full magician’s regalia: top hat, black tailed suit, and satin cape. His hands were raised in a “spellcasting” pose. On the right side, page thirty-three, another photo—somewhat more candid this time—showed McGrath in a normal suit, gripping the shoulders of a smiling boy. The caption read Famed Midwest magician Leander McGrath hopes his son Willie, twelve years old, will follow in his magical footsteps.
Stone soberly shifted his attention to the second column, trying not to think about how Willie McGrath had never had the chance to follow in his father’s footsteps, magical or otherwise. It was a shame, but…
He tensed.
“You see it, don’t you?” Eddie leaned forward eagerly.
“Bloody hell.”
He read the words again, aloud this time: “McGrath has been teaching some of his simpler tricks to his twelve-year-old son, Willie, who has lived among the trappings of magic since babyhood. The boy responded with enthusiasm when asked about his father’s vocation. ‘Dad’s been teaching me some tricks already,’ he said. ‘And he lets me practice with his props as long as I’m careful. I even get to play in his hidden room at the house sometimes, but only when he’s around.’
“‘Now, now,’ the elder McGrath admonishes with a chuckle. ‘That’s a secret, Willie, remember?’”
He dropped the magazine and looked at Eddie. “There’s a secret room in his house. Eddie—how did you remember this article was here? You’ve got copies of an obscure magazine from 1912…and you remembered them?”
Eddie grinned. “What can I say? We’ve all got our talents.”
“One of these days I’m going to make you take me down to those stacks of yours. They’ve got to be bloody amazing.” He leaped up. “Thanks. I’m running up quite a tab with you, aren’t I?”
His friend waved him off. “Eh—you know you can always pay me in beer. And you’ve gotta tell me what you find out.”
“Count on it. I’ve got quite a few stories to tell you, actually. But for now—I’ve got a house to track down. Hopefully that will be easier than what you’ve found here.”
29
Stone made a quick call as soon as he got back to Encantada, on his way over to a second errand.
“Gina. It’s Stone again. I’ve got an easy one for you this time.”
“That’ll be a change.”
“I need to know where Leander McGrath’s house was in Tilley, Nebraska. And please don’t tell me they tore it down, or I might cry.”
She laughed. “Well, we wouldn’t want that. I’ll find out and get back to you.”
His next stop was Kolinsky’s shop. To his relief, the door was unlocked this time. He found the dragon seated at his familiar rolltop desk, a large tome open in front of him.
“Good morning, Alastair,” he said without turning or looking up.
“Morning. I won’t take much of your time today.”
Kolinsky swiveled his chair around. “I am pleased to hear that, as this new acquisition is fascinating, and I plan to spend the day perusing it.”
“Not a problem. Do you remember what we discussed the other day, about helping me travel more conveniently?”
“Of course.”
“Have you made any progress yet? I’ve got to go back to Nebraska soon, and given what happened last time I went there, I’d rather get a rental car than take a taxi.”
“I have not. The individual I
will be contacting is very busy, unfortunately.”
“Damn.” Stone sighed, even though he knew trying to get Kolinsky to do anything quickly was an exercise in futility and there wasn’t anything he could do about it. “All right. Thanks, Stefan. Sorry to bother you.” He turned to leave.
“Alastair.”
He stopped. “Yes?”
“I might be able to help you, at least as a short-term solution.”
“Oh?”
“Perhaps. For…the right inducement.”
Stone frowned. “What do you have in mind?”
“I would like to examine the object you have obtained.”
Ah. That wasn’t a surprise. “I should have known. Sure, I’ll let you do that. Not right now, though. And I won’t leave it with you. It’s not that I don’t trust you, but I’ve worked too hard to keep that damned thing in my possession. I hope you understand.”
“Of course.”
It was almost a relief. In truth, Stone not only had no objection to the dragon taking a look at the pyramid, but he actually welcomed it. Maybe Kolinsky would come up with something he’d missed—if his luck was running particularly hot, he might even know how to make the thing work without any operating instructions that might exist. “Right, then. I’ll bring it by after I get back. So, what can you do for me?”
Kolinsky turned back to his desk. “Where are you going?”
“Kearney, Nebraska. That’s the nearest ley line to where I need to be. It’s a ninety-minute drive to a small town called Tilley, and I’d rather not take another cab.”
The dragon scanned the numerous small cubbyholes on his desk, and after a moment withdrew an envelope. He sorted through the contents and offered Stone two cards.
Stone looked them over. One was a standard company credit card in the name of “Mark Goranson” of “Azarion Holdings, Inc.” The other was a driver’s license with the same name, showing an address in Chicago. The photo was a generic-looking white man in his middle thirties with short brown hair. “What—? Who is this guy?”
