In the meantime, there was a tyrant to put down. He pulled the dagger out of his belt and waved it in the air. "If you expect to achieve liberty, freedom from tyranny, you must be willing to kill for it. Dictators don 't resign. They must be put down. And seeing as you are nothing but a bunch of wimps, if you just hold her, and make sure the ghost stays in the box, I’ll handle the actual killing."
“That’s a neat dagger,” the stout man said. “Is it a Nazi dagger?”
“Clarence, that division of labor sounds fair to me,” Billy said. “I’ll volunteer to deal with the ghost. I’m good with ghosts.” Then he grinned. “At least I’ve never had trouble handling one yet.”
“Good,” Clarence said. “So are the rest of you agreed?”
At that moment the door to the council chamber opened and Bel walked in. "Hello again, Clarence," he said. "I see you managed to trigger the artifact. I was waiting for that. I'd like to take it off your hands now."
"What are you talking about?" Clarence demanded. "What artifact?"
"The dagger you are menacing these poor people with. That is the artifact we've all been looking for. I'm afraid, however, that your effort to find it has had unfortunate results."
"What results? I'm trying to rally these people to get them to rise up against tyranny."
“Clarence wants us to assassinate Cecelia, or actually to help him do it,” Billy said.
Bel smiled nicely. "I understand that's what you think you are doing, Clarence. The thing is, it’s the artifact doing its thing that makes you think there is a power struggle. In truth, Cecelia is just mayor of this town and relatively harmless. Her delusions of power come from the artifact too. So if you give me the dagger, I’ll get it far away from here. It won’t be long before your mind will clear and you'll be all right again. Everything will be calm."
“And nobody has to get killed,” Margarette asked. “I don’t know what in our rules applies if someone gets killed.”
Clarence remembered, vaguely, discussing artifacts. There was something about assassinations tied to it. Then he recalled Bel as well. "I know what you are doing."
"You do?"
"You order milk and never eat.”
“Not right now.”
“And you want the artifact for the Cabal."
"That isn't as important as keeping you from..."
"I have need of this dagger. I must kill Cecelia."
“From doing that. I don't think killing her is a good idea. It doesn’t help anyone," Bel said.
"Of course you don't. You are probably in league with Cecelia as well as the Cabal."
Bel smiled. “Now there would be quite the alliance.”
Clarence turned and stared at the council members who had been watching the discussion intently, although without much comprehension. "I'm not giving up this dagger," Clarence said firmly. "You will have to take it from me and I don't recommend that."
Belial shook his body, letting his arms dangle loose. "Fine, Clarence. I see you are too strongly affected to be reasoned with. So if that's how it has to be." Then he moved smoothly forward, reaching out a hand.
Clarence abruptly moved to one side, striking the dagger out toward Bel's incoming hand. The knife was comfortable in his hand... familiar. As if he was dreaming he saw his quick flash of the knife slice Bel's palm. The bald man jumped back, cried out, and cradled his wounded hand. Oddly, there was no blood.
"The mayor is doing what?" the stout man was saying. Both Bel and Clarence stopped and turned to look at the man. He was rolling his eyes. He held up his cell phone. "The chief of police said that the mayor is in the town square holding some kind of rally. She’s gathered a crowd.”
“I warned you all,” Clarence said.
“The chief wants to know what to do.”
“About what?” Billy asked.
“The crowd is angry and she’s stirring them up. She said they should rebel... against us. She wants them to take us prisoner. All of us.”
"What is happening to this city?" the thin man asked.
"This is horrid," Margaret said. “And totally out of line with our charter. They’d need to vote us out of office or this charade won’t count.”
Clarence couldn’t believe his ears. "So, because she isn’t following the rule, you all intend to sit there and let her raise an army against you? She’ll have you executed."
The thin man scratched his nose. "I hardly think... there won't be an army."
"And even if there was, it isn't like we have the means to put down... a rebellion, or whatever it is. I think I'd rather go home and mow my yard."
"It's that time of the year, all right," the thin man said. "I seem to have to get the mower out at least every week."
"Well, I must say that it is appreciated, Andy. I speak for everyone in the neighborhood when I say we appreciate the way you keep your lawn looking immaculate," Margaret said. "Not like some people in this town I could mention."
"So you will just let her take over?"
"I'm rather certain that assassinations are illegal, young man," Margaret said sternly. "You won't go far in this world unless you play by the rules. And her little uprising won’t last a minute."
The stout man agreed. "Besides, who would join her army? No one in town even knows the mayor. It isn't like she is one of us."
Their ability to deny the truth that was right in their faces astounded Clarence. It was clear that they didn't intend to help. And, if Cecelia was raising her army, he would have to act quickly.
Bel was looking at his hand and Clarence knew it was time to act. He started walking toward the window. When Bel caught sight of him, he moved on an intercept path. Clarence waited until he was committed, then smoothly spun around and shot out the door.
It was clear that no one else was able to realize the danger they were all in. It was up to Clarence to do it himself—he would just have to act alone. And when it was done, when he'd killed Cecelia, if they wanted to put him in jail, well, they could just do it. He wasn't going to let her evil take over his world. If that meant becoming a martyr, so be it.
Cecelia had to die.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I found it pleasantly easy to draw a crowd in the square. When I first started speaking only a few people wandered over to hear me at first, but the crowd slowly grew. That was what mattered.
It was a beautiful day and some people were working there, weeding out the flower beds and cleaning around the base of a statue. I looked up to see General John E. Wool of New York State on horseback. As the crowd gathered the ones in the back had trouble hearing.
It dawned on me that the statue of a war hero would make a perfect and entirely appropriate pulpit for my call to arms. One general, the one on the horse, endorsing the other.
The workers said cheery hellos and then watched curiously as I climbed onto the base of the statue. As I stood there, getting my balance, a glance at the plaque informed me that General Wool was the oldest general to serve in the civil war. There was other information about him too, but a crowd of people, probably wondering why I was on the statue, had begun to form.
I turned to face them, my balance slightly precarious, but I grabbed the general’s horse’s leg for support and held out my other arm to my audience. "My fellow citizens of Traverse," I began, wanting to be inclusive, to draw them in. "As your mayor, I have come to call you to action. It is time, long past the time, for us to take up arms against oppression, time to throw off the yoke of a petty government, run by bureaucrats who dedicate their lives to trivia, who argue over whether the streets of the town should run one way, or two. Who wonder what sort of donuts should be at the next council meeting. And all the time the poorest of you go without food, shelter, or adequate medical care. Many of you don't even have decent cell phone plans."
They responded well and I felt good, powerful. After all, I was just hitting my rhythm, getting into the meaty part where I could tell them how different it would be when they had installed me
as the permanent ruler of Traverse. My message was finding its target and as I spoke I could feel the energy of the crowd as the people grew increasingly interested, excited about the brave new world my words unveiled to them.
"Of course your current rulers play games with you, offer pretty words and tell you that you have choices while they use your tax money inefficiently. They beguile you with sweet lies and try to prevent the truth from being heard. They fear a different future, a future that takes the reins of power from their hands."
“Sing it out, sister,” a black man in front said cheerfully. I enjoyed the encouragement.
I took a deep breath, preparing myself to project my voice more. The crowd was still growing and I wanted them all to hear my message. But then I saw Clarence coming toward me, gathering speed. I pointed him out. "They fear having you know the truth and have sent their agent to stop me." They turned and looked at Clarence. "That's him. There is our Brutus—the traitor to the republic and enemy of the people of Rome."
I was speaking rapidly and I heard the people starting to mutter, sounding confused. I wanted to make it all clear to them but I knew I didn't have much time to act. Clarence still had that dagger in his hand and I was sure he intended to use it. On me.
"Stop that vile villain," I said, pointing at Clarence and then jumping down from the statue to confront him.
"You stop him, lady," a man said.
"Yeah, I ain’t hassling a man with a knife like that," another man said.
The others saw the dagger then and I heard an "ooh" from the crowd that slipped around the square like some snake. They parted, giving him space, letting him through.
Suddenly Edgar was there, intercepting him momentarily. This time, still weak from the last encounter, he didn't last long, and he vanished as quickly as he’d appeared and Clarence surged forward. I grabbed up a hoe that a worker had leaned against the statue, rather disrespectfully, it seemed to me. I turned to face Clarence and saw the blood lust in his eyes. I pulled myself together... I was a warrior, wasn't I?
He circled me, the dagger in his hand. I turned too, keeping my face toward him, my farm implement poised to strike. The crowd closed around us. Clarence poked the dagger toward me, experimenting, and I kept him at bay with the hoe, jabbing it toward his face every time he came close to me.
"Cecelia!" The shout sounded familiar, but I suspected a trap. He could have confederates in the crowd who wanted to take my attention off him long enough for him to get close and attack. Keeping my eyes fixed on Clarence, I was still aware of two people approaching us. "Cecelia, you put that thing down right now."
I froze. "Beatrice?"
I knew it couldn't be Beatrice. She'd died two years ago. I knew she had. We had been in the Grand Storehouse... I was there when it happened. It was my fault she had died. But at the same time, somehow I knew I'd only ever met her once and that was just a few months before. "It can't be you," seemed to sum up all that confusion and angst pretty well I thought.
As I stood there, Clarence cried out. "Gotcha!" He lunged for me. I saw a blur and someone slipped between us and neatly disarmed Clarence. Neatly, but with an amazing gentleness. Then he stood there. It was Bel.
"Belial, you give me that thing right now," Beatrice said, holding out an open box. Albert was there with her. Clarence stared at his empty hand and came for me again. He put his hands around my neck and started to choke me as Albert took the dagger from a rather docile Bel and dropped it in the box. Beatrice slammed the lid shut.
Suddenly, it was like waking up and finding out the dream had been at least partly real. Clarence and I stood toe to toe. He had his hands around my throat gripping it. As his eyes cleared, his face registered shock. “Cecelia,” he said.
“Let go of her,” Albert said.
Clarence seemed totally unable to do anything. I couldn't move either and watched as Albert clubbed Clarence in the head with his fists. Clarence moaned, his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed on the ground.
I looked at him lying there, unconscious. "What in the world..."
Beatrice tucked the box with the dagger under her arm and patted it gently. "It's okay now," she said. "Everything is going to be just fine now."
At that particular moment, with partial memories rushing around in my head, that seemed like a pretty large promise to keep. But then, I was pretty groggy. I mustered up as much as enthusiasm as I could. “Glad to hear it,” I said.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Albert and I gently stretched Clarence out and then Albert took off his jacket, folded it and tucked it under Clarence’s head. Beatrice faced off with Bel. "I've heard of you," she said.
“I guessed that much when you called me by name," he said, standing still, his eyes fixed on the box. I thought he looked like he was ready to make a lunge for it, but he didn't move a muscle. He didn’t seem concerned in the least.
"Right, Belial. And that means I know what you are and who you work for."
Belial turned his head, looking into the distance. “I suppose there isn’t something I could say to get you to let me have the artifact," Bel said. “We both want it out of this town.”
"You are right. We both want it out of this town, but we want it far away from the Cabal as well. There isn’t a chance I’m giving it to you. Your boss has been a thorn in our side for a long time. So you stay back, because there is no way I'm letting you near it."
The name got my attention. I had to assume she was talking about the man I knew. "Are you saying that Belial works for the Steele who lives in Las Vegas—the Cabal honcho with the huge artifact collection?"
"That's right," Beatrice said. "I don't know if I'd call Steele a honcho. In fact, I’ll admit that I have no idea of what the pecking order is in the Cabal, but we do know that Belial here is Mr. Steele's man, if you can call him a man."
"Not being a man doesn't make me a bad person."
"No, it doesn't," Albert said with a surprising tenderness. “Not at all and no one is implying that, Bel.”
"And that’s the end of that discussion. Not another word!" Beatrice said firmly. "We have enough to deal with as it is. And, as for you, Bel, we know that you are Steele's creature."
"Then you understand I have no choice in the matter. I must do his bidding."
"And he sent you for the dagger, didn't he? For himself or for the Cabal."
"For his collection. The news of its existence got him very excited. It seems that the dagger that Brutus used to kill Caesar has great appeal for Mr. Steele."
I suppose I should’ve guessed that’s what it was, but I was still groggy, coming out of being under the influence.
"It has great appeal for us as well. The dagger is all that matters," Beatrice said. "We need to ensure it is safely put away. And, as for you...” she cocked her head, “...by all rights we should hide you away in the Grand Storehouse yourself, Belial. You are too helpful to the Cabal."
Her comment surprised me and suggested she knew a lot more about Bel than she was letting on. He got a wounded look, almost like a puppy dog. "That's not at all fair or kind, Beatrice. If you know anything true about me, then you know I'm not the least dangerous. I don't ever hurt people. It’s not in my nature. I admit that it's true that I am beholden to Mr. Steele, but if you know what and who I am, well, then you know I am not a threat to anyone."
Beatrice stood her ground. "I'll give you that, Bel. You've never harmed anyone, at least not directly, although by using your talent to acquire artifacts for the Cabal..."
"I have no choice."
"Now, however, you have one and I will insist that you make it immediately."
Bel tipped his head. "Really? What choice do I have to make?"
"You can choose to leave. I'm going to give you the chance to walk away... leave this town and the artifact behind. I’m asking you to choose to accept that the artifact is ours now and leave.”
“Mr. Steele would expect me to keep trying,” he said.
“
Yet, you’ve already said that you won’t hurt me and I intend to hang onto the box with everything I have. The only way you are leaving with it is if you have pried it from my cold, dead fingers. So are you willing to kill me for it?"
"Not at all," he agreed. He looked from one face to the next. "I see you are all quite determined." Then he walked around to look at me with Beatrice turning, cautiously keeping her face turned toward him. "Cecelia, I have the feeling that we will meet again."
"That seems likely if you insist on continuing to hunt artifacts for Mr. Steele."
"And you keep playing Antique Dealer... But there is more to this than that." He looked thoughtful. "I'm quite sure that we've met before.”
“We have?”
“It was under other, far different circumstances, but we knew each other."
I decided he was teasing. "Of course we have. Remember just the other day..."
He shook my idea off. "I mean a meeting that occurred long before that. I felt it then, that I already knew you from... from some time in the past. It's a vague and uncertain past, however, and I can't attach any specifics to when or where or even how we knew each other. Still, I know that we knew each other rather well."
I swallowed hard. He made it sound like a big deal. The problem was that I was feeling the same way. "I think I understand." I was tentative, but he was right. I had been aware, in the back of my mind, of the same familiar sensations. I was certain that I knew Belial from somewhere, although I couldn't imagine a time or place where I would have met him, or how I could possibly have forgotten knowing him. It was unsettling. And I had the odd feeling that it was true—I had known him, but I hadn't been the same person then. Whatever that meant.
"This is a disturbing sensation," he said, cranking his head around as if he had a stiff neck.
The Curious Case of the Cursed Dagger (Curiosity Shop Cozy Mysteries Book 3) Page 16
