“There was a fire. The whole place burned to the ground.”
“When was this?”
“March, nineteen thirty-three.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Who set it alight?” she asked.
“Mortimer.”
“Are you sure?”
“That’s what Fynn said.”
“No one has seen him for nearly a hundred years.”
“Who? Fynn or Mortimer?”
“What about the books?” she asked, avoiding my question again. Her voice suddenly seemed less than soft and soothing.
“Which books?”
“The three manuscripts.”
“Elsewhere,” I said.
“What?”
“They weren’t at the Library. They weren’t burned.”
“I see. Where are they then?”
“I’m not sure.”
“But you are, I can see it in your expression. You must tell me.”
“I’m not sure I can trust you.”
“Well, that’s the first sensible thing you’ve said.”
“Funny you mentioned the books though… I just read about a robbery in Connecticut.”
Lilly gave me a coy smile. “A robbery?”
“The Yale Library, a rare manuscript was stolen in broad daylight.”
“You’ve seen the books then?” Lilly asked.
“Yes, once.”
“What are they like?”
“I don’t know… odd… weird plants, bathing women, an unknown zodiac, architectural drawings maybe?”
“That’s all you can say?”
“They could be cookbooks, for all I know.”
“Ha, that’s closer than you might think.”
“What’s so important about them?”
“Everything.”
“I thought they were unreadable.”
“They are, but I happen to know the person who wrote them.” Lilly let off an exasperated sigh. “Trouble is, I can’t seem to find the right time when all three books are in the exact same location.” She eyed me carefully. “You know something about that, don’t you?”
“I might.”
“Ah, you still don’t trust me. Well, that’s up to you… You’re wrong about the fire though,” she said. “Turns out Mortimer didn’t start it after all. It was just a terrible mishap… a careless guest with a candle stick. It was never rebuilt.”
“Wait. You knew all along?”
“About what?”
“The fire?”
“Yes.”
“So you were testing me?”
“In a sense. We need to know where your loyalties are. We’re not all on the same side.”
“You make it sound like a war.”
“I suppose it is in a way,” she responded vaguely. “Still, I must be going now.”
“Where?”
“Wherever I end up, but to the past of course.” She smiled and stepped onto the remaining ledge of the ruined temple. She stopped and handed me a tarot card: The High Priestess.
“Wait, before you go,” I said, and stopped her by gently taking her arm. “Do you know someone named Zalika?”
“The Queen of Sheba, do you mean?”
“What, literally?”
“Probably. But I wouldn’t trust her for a moment.”
“Why not?”
“She seems to have an agenda.”
“What’s on her list?”
“Difficult to say for certain at this point.”
“I ran into her… coincidently—”
“Coincidentally?” Lilly interrupted.
I had no words at first and could only nod. “She told me something, well, something disconcerting.”
“What’s that?”
“About Drummond’s daughter.”
“Oh,” Lilly scoffed. “I’ve heard the rumors. I wouldn’t let it worry you, Patrick.”
I had more questions, but Lilly just jumped and vanished before I could say anything else. All I knew about Drummond’s daughter was something Cindy Ramirez had said a lifetime ago: “She was nice…”
Maybe she was.
***
“Dreams aside, Dottore, I have a new concern: it is almost as if someone else has entered my mind…” I paused uncomfortably. “Perhaps he seeks to inhabit me. And this other self speaks, though not in a tongue I recognize.”
“What language do you suppose he employs, this visitor of yours?”
“I’d venture to guess it is the voice of an Englander.”
“And you understand his words?”
“Not entirely, though I should not comprehend a single one… and yet I do.”
“Most curious. What else ails you?”
“Headaches, sometimes quite severe.”
“Well, I’ll send my boy to the apothecary.”
“For what?”
“Almonds to start with. Eat no more than ten or twenty in a day. It should ease your suffering.”
“Is there anything else that can be done?”
“We might try the bark of a willow tree. But, it seems obvious enough that your humors are out of balance. An hour or so with my leeches should restore you to good health.”
“Is that what you advise?”
“A standard treatment, yes. You may take off your shirt and lie on the table. Face down, if you will. I won’t be a moment.”
I looked across the room. There was a fire in the hearth and a low wooden table. The doctor opened an earthen jar and spooned out a few dark squirming shapes onto a linen towel.
PART II
Travels Abroad
chapter ten
coffee grounds
I wish I could say it was a smooth flight to Amsterdam. It wasn’t, though not through any fault of Mimi the travel agent. The plane was overbooked, not an extra seat anywhere, crowded with diamond merchants; most of whom took every opportunity to pray in the aisles. It was just as well, I decided to keep myself buckled in tight for the duration.
Next came lost luggage. All I had was a carry-on made heavy by two medieval manuscripts and a thick case file from Franny. Luckily these were still in my hands, but the golf club had gone missing. The KLM representative assured me the bag was still at JFK and would be forwarded to my hotel in less than twenty-four hours. Panic didn’t seem to be a useful reaction. I could only rely on hope. Finally, the cell phone Ricky had given me ceased to function.
A car was waiting at Schiphol to take me to my hotel, a modest place called the Falcon, and it was less than a mile from Anika’s apartment. I checked in, showered and shaved, and set off directly. It was a beautiful city and apparently Anika had a posh address, as I learned when I turned the corner and came upon a canal with orderly three-story houses all in a row, many painted a different color.
The ghosts also returned in this moment, the fleeting shadows at the corner of my eye, but I paid them no attention. I knew what this meant: I had been here before. The intense feeling of deja vu was warning enough. Instead, I started counting house numbers. I didn’t need to go very far… Anika was there at an entrance, just locking the door.
When I first caught sight of her, I could feel my heart flutter. She was drop dead gorgeous like I remembered. Dirty blonde hair cut in generous bangs and a figure to make any woman envious. She reminded me of a famous French actress from fifty years ago, but I couldn’t seem to bring her name to mind. I approached slowly. “Hello…” I called out from an appropriate distance. Anika turned and gave me a once over.
“Hello to you,” she replied and added a friendly smile.
“I’m Patrick. Do you remember me?”
She took a few steps closer. “Hmm, I will not say I remember you, but you do seem slightly familiar. Are you lost?”
“What?”
“Are you a lost tourist?”
“No.”
“What then?”
“I’ve been calling you… leaving messages on your voice mail.”
; “Oh, was that you? Are you a stalker of some kind?”
“Of course not. Um, like I said on the messages, I’ve been looking for your father, Tractus Fynn.”
“You should have telephoned him then.”
“But he’s disappeared.”
“Has he?” Anika pouted slightly.
“It’s kind of strange, right?”
“There’s nothing strange at all. I saw my father this morning.”
“Really?” I was completely surprised. “Where?”
“At breakfast.”
“Is he here now?” I glanced up at the apartment.
“I think he’s gone out for a walk.”
“But he lives here?”
“Of course he does, silly man.”
An indescribable solace swept over me. It had all been some terrible misunderstanding. Inspector Fynn was fine and had just gone out for a stroll. Everything was as it should be.
“Do you know my father well?” Anika asked and came up to my side.
“Yes, I’d say he’s my best friend.”
“Really? Patrick, Patrick… now, that name is familiar to me… Have you ever been to Los Angeles?”
“Once, a long time ago.”
She thought for a moment. “I remember now… We rode on a Vespa together. And you were often a visitor to the beach house in Sand City.”
“Yes,” I agreed and began to laugh, almost giddy with relief.
“Well then, come along, Patrick.” Anika took me by the arm and shared my laughter with a bright smile of her own.
“Where are we going?”
“Oh, just to the shops for a few things. I’ll cook us all an early supper.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
“And you’ll stay the night of course.” She gave me a sly grin and held my arm all the tighter.
“Oh, I have a hotel.”
“A hotel? Nonsense, you will stay with us. I have great plans for you tonight.” Anika smiled. It was hard to resist.
As we walked, she was quite chatty and comfortable, hanging onto my arm with some affection. I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. Her English was perfect with only the slightest trace of an accent.
We passed a block of apartments along the canal which had been cordoned off by the police. Anika stopped and pointed, and then told me stories about the people who lived there: “That one’s an accountant from Luxembourg— not a nice woman at all— she looks a bit like Angela Merkel. Underneath her, lives a Belgian lawyer whose only client is the EU. Two Iranians live over there. The woman is the wife of a diplomat, though I’ve never seen her wear a hijab. She seems to prefer Chanel.
“Coco Chanel?” I asked.
“Of course,” Anika replied and went on with her descriptions, “That apartment houses a child molester by some accounts. And there, a Russian mobster— retired, I’m told.”
“You know all these people?”
“Well, I know of them, though I doubt I’d invite a single one to a cocktail party.” Anika laughed, but she also seemed troubled. Something crossed her face.
“What is it?” I asked.
“It’s terrible, they’re all dead now.”
“Dead?”
“Murdered,” she replied and gave me a strange blank look.
“Are you sure?”
“All killed within a week’s time of each other.”
“What?”
“Everyone is talking about it, quite baffling. The perfect sort of puzzle for my father.” Anika frowned. “Oh, I miss him terribly.”
On hearing that, I had an inkling that everything was not as it should be. Anika guided me up a small side street to a corner grocery store. Everyone seemed to know her and greeted with waves and smiles, or the occasional comment in Dutch.
“Well, Patrick, what should we have? Meat or fish, or vegan?” she asked.
“Anything is fine.”
“Leave it to me then.” Anika started inspecting the vegetables on display.
“Oh, I almost forgot…” I said, and reached into my pocket. “Your mom says hi, and asked me to give you this…”
Anika stared at me strangely. “What?”
“Lorraine…”
“What are you saying? My mother died some years ago and it was quite painful for everyone. Not something to make light of, Patrick.”
“But I saw your mother only a few days ago.”
“Impossible,” Anika said and took a few steps away in anger. I knew to back off for the moment. “Imagine, my mother a farmer in the Shenandoah Valley— it’s absurd.”
“What?”
“Such seems very unlikely.” Her voice wavered.
“How did you know?”
“Know?”
“About your mother… I didn’t mention where she lives.”
“Oh, I seem to recall something about that.” Anika bit her lip and seemed greatly troubled. I took a couple of tentative steps closer and held up the necklace. It caught her eye.
“Here… try it on, I think it suits you.”
She let me drape the chain around her neck and then threw back her hair.
“Looks very pretty,” I said.
“Do you think so?” she asked and smiled.
“It’s a gift from your father.”
“How do you know?”
“Your mother told me. She called it a kiku-ishi.”
Anika still seemed a bit troubled. “I have certainly seen this necklace before, though I can’t quite remember when.”
***
We returned to the enormous apartment, and while I knew something was terribly wrong, I couldn’t quite put it in words. It surely seemed as if Anika’s memory was not functioning correctly; like she was recalling various timelines and mingling them into a single present. A sadness filled me thinking how difficult a life she must have.
I was disappointed to find no trace of Fynn, or even his presence, but I was not surprised. Anika showed me his room. There was not a single personal belonging or photo, just a neatly made bed and some furniture. She took me by the hand and led me to the living room again, then nodded over to the fireplace. On the mantel was an antique astrolabe, a pocket version, slightly smaller than the one I had seen previously.
“This is the only thing left of my father,” she said.
“How long has it been here?”
“I don’t remember, but impossibly long,” she replied and started to cry a bit. I held her. She buried her face in my shoulder for a good long time.
“Don’t you think it’s odd?” I asked as gently as I could. “That he just disappeared?”
“Not necessarily. My father likes to travel. He’s like a ghost sometimes. Packs up his suitcase and he’s off for days at a time. On a case, probably.” Anika smiled weakly. “Where do you suppose he’s gone this time?”
“I’m not sure it’s a matter of where… more like a matter of when.”
“That’s still a place though, isn’t it?” Anika said more than asked.
“What?”
“When is just like a place, a location. To find my father we would need to know where he is, and when he is.” She smiled. “I’ve heard him say that very often.”
I smiled too. “You know what your father does, right?”
“He’s a policeman, of course.”
“Not just a policeman. You must have suspected something… him disappearing all the time, just popping in and out of nowhere— stuff like that?”
“Whatever are you saying, Patrick?”
“I’m saying that he is uh, unique… and… well, he also has some very interesting friends.”
“Oh, my father’s friends, I detest them. They always look at me with a nod and a secret smile— though I have no idea what they know about me. It’s a terrible thing.” Anika made a face of utter frustration. “Honestly, they stare at me sometimes as if I’m about to transform into a great green lizard.”
That made me laugh.
She led me to the kitchen and started prepar
ing a salad, chopping tomatoes with some precision. Her mind was elsewhere though. Anika chattered about her life, her friends, and Euro-politics. “I’m studying international law at university, though I’m happy to say I’m on holiday for a few weeks.”
She set me to work, crumbling goat cheese while she stir-fried some green peppers on the stove. “You’re just in time for the Vuurvliegje Festival.” Anika said, waving a spatula.
“What’s that?”
“Tonight… at a quiet park in the city. We simply must go.”
“What’s a vuurvliegje?”
“How do you say it? Glow flies?”
“Lightning bugs.”
“That’s a funny expression.” Anika laughed and ambled over to my side of the counter. She took my hand and leaned into me. “I’m glad you’re here, Patrick. You make me feel safe.” She gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. My heart started to race, I felt flushed.
***
After supper, Anika and I walked up along the canal to the Vuurvliegje Festival at Vondelpark. It was quietly spectacular in its own way. Hundreds if not thousands of fireflies blinked in some inscrutable rhythm, all to the hushed tones of onlookers camped on the grass. Nets however were strictly forbidden at this evening’s ceremonies, and children had to settle for temporary landings on their arms and legs, and fingers.
Afterwards, Anika took me to a different part of the city, a special place, she claimed, and eventually admitted it was a cafeteria.
“A cafeteria?” I asked with some curiosity.
“Yes, and you mustn’t tell a soul. It is a place where we can find cafe.”
After a long ambling walk, we came to a nondescript red door set among many others. Tacked to its center was a tarot card: The Lovers.
“What’s the matter, Patrick? You look a bit upset.” Anika squeezed my hand.
“The card,” I said with a nod.
“Yes, it is a sign.”
“I think we’re being followed.”
“Really? Who follows us?”
“It’s probably nothing…”
Blue neon glowed: Coco Bar, in English, as did all the other signs along this road. Inside was filled with smoke and laughter, and a language I could not understand.
Anika sought out her friends at a table who were chattering away and puffing on cigarettes. They were nameless to me but she introduced the owner of the bar.
Low City: Missing Persons (A Tractus Fynn Mystery Book 3) Page 13
