“They should put you two in charge,” Albert said. “You’ve been closest to all the craziness, haven’t you?”
“Well, that’s exactly the problem,” Lonagan looked uncomfortable. “No one trusts us, because of my relationship with your aunt. No one is really sure what happened. I mean, a fire-breathing dinosaur? An elderly lady transforming into a giant? Evelyn Thomas is in holding and won’t talk to us, but two of the mercenaries she hired spilled their guts as soon as we brought a priest into the room. What they’re telling us doesn’t make sense.”
“You can tell us the truth, can’t you?” Garcia was standing very close to Albert. “Off the record? Please?”
“All right,” Albert said. “I’ll give you the honest truth, off the record, but you aren’t going to thank me for it. Ready?”
“We are.”
“It’s exactly what you think it is. It’s exactly what it looks like.”
“What’s going on here!” Frederika interrupted. “You’re not talking to these cops, are you? Haven’t they already tossed this house twice? Haven’t they tried to freeze all your assets?”
“Frederika, Detective Lonagan knew Aunt Marley for many years. We were just talking about how much we’ll miss her.”
“And it’s time for us to go,” Lonagan said. He and Garcia made their exit.
Albert stepped back to let Frederika get a view of the screen. “You’ve been doing a great job,” he said. “Thank you.”
She didn’t look away from the TV. “I’ve been on national cable news shows four times this week! And to think I was about to drop Marley as a client.”
Albert didn’t have anything to say to that, so he walked into the living room. There, sitting at the bottom of the stairs, was the oldest man he had ever seen. He wore a black suit—just like the two muscle-bound men beside him—accessorized with a scarf covered with tiny pink and white checks. All three of them had deep brown skin and flat noses, but the bodyguards had long, straight black hair, while the old man was as bald as plum.
“You,” the old man said with a quavering voice, “have been handling yourself very well for such a young man.”
Albert took the empty wine bottle out of his mother’s lap and set it on Weather’s tray as he passed. “Thank you. I’ve been looking after myself for a while now. Plus I ask Naima and Libertad for advice.”
The old man laughed a wheezy little laugh. “It’s always a wise move to consult smart women.” Then, in a different tone entirely, he said, “You must show me.”
Albert thought about that for a moment, then shrugged. What the hell.
The bodyguards made space for him and he started up the stairs. The old man struggled to follow. The bodyguards didn’t offer to help but stayed close in case he asked for it. He didn’t.
Albert led them into Marley’s bedroom, and suddenly remembered the contemptuous way Libertad’s family had assumed he had been Marley’s bodyguard. “Are these your grandsons?” he asked the old man.
“Great-grandsons!” the man answered. “I’m older than I look!”
Albert turned to them. “Thank you for coming today. I know my aunt would have appreciated it. Be sure to have a little something before you leave. The finger sandwiches are terrific.”
The brothers looked surprised to be addressed directly and politely. “Gracias,” one said in a deep voice. The other added, in an even deeper voice, “I love finger sandwiches.”
Marley’s laptop was sitting open on her bureau. Albert moved closer to it, read these very words as they appeared on the screen, then turned it so no one else could see.
“Show me,” the old man repeated.
In the corner, a white satin sheet lay over an irregular shape on the floor. Albert drew it back gently.
“I knew a guy with scuba training,” he said. “And it wasn’t hard to find a winch.”
“How did you know to search there?”
“I didn’t,” Albert answered. “It just seemed like the right thing to do. Like water flowing downhill.”
Laid out on the floor was a life-sized solid gold statue of Marley Jacobs. She looked as she had at the moment of her death, her arms above her head to shield her face, her expression tense with the expectation of pain.
“What are you going to do with her?” the old man asked. “Melt her down?”
Albert spun around, ready with a sharp word, but the old man’s shrewd expression dissipated his anger. “I’m going to display her, of course. She wasn’t one to be hidden away in a dark room somewhere. I’m going to tell people she commissioned a self-portrait, and who cares what they think.”
“Display her like art, eh? What will you call it?”
Albert took a deep breath. “The Dragon’s Hoard. And I don’t like to be tested, especially not in my own house.”
“I’ll remember that. Listen, my boy: People are going to approach you now, and they’re going to be angry. They’ll want to blame Marley—and you!—for letting the secret out. For tricking the world with the truth. They’ll say she failed and that she weakened the magic in the world by making it real.
“Don’t you listen to them! She was a smart woman and she did the right thing.” He turned to his great-grandsons. “Come. I like finger sandwiches, too.”
They left Albert alone in the room, shutting the door behind them. He could hear the murmur of voices through the floor, but he wasn’t ready to return to them yet.
Aunt Marley still lay stretched on the floor. Albert stood for a moment, staring down at her. Then, possessed of a strange impulse, he got down on his hands and knees.
“Aunt Marley?” he said, his voice hushed. He took her cold metal hand in his and squeezed it tight. “Aunt Marley? Are you in there?”
There was a sudden whine of straining metal as Marley’s golden lips moved very slightly. Albert leaned close enough to hear her say, “This sucks.”
Author's Note
Obviously, there is no seafood restaurant near the Sculpture Park with rats in it. I made that up, both the vermin and the establishment where the villains turn them loose. It’s one thing to blow up a building (or even a whole bunch of them), but it’s another to place vermin in a functioning restaurant.
Acknowledgements
I owe a great debt to my agent, Caitlin Blasdell, who read several early drafts of this book and gave me excellent advice. I even took some of it.
Duncan Eagleson did a terrific job with the cover and Rose Fox gave this book a thorough copy edit (although she never saw this page, so any mistakes here are on me). If you ever need to hire a cover designer or editor, I highly recommend them both.
Finally, I’d like to thank Hugo-nominated critic and reviewer James Davis Nicoll. Because of a casual joke on his LiveJournal years ago (which he probably doesn’t even remember), this book has a villain and a climactic scene. Thank you.
Bio
Harry Connolly's debut novel, Child of Fire, was named to Publishers Weekly's Best 100 Books of 2009. The Kickstarter for his epic fantasy The Great Way was a rousing success; at the time of this writing, it is the ninth most-funded Fiction campaign ever. A Key, an Egg, an Unfortunate Remark is his tenth book.
He lives in Seattle with his beloved wife, beloved son, and beloved library system. He can be found online at www.harryjconnolly.com and on Twitter as @byharryconnolly.
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