A Thousand Glass Flowers (The Chronicles of Eirie 3) (18 page)

The woman nodded.
Her face tensed and Finnian wondered what thing had
happened to make her react so.
He examined every inch of her, his fingers touching the parchment in his pocket.
So like the scribe, Lady, so like.  I remember I said I could love her.
This woman who sat on the edge
of her seat tempted him.
If he hadn’t been Other, he’d have thought she mesmered him
,
the conversation flowing around and over him with a glamour all its own.

‘I remember the day he came in,’ Curiosa spoke blithely, una
ware of his client’s distrait.
‘He said he wanted a gift that w
as as special as I could find.
Something for his love
d niece’s eighteenth birthday.
And she was a scribe, a gifted calligrapher.’

A scribe.
Finnian’s eyebrow
s rose
.
Moonlady, what game do you and your Fates play
?

‘Well, I showed him fine ivory burnishers, a gold tipped quill pen, carved and inlaid writing cas
es, tooled leather portfolios.
But nothing took his fancy until I recalled the unique and beautiful collection of paperweights I chose to leave in the back room because of their value and because unscrupulous people you understand, co
uld lift them and pocket them.
They were made in the
fabricca
of Niccolo, the
master glassmaker in Veniche.
Sadly the man himself is dead but of course that only serves to make his wo
rk eminently more collectable.
My dear,’ he smiled that thin smile again and Finnia
n could have knocked him down.
‘Wo
uld you like some refreshment?
I am of a mind to have a glass of wine.’

He stood and went though a curtain at the back and Finnian followed him, leaving the scribe to sit on the edge of her seat, a picture of emotion.
These
are
the paperweights.
Euphoria filled Finnian. That he would best Isolde.
That he could stop her in her tracks.
Better than a drug.

There were whispered tones out the back and the sound of a cork being pulled, a clink as a bottle and
goblets were placed on a tray.
Further frenetic whispers and then a mu
ffled instruction to be quiet.
As Curiosa parted the curtain to re-enter, Finnian glanced quickly but could only see a back door closing.

‘Here we are, my dear.’
Curiosa passed her a goblet but she placed it untouched and with due care on a side
-table as he continued. ‘Now, the paperweights.
Their provenance is unsurpassed as I was told they are from the collect
ion of the Countess di Accia.’
Fin
nian bunched an exultant fist.
‘I had many and they sold very quickly a
nd for an extraordinary price.
But curiously I found no one wanted the most valuable, the
millefiori
.
They are perhaps too floral?’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Too pretty?
The marketplace prefers the stripes and swirls rather than
millefiori,
which
just goes to show what contempti
ble taste the public has.  But Imran especially wanted
millefiori
because he said you were
he and his wife’s flower… oh, my dear, do you cry? There there.’
His arm spread around her shoulders and he pulled her close.

Hit him
.
Hit him!

‘So I am guessing
you are Lalita, Imran’s petal.
Did you like your gift?’

He kept her close and she was patently uncomfortable, bending as if to scratch her ankle and managing to unlatch the old roué
’
s grasp.
‘I did.
So
much that I would like to purchase more for I thought to make a collection myself.’

‘Lalita, that is
a lot of money.’
Curiosa sat back, a measured look in the bloodshot eyes as they exami
ned the woman in front of him.
At the same time, Finnian heard a noise out the back and knew he should examine the space as something niggled, but he couldn’t leave Lalita either.
Lalita,
he mouthed the name as if it were the sweetest nougat.

‘I know. But I have the money.’
As she spoke she looked down at hands concealed beneath the tunic and Finnian knew at once there was no money and that all her words were a bluf
f.
She bit the inside of her cheek and he could almost touch her nervousness.

‘Indeed,’ Curiosa drawled, the fox with a chicken in its sights, as if he knew something about Lalita but w
as bating her, playing a game. ‘I do believe you have.
Well then
, I
shall get what
I
have.’
He stood and wended his way to the curtai
n, letting it drop behind him.
Finnian stayed where he was, sur
veying the scribe’s reactions.
She stood up and looked toward the back of the emporium and he grinned as he heard the curse she whispered after Curiosa.
She’s no
ingénue
.
Her hand came out from under the tunic and he caught a glimpse of a small dagger.
And no one’s fool.

‘He
re we are,’ Curiosa strode in.
He moved in an elongated fashion, like a spider on thin legs, and in his bony hand
s he carried a worn carpetbag.
He sat and laid the tote on his knees, unlatching
it and rattling around inside.
With a dry crackle of tissue, he brought forth
a handful of wrapped objects. ‘This one? No, it has only swirls. Not so pretty. Perhaps this? No, who wants a heart? Particularly one so red.
But then there will be a lov
er out there who shall buy it. Have you a lover, my sweet?’
He leaned precariously close
and Finnian’s fingers closed. ‘And what about this? Ah.’
His smile sent ugly shivers through Finnian’s body, as if he could see the fox already had the chicken’
s neck in its mouth.
‘I see
you think this may be a match. Pretty, isn’t it? And alike? And yet not, I think.
They had
the same colours, didn’t they?
But the configuration in each of th
e four was slightly different. And yet…
’ he pointed with his little finger, the nail
of which was long and hooked. ‘You see? Each has that central flower.
I am sur
e you will find yours has too. Have you got it with you?’
Lalita shook her head as Cu
riosa held out the paperweight. ‘Ah, such a shame.
I would like you
to see it alongside this one.
I
t is from the set of four…
did
you know there were four?
But you see this tissue has a mark on it to remind me this one is reserved for a fine la
dy so I cannot sell it to you.
The lady asked if I had yours as well, but I
had to tell her it was sold.’
The man r
ustled another fold of papers.
‘But here, look, I must show you this.
This
is nothing like the others but Curiosa can tell you, it is a most special and unique design.’

Beneath the crackling tissue he revealed a pape
rweight of astonishing beauty.
An inky night sky filled the ball as if Aine herself had poured it in, and floating in their tiny celestial prison were two glistening s
tars and a pale crescent moon.
This time,
déjà vu
grabbed Finnian in a throat-throttling hold as he t
hought of the Moonlady’s garb.
Curiously Lalita’s breath sucked in at the same time.

‘I see it appeals, my flower.’
Curiosa bent his head toward her as he held the ball
in front of her, tantalizing.
‘Perhaps we can come to an
arr…
’

A crash thun
dered from behind the curtain.
In the ticking quiet of Curiosa’s, the uncommon sound
echoed like a harquebus shot.
Lalita stood, one hand at her throat, the other holding Curiosa’s
millefiori
paperweight tightly.
The dealer jumped up swearing, jamming the night
-
sky paperweight into the bag as he hastily begged Lalita’s indulgence.

‘Excuse me, dear lady. Wait for me.
That was only the cat I am sure,
but one can’t be too careful. A moment.’
He left with his smoking jacket streaming behind and Finnian knew he should follow as that was evidently no cat unless it w
as the size of a Raji panther.
But the presence of Lalita kept him close to the wo
man and somewhere in the illusory
memories of his brother’s existence was a yardstick and he cou
ld feel himself reaching for it as h
er face displayed warring emotions.

She has no coin bu
t she craves the paperweights.
Why?
Because what she told Curiosa is definitely a lie – a personal collection as if she is some sort of aficionado?
No.
The enigma of the woman attracted him like an addict to opium and as he watched her move, he could see she intended to have the paperweight in her hand no matter the cost.

Go
.
Get out before he returns.
I shall find you.

She cast a quick look to the curtain, behind which there was more noise and this time angry expulsions of sound hisse
d between one man and another.
And then she was gone, fleeing past the studded door, diving into the crowd
to be swallowed by the masses.
Finnian knew he should stay, find out what it was that so frightened Curiosa, what the noise was, but he couldn’t let the paperweight out of his sight…

Chapter Fourteen

Dipping and weaving, unsure of direction, Lalita sped through the alley maze of the souks as if Hamou Ukaiou, the djinn who pursues lone women
at night was at her heels.
She grasped the paperweight tightly and all that rattled through her head was
I don’t steal.
But she was indeed a thief.
That nightime
paperweight with its moons and stars; the coincidence frightens me.

The alleys wound on, faces a blur as men called out and whis
tled at her and women clucked.
Children laughed and ran along with her and just as she thought she was safe and could rest, a hand whipped out and a strong arm grabbed her and pu
lled her into a secret alcove.
She struggled but the arm encircling her held tight and as she tried to scream, the other hand came
up and pressed her mouth shut. A voice whispered. ‘Stop struggling.
You are safe.’

She froze, a stillness whereby every nerve ending sparked and sizzled but her bo
dy stood as if encased in ice.
The hands turned her around and she looked up into deep blue e
yes that were darkly shadowed.
The man’s face would have been perfect if
the mouth had been less grim.
The carved symmetry that could have been was roughened by stubble across the chin and upper lip, fading into a starkly underlined cheekbone, his black hair grasping at his neckline.

‘You.’

He smiled, a slig
ht softening of his demeanour. ‘Yes.
And you, Lalita, were running as if you were chased by all t
he djinns in Fahsi.
But you are safe here, Curiosa won’t find you.’

Lalita’s wits sharpened. ‘How do you know he…
how do you know I’m running from Curiosa?’

‘I saw you there.
I saw what you stole.’

She placed her hand inside the split in the tunic and dropped the little paperweight into her pocket,
leaving her hand on the dagger.
‘How do you know my name?’

‘I was inside the shop as you spoke to Curiosa.’

‘But I didn’t see you.’

‘No, you wouldn’t, but I saw you and I saw everything that happene
d.
Th
e carpetbag, the paperweights.
And I heard Curiosa say you couldn’t buy one of them as it was promised to a lady.
And
Lalita, I heard that you already have one of the set of four and I am wondering,’ he sat down an old wooden crate, long legs stretched out in front, ‘why you should want the paperweights so badly.’

A commotion broke out in the alley, chickens squawking, dogs barking, and feet running past with someone calling
, ‘She’s got a long plait and she wears trader’s grey!’

Another
cal
led
back,
‘Down there!’

Lalita shrank into the shadows as the stranger stood again, towering over her, his hand rubbing against hers in the enclosed space.

‘They can’t see you, I won’t let them.’

She looked at him, unable to prevent the incredulous not
e in her voice.
‘And what is it that you can do to stop them that I couldn’t do any better?’

‘Unless you’re Færan, I doubt you mesmer.’

‘Færan!’

He picked up her hand as butterflies battered awa
y at the lining to her stomach. ‘I am called Finnian.’
He brought her hand almost to his lips but stopped short and i
nstead bowed over her fingers.
Lalita could see a deep shadow at the back of his eyes, a s
hade that was almost palpable.
‘And I meant it when I said I wouldn’t hurt you or let anyone else hurt you.’

Lalita was at once on guard.
The man presume
d that she needed him, surely.
‘I thank you for your concern but I don
’t need you to be my guardian.
I’m capable of caring for myself.’

‘I’m sure you are.
Especially with that fine little dagger you h
ave.
B
ut let us remember two things.
One,’ he tapped a finger, ‘
you are an identifiable thief.
And two,’ he tapped another,
‘you carry a fine collectable.
Mortals crave them for their beauty but Others crave them for
altogether different reasons.
Do yo
u crave them for their beauty?
Tell me, why should these paperweights mean so much to
you
?’

Lalita bent her head under the weight of his scrutiny.
How does he know these things?
How could Ot
hers have found me so soon. No!
‘Why should you wish to know?’ she delayed.

His gaze remained fixed upon her but he turned his head slightly, an assessing glance, remaining silent.

She sucked in her breath.
Honesty.
‘They represent something of inordinate value to me,’ she said.

‘Indeed.’
Such massive irony in that single word.

Her legs caved and she sat on a pile of jute bags and he moved to sit next to her, his very proximity sending ripples through her – a dangerous excitement, as though every nerve in her body was s
tretched to impossible limits.
‘I will t
ell you this much.
My brother died trying to save an Other from being killed by a charm that was secreted in a paperwei
ght just like the one I stole.
My uncle told me on the day
he gave me my own paperweight.
How he knew is immaterial because my uncle is dead
and his story dies with him.’
The words tasted a
s bitter as gall in her mouth.
‘I wish I could explain why I wanted what Curiosa had but I am
not even sure I know myself.’
She took another breath, her fingers crossed under her tunic
.
Lie by omission, he needn’t know about Isabella.
She looked at him and could imagine how paltr
y he would find her reasoning.
‘That is all I can tell you.’

‘They are c
alled the Cantrips of Unlife.’
His v
oice was flat and deadly soft.
‘And Lalita, I believe
your
brother died trying to protect
my
brother.’
A sound brimming with something empty and incongruous emerged as he continued, ‘Isn’t Fate the most wonderful thing?’

Lalita’s mouth fell open.
He talks of my family and his own.
Shockwaves of disbelief rattled
through her.
Perhaps she was in a dream that progressed at an a
larming rate toward nightmare.
If it
was
a dream, she knew her next move could take her into the darkest night terror and her hand moved to her chest where she could feel her heart jumping –
pa-doom, pa-doom
.
She wondered if hearts always spelled out
the word doom with their beats.
‘If your brother is Liam,’ she whispered.

‘Liam, yes. How fateful.’ His tone bordered on sarcasm.
‘How
fateful.’

‘Fate?
Why do you think this is Fate?’

Finnian looked down at hands loo
sely clasped between his knees.
‘I suspect you would prefer to think in your mortal way that it is a mere coincidence that you should meet me, and
you
the sister of the man who died trying to save
my
brother.
Even more of a coincidence that some strange peccadillo has sent you looki
ng for the Cantrips of Unlife. Let me tell you, Lalita…
’

She found herself swallowed again by his eyes and she glanced away but seeing his hands, almost felt as if she
craved
his touch.
He is mesmering me.

‘Lalita,
I’m not trying to entrap you.
I can see i
t in your eyes, so much doubt.
What I wanted to say was coincidence is a wonderful thing but in truth I would say that Fate wrote our futures, yours and mine, as we were born.’

She shook her head, a head ful
l of denial and profound anger. ‘Rubbish.
Wha
t you say is absolute rubbish.
This is a coin
cidence, nothing more or less.
I won’t believe anything else.’

He raised a sardonic eyebrow.
‘The chances of you the sister, and I the brother meeting fortuituously and that we
both seek the same thing…
yes
, I seek the paperweights… a coincidence?
I think not.’

‘What else should I t
hink?
You are a foo
l if you believe such things.’
She turned from him and
then added as an afterthought.
‘Besides, why
do
you want the paperweights?
I asked you before.’

Finnian continued unfazed.
‘
Later, I shall tell you later.
As to Fate, I have most recently been told our destiny is set as we are born and lately I have had reason to believe that every time one veers from the path set down for one, then there is an intrusion of some sort, a gentle push or in some cases a really hard shove back to that fateful path.’

‘What do you mean?’
Lalita refused to believe he was right.
He couldn’t be. How heartless that made life.
How pointless the struggle for good.

‘Events, occasions, even dreams.’

Lalita started, remembering not just the events of her life, but the dream of last night, still fresh in its gold
and silver and midnight blue.
She shook her head and felt for the paperweight in her pocket with one hand whilst touching the loc
ket at her neck with the other. ‘I don’t believe you.
Why should I?
You’re Færan, hardly the most trusty of Others and
you
search for the paperweights.
This could just be a ploy to get your hands on them.’

Finnian gave a dry laugh. ‘It could be.
But in truth Lalita, I could mesmer anything from your fingers right now
but I don’t choose to.
I think you will have to trust me and believe me when I say I tell you the truth.’

Lalita sat sile
nt, her stomach heavy as lead.
Her grip tightened over the paperweight and only its coldness
jerked her back to the moment.
‘Anyone would think I had s
trings that were being pulled.
Any minute my leg will move, o
r my head to turn here, there.
My mind to think this, that, as though I am being manipulated by some invisible puppet
master.’

Finnian’s eyebrow cocked. ‘Perhaps you are.
Ma
ybe we both are. I never believed in Fate.
I believed in right pe
rson, right place, right time. Coincidence.
But then there was Curiosa and the paperweights and I knew it wou
ld be difficult to deny Fate.’
Almost whispering, he added, ‘I want to as much as you but I think it’s beyond us both.’

Lalita vaguely heard him underneath the memory of
Rajeeb’s voice –
‘
Fate has brought you to
this point
’
. She jumped up.
‘I must get out of here, I have to get away.’

But his hand grabbed her.
‘You can’t, not like that.
’
He waved his hand in front of her and she felt nothing but i
mpatience as he held her back.
Then he did the same to himself and she watched with amazement as his hair turned grey, wrinkles incising themselves over his face, his body bending like a peppe
r tree to stoop over a stick.
As she stepped away from his grasp, she limped and realized she too had aged.

‘I shall come with you.’
Finnian’s voice was as gruff and coarse as an elder’s.

‘Where?’
Her own trembled like an ancient’s.

‘Somewhere safe where you can tell me your story and where we can plan.’

Her anger flared,
she didn’t want him with her. Why on earth would she?
Her equilibrium tipped in his presence and she felt as transparent as gauze silk under his scrutiny.

‘Come on, old woman,’ he muttered, the grizzled picture of a fractious old man as he led he
r into the crowd in the alley.
‘We must find lodgings.