Carl Sargent - Black Madonna

“We all got close enough at one time or another,” Geraint agreed. “I don’t think it was a game in play. it was a game in earnest.”

“And let’s just entertain the possibility that he really has been around that long. Lets say he is or was Leonardo. Can you imagine talking with him? About Michaelangelo, Verrochio, the great artists and designers? About the Borgias and the Medicis? Not to mention all the times he’s lived through since! Let’s say he really was there. Talking with him would be incredible!”

“You’re taking his offer seriously.”

“With the Renraku money I am. Part of a second Renaissance? You bet I will. I could use the regular employment.”

Michael put down his glass, and changed tack. “Those cards,” he continued, wondering now. “Back in Florence. All those women. I thought you were reading something else.”

Geraint shook his head, realizing Michael had thought it had something to do with the Countess. “I knew a woman was on the mind of our target. So many of the major arcana, it was as clear as crystal. Unfortunately, I had no way of knowing just how that could be. And I damn well should have with that deck. Hang it, it was allegedly based on Egyptian designs. A fraudulent claim, but we were after the designer of a fraudulent shroud, and Isis is an Egyptian figure.

“It was bloody perfect,” he said. “And I didn’t see it.”

“You couldn’t have seen it.”

“Maybe not. Aw, sod it, Michael, I can see this bloody bottle of five-star and by God we’re going to finish it tonight.”

Hessler and Merlin took an evening stroll around the Tor, just as they were in the habit of doing at this time of day and at this time of year, weather permitting.

“Don’t you dare tell him the truth,” the elf said to the spirit. “He can find it out for himself.”

Merlin looked crestfallen.

“And you shouldn’t have told him to go. He needs to work that out for himself too.”

“I didn’t say anything to him,” Merlin protested.

“You said it to her,” Hessler retorted.

“Well, they should,” Merlin said with force. “They would be free then, after a fashion. Look how tight he’s locked up sometimes. It’s not fair to Kristen. Three months there and he’d be completely changed. I think he’d turn out to be a more fervent follower of Isis than our friend is, if that’s possible. With her as his inspiration. I couldn’t blame him.”

“A veritable Questor,” Hessler said quietly. “You might be right.”

“I can see into hearts more easily than you can sometimes,” the spirit said a little grumpily, as if justifying his right to an opinion.

“No, but you see the simpler things more quickly.” the elf said evenly.

“Sometimes that’s enough,” Merlin said firmly.

“You are rather rebellious this evening.” the elf said, and for a moment the spirit looked downcast, like a child faced with a parent’s disapproval. And then he saw the smile playing about the edges of the elf’s lips, and he mirrored it with one his own.

They walked into the beginnings of dusk, the long-striding spirit and the elf with the walking stick he leaned upon more heavily than he once had. And as they did so a cat, having abandoned the remains of a chewed cloth mouse, cast aside in the brambles with its stuffing torn asunder, followed close behind them, its amber eyes glittering in the golden light.