“No worries there. My memory is real foggy sometimes.”
“See that it stays that way.” She rose. “You have been very helpful, Mr Vigil.”
“You’re welcome.” He patted the bulge in his coat. “Come back any time, countess.”
Chapter Sixteen
Miskatonic University
“Treating me to dinner and brunch in the same week,” Pepper said, as they sat down in a diner the next morning. It was one of several on this side of town, and close to the university. “A person could start to get ideas.” It was a small, tidy sort of place, with a chrome countertop and posters for various university events in the windows.
“I thought you could use a good meal.” Alessandra looked at the menu. “And for some reason I am famished.”
“So it doesn’t have anything to do with you wanting to talk to that professor Vigil mentioned?” Pepper asked, as she gave the menu a cursory once-over.
“Ashley, yes,” Alessandra said. She looked up as the waitress came by. “What is Adam and Eve on a raft?”
“Poached eggs and toast, sweetie,” the waitress drawled. She was a thin woman, narrow and pinched, but with an easy smile.
“That sounds lovely. I will have that.”
“Want axle grease on it?”
Alessandra looked at Pepper, who said, “She means butter.”
Alessandra laughed. “Axle grease! Yes, how funny. Yes, a squirt of axle grease please. And some coffee. Milk and sugar.”
“One blond with sand. What about you?” The waitress looked expectantly at Pepper.
“Make it two.” As the waitress departed, Pepper said, “You think he’s in on it?”
“It seems so, if your source is correct.” Alessandra looked out the window. The booth she’d chosen faced the university across the street. She had never attended university, though she had visited many. It wasn’t the done thing, though her mother had insisted on some form of higher education. Tutors, mostly. She had learned Latin and Greek, as well as English and French. She had read the great books, and composed long-winded essays on their merits or the lack thereof. All very educational.
There had been other tutors, as well. Her father’s idea. They had been more interesting teachers by far. The elderly Englishman with an inordinate fondness for cricket. The melancholy albino with his opium-soaked cigarettes. And of course, the incomparable Mr Nuth, who defied all description.
She had learned their lessons well. Though some stuck with her longer than others. And some had made no sense at all. But she had learned, and put what she’d learned into practice. She thought they would be pleased by her progress.
“So what next? After we eat, I mean?”
“As a gentleman of my acquaintance once said, one cannot make bricks without clay.” Alessandra looked at her. “If the thieves are proving elusive, find the one who put them up to the crime instead.”
“You think he’ll tell you where they are?” Pepper said doubtfully, as their food arrived. “He might not be inclined to be helpful, if you get me.”
“I can be very persuasive.”
Pepper snorted coffee up her nose and began to cough. While she waited for Pepper to recover, Alessandra poked her eggs with a fork. They wobbled in an unappetizing fashion, but she was too hungry to care. She felt as if she hadn’t eaten in days, thanks to her earlier illness. “Then perhaps you are right.” She took a bite, chewed thoughtfully and swallowed. When it stayed down, she took another. “I will attempt subtlety.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I will lie. If that fails, I will try bribery.”
“And if that doesn’t work?”
Alessandra shrugged. “Then I will resort to cruder means.”
Pepper raised an eyebrow. “You can’t shoot him.”
“I am not a street apache, Pepper. I do not shoot people without good cause.” Alessandra sat back. “You are free to accompany me?”
“Sure. Wouldn’t miss it.” Pepper finished her eggs and pointed at what was left of Alessandra’s. “You going to finish yours?”
Alessandra pushed the plate towards her. As Pepper tucked in, she pitched her voice low and said, “You know there’s a cop sitting over at the counter watching us, right?”
“I am aware, yes. He followed us from the hotel.”
“You aren’t worried?”
“Why would I be?” Alessandra said. “It will be easy enough to lose him, should the need arise, I think.”
“You sound like you’ve done this before.”
“Once or twice. The police in Rome were possibly the most tenacious.”
Pepper stared at her, eyes wide. “Rome? Like… Rome? Coliseums and stuff?”
“The very same.”
“I’d like to go to Rome,” Pepper said, wistfully.
Alessandra smiled. “Maybe you will someday.”
“Doubt it. I’ll call it a win if I ever get to Boston.” Pepper looked around the diner. “My ma was from Boston. She loved it there.” She peered at the window, squinting at her reflection. “She died here, though.” The way she said it implied that the circumstances had been less than ideal.
Alessandra rarely allowed herself the luxury of sympathy. Life had taught her better. But it was hard, with Pepper. The girl was at once naive and hardboiled. It reminded her of, well, her. She’d been the same, after her parents had died. Directionless, but needing to go, to do. Something, anything.
“I… understand,” Alessandra said, staring up at the brown water marks on the ceiling. She hesitated, then decided to plunge ahead. “My own parents died when I was around your age. My sisters and I – we were lucky. Our grandfather took us in hand.”
Pepper looked at her. “What happened?”
“I am still not entirely sure.” Her memories of that night were caught fast in a mental lockbox, and as far as she was concerned, that was where they could stay. “Let us say that it is a mystery that I do not care to investigate.” She stood abruptly, wanting to change the subject. “If you are finished, we should go.”
Pepper gulped down the last of her coffee and followed Alessandra to the counter. They paid and left, the police officer watching them surreptitiously the entire time.
Wrought iron fences separated much of the ivy-wreathed campus from the rest of the town. Miskatonic was a motley mix of architectural styles, both old and new. There was a sense of vibrancy here that was missing in much of the town.
It was still early in the day. Students walked to class, or lounged on benches and stoops. Alessandra drew no small amount of attention, and used it to her advantage. Various students were only too happy to direct them to the history department, and Professor Ashley’s office. Pepper looked around as they walked, face unreadable. Alessandra nudged her. “Have you ever considered attending university?”
“What – this place?”
“Not necessarily. There are others.”
“I barely got through high school,” Pepper said, dismissively. Alessandra detected a trace of longing in her voice, despite her words, but didn’t press the matter.
Miskatonic’s history department resided in a square brick building that had seen better epochs. The sound of their shoes on the tile floor echoed in the hallway. It was between classes, and the building was all but empty. Finding the academic offices wasn’t difficult; they simply followed the smell of coffee that had been reheated, rather than poured out.
Ashley’s office had his name on a tiny placard beside the door. The door itself was partially open, and someone was moving around inside. Alessandra hesitated, and waved Pepper back. Whoever it was hadn’t noticed them yet. She opened her clutch, and let her fingers brush across the shape of her Webley. Then, very firmly, she shut her clutch. There was no telling who it was, and she’d been pointing her pistol at far too many people lately.
“Hello,” she said, loudly, as she opened the door.
The young woman standing in the office yelped and a stack of papers fell from her arms to
the floor, scattering everywhere. Alessandra halted, nearly as startled.
“You scared the life out of me!” The young woman glared at Alessandra, her hands on her hips. “Look what you made me do.” She was short and round, with blond ringlets that bounced with every twitch of her chin.
“My apologies. I wished to speak to Professor Ashley.”
“He’s not here,” the woman said, as she stooped to gather the fallen papers.
“I see. When will he be back?” As she spoke, she took in the office, searching for any hint as to Ashley’s whereabouts. The office was a study in chaos. Books and papers everywhere, stacks of each on the floor, atop the filing cabinets along the wall, even on the windowsill. The desk was small and cramped, and she shuddered to think of sitting hunched over it for hours on end. The office reminded her of a prison cell.
“Who wants to know?”
Alessandra paused. “I am… a writer. For La Nazione.”
The woman looked at her, puzzled. “Newspaper,” Alessandra clarified, with a friendly smile. “Italian.”
The woman looked at Pepper, who’d chosen that moment to make her presence known. “I’m her interpreter.”
“She sounds like she speaks perfect English to me,” the woman said.
“I’m really good at it,” Pepper said.
The woman frowned. “Listen, what did you say you wanted?”
“To talk to the professor.”
“About that damn mummy, I bet.”
Somewhat taken aback, Alessandra glanced at Pepper and nodded. “Yes. I take it we are not the first?”
“Lady, you’re not even the second.” The woman set the recovered papers on the desk, and looked around. “I’m his assistant, Delores.”
“Alessandra.” She indicated Pepper. “This is my friend, Mr Kelly.”
Delores nodded, not smiling. “The professor hasn’t been in today. Which is unfortunate, because he has papers to grade, and if he doesn’t do them, I have to.”
“Would you know how to reach him?”
Delores exhaled noisily and shook her head. “Nope. He doesn’t have a phone. He might be hiding over at the Observatory – or maybe the library. A lot of them do that, when they want some privacy.”
“What about Professor Freeborn? Might he know where Professor Ashley is?”
“Who knows? I’m not his assistant.”
Alessandra let the comment pass. “You said I am not the first journalist… When did the others come by?”
“Why?”
Alessandra smiled. “Because I am curious.”
Delores snorted. “Earlier this morning. A guy. He was waiting here when I arrived. Nice hat, nice suit. Said he was from the Arkham Advertiser, but I don’t think so. He was too slick.” The description provoked a faint sense of familiarity in Alessandra, but she couldn’t say why. It didn’t sound like Zamacona, or his black-clad servant. Perhaps… Whitlock?
“Was his name Whitlock, by chance?”
“I didn’t ask, and he didn’t offer.” Delores straightened the stack of papers.
“Are you certain no one else came by in the interim?”
Delores paused. “They might have. I just got back to the office a few minutes before you knocked. Why?”
“Do you smoke?”
“No. Why?”
Alessandra tapped the windowsill. “Look here.”
Pepper craned her neck. “It’s a cigarette butt. So?”
“It’s still smoldering.” She looked at them. “Someone was in here recently.”
From the hallway came the sound of a door slamming. Alessandra looked out the window and saw a figure in a pale, seersucker suit hurrying across the courtyard. Something about him was familiar, but she couldn’t bring a face to mind. She turned to Delores. “Do you recognize that man? Was he the one here earlier?”
“I- I’m not sure,” the young woman said, clearly puzzled. “What do you think he was doing in here?”
Alessandra didn’t reply. She looked around the office again, trying to spot something – anything – out of the ordinary. But nothing stood out. She was going to have to ask Professor Ashley what he knew face-to-face.
Someone knocked on the door. Alessandra turned to see a tall man standing in the hall. She recognized Ashley’s compatriot, Professor Freeborn, immediately. “Delores, has he shown up yet…?” he began. He stopped when he realized Delores wasn’t alone in the office.
“Professor Freeborn,” Alessandra said. “What a pleasant coincidence. Just the man I wished to speak to.”
“You…” he began. Then, without another word, he turned and hurried away. Alessandra paused, shocked by the rudeness. With a parting glance at Delores, she and Pepper pursued. Freeborn had the long-legged stride of a hiker, but they caught up with him at the stairs. “Stop following me,” he said, without turning around.
“If you would stop for a moment, we would not have to.”
Pepper, taking the initiative, cut him off and put herself between Freeborn and the stairs. Freeborn sighed and turned. “I’m sorry, Miss…?”
“Countess, actually.”
Freeborn frowned. “Countess. My apologies, but Ferdinand isn’t here and I’m about to be late for a class. If you’ll excuse me…?” Alessandra studiously ignored the hint.
“It will take but a moment, I promise.”
Seeing that she wouldn’t be moved, Freeborn sighed again. “A moment, then. But no more than that. What was it you wanted to know?”
“I wanted to talk about the robbery,” she began.
“I’m sorry, but I have nothing to say about that.” He turned and looked meaningfully at Pepper, but she didn’t move. “Get out of my way.”
“Answer the question first,” Pepper said, raising her fists.
Freeborn grunted and turned back to Alessandra. “Look, you seemed to be on good terms with Matthew Orne. Why don’t you ask him and leave me out of it?”
“Perhaps I will.” She studied him for a moment, and then gestured. “Let him go, Pepper.” Pepper hesitated, but only for a moment. She stepped aside and Freeborn practically bolted for the door.
Pepper looked at her. “I don’t get it… We’re just letting him go?”
“For now. He was right. I should be talking to Orne. Ashley was working for him, after all. He might know where our missing professor has gone to ground.”
“What about the mummy?”
“Today is Friday, yes?”
“Yeah,” Pepper said, in confusion.
“Vigil said that Gomes visits the Tick-Tock Club every Friday. We will go tonight and see if that holds true.”
“Sounds like fun,” Pepper said. “What now?”
“Back to the hotel. There is someone I need to speak to.”
Chapter Seventeen
Visser
Arkham’s downtown was more vibrant in the daylight than it seemed at night. The storefronts were the same as one might see in any growing town or small city. Trucks carrying goods and produce rumbled along the afternoon routes, delivering supplies to restaurants and grocers. The streets weren’t crowded, but lunch wasn’t over yet.
Alessandra and Visser were seated at a small circular table outside a cafe, beneath a wide, white awning. She’d had to drag him out of his hotel room, despite it being midday. Visser had been somewhat the worse for wear, after a night of carousing. Not that one would know it, looking at him now. Men had an easier time of making themselves presentable.
The cafe was near where she’d met Zamacona, along a tree-lined side street opposite a small local department store. It boasted French elegance, but the reality was far and away from any of the Parisian coffee-houses she’d patronized. In fact, it was more Italian than La Bella Luna.
Coffee and pastries arrived swiftly. The pastries had been covered in sugar to cover the deficiencies of the dough. The coffee was adequate, at least.
“Some excitement the other day, eh?” Visser asked, as he drank his coffee. “Fair scared the hair
off young Fairmont.” He leaned close. “You didn’t have anything to do with that, did you?”
“If I did, do you think I would tell you?”
Visser sat back. “Well, no, I suppose not. Though I’d think it was damned rude of you, I must say.”
“I didn’t.”
“Good enough. Why did you want to meet?”
“To ask you what you thought about the robbery,” Alessandra said, carefully. “I am curious as to what you made of it.”
“So is everyone else. It’s all anyone was talking about last night at the Clover Club.” Visser pulled out his cigarette case and opened it for her. She took one with a nod of thanks. He lit it for her and leaned forward conspiratorially. “First time I’ve ever been that close to a robbery, I can tell you that.”
“My first time as well.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Really? I find that hard to believe. Rough gal like you.”
“I did not say it was my first time around guns, Tad. Just around an armed robbery.”
“Not your sort of thievery, then?”
“Not quite.”
Visser pointed his cigarette at her. “There’s something I’ve always wondered… Why steal occult objects?” he asked. “Why not jewels or paintings or rare books?”
“Jewels require a fence, paintings have pedigree and rare books… well – I have stolen a number of those in my time.” Alessandra frowned down into her coffee. “I suppose it is what I know best. My father had a… fascination for the occult. He taught me about the twilight space you people inhabit. Your own little incestuous world of collectors and collections.”
Visser frowned. “Not the word I’d use.”
“But apt. You all know each other, and you trade your valuables constantly, willingly or no. For instance, Arkady Cottonwood – you know the name?”
“Yes, of course.”
“How many copies of his treatise, The Oldest Rite, exist?”
“Can’t be more than three or four. Maybe a few bastardized versions here and there.”
“Exactly. I have stolen a single copy of that book five times for three different clients.” Alessandra took a sip of coffee. “Or consider the collection of the Comte d’Erlette…”
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