Beyond Compare (30 page)

“Who?” Reed asked, confused.

“Lord Walford,” Kyria told him. “The young Lord Walford.” She turned to Rafe. “But why would he have anything to do with it? He is the only one who isn’t interested in it.”

“And doesn’t that strike you as odd?” Rafe asked. “After all, it’s his archaeologist who’s been looking for the blasted thing for years. Wouldn’t that indicate that he wants it, too? Yet he said nothing to you.”

Kyria grimaced. “You just have a prejudice against Lord Walford. Why would he have helped us? He got Ashcombe to see us. And he didn’t seem to believe that the box really existed. I suspect it was more his father who had been interested in it, and Walford just let Ashcombe continue because of that.”

Rafe shrugged, and Reed said, “We’ll put somebody on him, too, just in case.”

Kyria went upstairs to get the cards Brulatour and Prince Dmitri had given her. When she returned, she found Phipps, the butler, in the office, talking excitedly to Rafe and Reed.

“They found someone who saw the carriage some distance east of here,” Rafe told her.

“Really?” Kyria’s spirits lifted a little.

“Yes, my lady.” Phipps beamed at her. “One of the footmen questioned a hansom driver who said that he saw a carriage moving along at a rather great rate of speed—faster than was safe, he thought, which made him pay attention to it. He happened to be following it east, he said, and at one point he saw a young lad pop his head out of the carriage, then get pulled back in. He didn’t think anything of it until we came along asking questions, except that the occupants of the carriage were rather careless, moving at that pace and allowing a boy to stick his head that far out the window.”

“Alex?” Kyria cried. “Trying to escape?”

“We can only hope,” Reed responded. “I’m going with the driver to the last place where he saw the carriage, and from there Phipps and the footmen and I are going to start looking about for anyone else who might have seen Alex or the carriage.” He took the two calling cards from her. “I’ll put our barrister on these two and Walford—he can use his law clerks. Kyria, you and McIntyre go to visit the archaeologist. He’ll be more likely to talk to you since you’ve talked to him before. We’ll meet back here later.”

“But what about me?” Con cried, jumping up from his chair. “I want to help find Alex! I can’t just sit here waiting.”

Reed frowned, looking at the anxiety on his younger brother’s face. After a moment, he smiled faintly and said, “All right. You come with me. You can help us ask questions—you’re good at that. Besides, we won’t have to describe Alex to everyone. We’ll just ask if they’ve seen a boy who looks like you.”

Con gave a shout of joy. “Thanks, Reed. You’re the best.”

Reed looked over at Kyria. “All set? We’d better get started. It is getting to be late in the afternoon.”

Kyria nodded, trying not to think of poor Alex alone tonight with his kidnappers. Rafe moved up beside her and slipped his hand into hers, linking their fingers and squeezing her hand reassuringly.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured. “We’ll get him back.”

Minutes later, they were in the carriage headed for Nelson Ashcombe’s house. Kyria’s hand still lay in Rafe’s. She was grateful for the bit of comfort. She supposed she should have insisted that they split up, that she could go to Ashcombe’s alone and let Rafe do something more important, like follow one of the collectors. However, she could not bring herself to do that. She needed him beside her now, and she refused even to think about how dangerous it was to her self-reliant life to need a man this much.

It was after four o’clock when they reached Ashcombe’s house. The winter day would be drawing to a close before long. Kyria tried not to think about how difficult it would be for Reed and the others to question people on the street after darkness fell. With every minute that passed, it grew more and more unlikely that anyone who had seen the carriage would still be out and about.

They were met at the door by the same uncooperative maid, who informed them that the master was “resting.” She started to close the door, but Rafe braced his arm against it and shoved hard, opening the door wide and sending the girl staggering back, surprised.

“Ere, now!” she exclaimed. “You cain’t just barge in ’ere like that!”

“I just did,” Rafe replied shortly. “Where’s Ashcombe?”

The maid cast a quick, revealing glance up the stairs, then said, “E’s not receivin’ now. Best be yer come back tomorrow.”

“He will receive us.” Rafe took Kyria’s hand and led her up the stairs, the maid hurrying along behind them, screeching and waving her hands ineffectually. “Which door?”

“No! Yer can’t!”

Rafe charged down the hall, throwing open every door as he went until finally he found Nelson Ashcombe. The man was reclining on a chaise longue in his bedroom, a familiar-looking pipe on the small table beside him. The air was sweet and stifling.

Kyria and Rafe stopped, staring at the scene in front of them. They turned to each other, their eyes mirroring the possibilities that had just opened up in front of them. Nelson Ashcombe was an opium addict.

A
shcombe looked up at them vaguely.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Ashcombe,” the maid cried, rushing into the room behind them. “I told them you wasn’t receivin’ visitors. They just pushed their way in!”

“It’s all right, um…”

“Celia, sir.”

“Yes, of course, Celia.” Ashcombe looked at Kyria. “My lady. Was I…expecting you?”

“No. I am sorry to disturb you, Mr. Ashcombe,” Kyria began politely. It seemed even more important now that they talk to the man. “But you see, I need information from you.”

“And what is that?” He smiled benignly at her, leaning back in his chair.

“We need your mind, sir,” Rafe said urgently, coming forward and moving the table with the pipe aside. He turned to Kyria. “I think he’s just begun smoking it.” He looked on past her to the maid. “Make him some coffee and bring it to him in his study.”

“Ere, now!” Celia said in protest.

Ashcombe waved a weak hand at her. “There, now, better do it, girl. Mr. McIntyre has already found out
our little secret, and I can tell that he is the sort who won’t go away until he has gotten what he came for.” The archaeologist sighed and swung his feet off the seat, sitting up. “Go ahead, I’m capable of talking to you. You are right—I had only started. And the Turkish way of smoking is not as strong as the Chinese. Much more civilized, don’t you think? If you will just give me a little help up…”

Rafe put his hand under the other man’s arm and lifted him from the chair. Ashcombe wobbled out of the room and down the stairs, clutching the handrail on one side, with Rafe on his other side, poised to catch him if he stumbled. Which he did only once, then strolled languidly into his study and sank into his chair behind the desk.

“Now,” he said, “tell me. What is it you want? Something about the reliquary?”

“I’m not sure,” Kyria replied. She reached into her reticule and removed her drawing of the necklace and the symbol. Unfolding it, she laid it out on the desk in front of Ashcombe.

“Ah,” he said, smiling and nodding. “Yes. Inanna.”

“What?”

“Inanna.” He pointed to the symbol. “The knot of Inanna. And this is what, a necklace? Bracelet? I don’t believe I’ve ever seen this one before. What book did you copy it from?”

“I didn’t copy it. This is something I drew.”

“Really? Ah. Seems you captured the style of the period very well. It is quite similar to some of the jewelry recovered in Mesopotamia.”

He looked at their blank faces and said, “The knot of Inanna was a symbol often used to represent the goddess Inanna in ancient Mesopotamia. It was carved
in her temples, on jewelry.” He paused, then went on, “You remember the other day when I told you that the black diamond on the Reliquary of the Holy Standard was a mystical object from an ancient religion, one that the Byzantines then appropriated as their own religious artifact?”

Kyria and Rafe nodded.

“Well, legend has it that the black diamond originally belonged to the goddess Inanna. Her religion thrived in the Mesopotamian region and the Levant. She was the Goddess of the Earth, very important, and she had many worshipers. Among her titles were the Grandmother of God, the Queen of Heaven and Goddess of the Evening Star. She was the goddess of fertility and also of war. Temples dedicated to her have been uncovered at Uruk in Sumeria. She was known by many names—Nana, Inanna, Hathar. The Hittites called her Inaras, the Syrians Astarte, the Babylonians, Ishtar. But it was the same goddess, the same story.”

“What is the story?” Kyria asked, intrigued.

“Oh, it is a common enough one in myths—the story of rebirth and regeneration. Similar to the Greco-Roman myths of Persephone and her mother—and also with certain aspects of the story of Orpheus, I suppose. The idea is that her lover, the great king/god, died, and to get him back, she died herself and went down into the underworld, adorned in her favourite jewelry of lapis lazuli. She stayed in the underworld for three days—you note the popular mystical number—and then she returned, alive. And according to the myth, she brought with her out of the underworld a powerful and beautiful stone—the black diamond named the Heart of Night—and it was placed in her crown in the temple.”

A shiver ran down Kyria’s spine. The archaeologist’s words brought to her mind the dreams she had had of being in a dark place built of stone and lit only by torches and a brazier. There had been something in one dream about a crown, hadn’t there? She remembered the heaviness of the bracelets on her arms, as well as something weighing down her head.

No, she told herself, that was ridiculous. She had not dreamed about a temple. The dreams had been vague in the extreme, and she could not really remember them well, only the general feeling of dread and anticipation. There was nothing in them that pointed to a temple; it was just that for some odd reason she had happened to remember them as Ashcombe spoke.

But why was that? she could not help but wonder.

Ashcombe was going on, talking about the worship of the ancient goddess. “The temples were staffed, of course, by priestesses. Powerful women of their time—the people’s contact with the Earth Mother. There were festivals for the goddess held in the spring, the season of rebirth. Fertility rites to ensure the growth of crops. For example, in one ceremony, the goddess, who was viewed as both a fertility figure and as a sacred virgin—an interesting dichotomy, don’t you think?—would each year renew her virginity and become the bride of the sacred king, thereby making him immortal. It was all a very potent mixture of fertility and rejuvenation, ensuring the king’s status as a superior being and also giving the people faith that their crops would grow, that spring would always follow winter.

“The worship of the goddess faded away with the passing of these civilizations and the rise of monotheism. Of course, there were still pockets of people who kept up the ancient religions and maintained their de
votion to the goddess. But eventually, as I said, the magnificent black diamond found its way into the hands of the Byzantine Church, and it was chosen to adorn one of their most sacred relics. Interesting, is it not, that it was still conceived as having, even by the Christian religious hierarchy, a sort of mystical power?”

“Yes, very interesting,” Kyria murmured. Even more interesting was the fact that she had drawn this symbol of the goddess moments after staring at the box containing the diamond.

“Let me see…” Ashcombe rose and strolled over to one of his bookshelves, looking through the shelves until he found the book he wanted.

Opening it on his desk, he flipped through the pages until he came to a drawing. “Here. This is a drawing of some of the pieces found at the excavation of Uruk.”

Rafe and Kyria leaned closer to look at the drawings. One was a pen-and-ink sketch of several broken bits of jewelry, and beside it was another sketch of how the artist imagined the necklace must have looked when it was new and complete. Like Kyria’s necklace, it was squares of gold, linked together, and on each small square was engraved a symbol much like the one both Kyria and Con had drawn. Ashcombe turned the page, showing them another plate, this one of a drawing of two earrings, each a rectangle of gold on which was etched a stylized image of a woman. From the bottom of the rectangle dangled little irregular beads.

“This is very typical of the jewelry given to Inanna or worn by her priestesses and followers,” Ashcombe told them. “We are not sure which it was. This image, made out of lapis lazuli, the stone favored by the goddess, and carnelian, is of the goddess herself. In this representation, she is seen as the Queen of Heaven, one
of her many appellations. The gentle, beautiful lady—unlike the representations of the later, more warlike tribes, in which she is pictured as the goddess of war. These things dangling from the earrings represent pomegranates, the fruit that she carried out of the underworld.”

Kyria stared at the drawings, a chill running through her. She had never seen these things before, yet the irregular shape of the beads was almost precisely what she had drawn beneath the squares of her necklace. And the symbol, the knot, was as similar to what she had drawn as Con was to Alex.

How could she have drawn so accurately something she had never seen? Never even heard of before?

“Mr. Ashcombe.” Rafe moved closer to the desk, his eyes intent on the other man. “Have you seen this symbol here? Recently? Say, on a medallion?”

Ashcombe blinked. “A medallion?”

“Yes. It is gold and round and hangs on a chain around the neck, and on the medallion is an engraving of this knot of Inanna.”

“I…uh, no.” Ashcombe looked around vaguely. “I can’t recall having seen such a medallion.” He returned to his chair and sat.

“It’s very important,” Kyria told him. “My little brother’s safety may depend on it. Please think hard.”

“Your brother? I don’t understand.” Ashcombe’s eyes skittered away from her and over the room.

“Someone has kidnapped him, someone wearing a medallion with the knot engraved on it. I am afraid he will come to harm. Please, if you know anything about such a medallion—or the person who might be wearing it…”

The older man shook his head, more firmly this time.
“No. No. I don’t know who…It’s a terrible thing, to steal a child.”

“Yes, it is,” Rafe agreed. “I needn’t tell you that Lady Kyria is very worried about him. We are all very worried. He is only ten, you see.”

“Surely they would not hurt him.” Ashcombe looked troubled.

“Who? Who is it you think wouldn’t hurt him?” Rafe pressed gently.

“Oh. Um, whoever kidnapped him, I mean. I’m terribly sorry, but you must excuse me now. I am very tired, you see. I was just about to, um, retire.”

Kyria glanced pointedly at the clock atop a set of shelves. It was not yet five o’clock. Ashcombe saw her gaze and had the good grace to look a trifle embarrassed.

“I am sorry,” he repeated, standing, and there was little they could do but leave.

“He was lying. I’m sure of it,” Kyria said as she sat down in the carriage. “And he is an opium addict.”

Rafe nodded. “Yes, it makes one wonder, doesn’t it, if he is acquainted with the place we went last night.” He leaned out toward the coachman and said, “Go down to the corner and turn right, go to the end of that block, then come back and stop at the corner.”

He sat down, closing the door, and the coachman did as he instructed. When the coach pulled to a stop, Kyria turned to Rafe.

“What are you planning? Are we going to watch his house?”

“Like you, I think he was lying,” Rafe said. “At the end, anyway, after we asked him about the medallion. I don’t know exactly what he knows—I don’t think he knows anything about the kidnapping. That
seemed to disturb him. But I think he’s seen the medallion before. He may even know who wears it. But I thought we might get more out of him by watching his house and seeing if he leaves, then following him. If he is upset enough about the idea of Alex being kidnapped, then he might just go to the person he knows has the medallion.”

Kyria’s stomach tightened in excitement, and she lifted the corner of the curtain to look out the window. “Do you think he will notice us?”

“I am hoping if he watched us leave or set that maid to watching us that our turning the corner and disappearing from sight would have been enough. I don’t think they would wait to see if the carriage reappears at the corner. And this carriage is plain, not the one with the crest.”

“What if he doesn’t do anything?” Kyria went on anxiously. “I’m not sure he would be able to. He was clearly drugged.”

“Yes, but I think he had not smoked very much by the time we interrupted him. While we were talking to him, he seemed to grow more alert.”

“I only hope he is alarmed enough that he doesn’t decide to go up and finish his pipe.”

It was only a few moments later when the front door of Ashcombe’s house opened, and the man himself emerged. Not even glancing in the direction of their carriage, Ashcombe turned and began to walk the other way. Rafe leaned out and gave the coachman instructions, and after a moment, their carriage pulled out and started down the street after the archaeologist. Two blocks over, Ashcombe hailed a passing hansom and climbed in. The cab set off, the Moreland carriage following at a discreet distance.

“Back to Cheapside, it looks like,” Kyria said, peeking out the side curtain.

Rafe nodded. “This is starting to look very familiar.”

Kyria leaned across him to look out his window, and his arm curled around her, steadying her. For a instant, she wanted nothing so much as to simply lean against him and give way to the tears and anxiety that hammered inside her.

As if he knew what she was thinking, his arm tightened around her and he bent to brush his lips over her forehead. “It will be all right,” he murmured. “We’ll find him.”

Kyria swallowed her tears, muttering thickly, “I know. I just wish…oh, why didn’t I send them back home earlier? I should just have sent Denby with them and not waited for Jenkins. None of this would have happened!”

“Don’t fret over what might have been. You didn’t know what would happen. You couldn’t have. Besides, has anyone ever been able to keep the twins out of trouble?”

Kyria smiled weakly. “No. I suppose not. Still, I feel responsible.”