Chapter 27 #3
“We saw the Sphinx today, thanks to Jocasta,” William said. “I thought it was a hoax at first, but then her cat really did talk, and the mic was where Natasha said it would be. So I’m stumped.”
“Natasha?” Malek asked. She seemed utterly zoned out, her gaze on her plate with only dipping sauce left in the corner. He tapped her shoulder, and she perked up.
“Hmm?”
“The riddle. Do you still have it on the iPad? Maybe Katja can help.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Natasha rose from the table to grab her purse. She handed over the iPad and her notebook to Katja, apologizing for her messy writing as she did.
“Nonsense. I’ve seen worse writing from doctors and professors, and it’s good to see the thinking process.
I’m sure after defeating those gargoyles, you need no further praise, but this is already amazing work.
” Katja flipped through some of the pages and read through the riddle several times. “Seriously. This is well done.”
“Thank you.” Natasha’s smile was small, as if she was thinking about something else. “I still can’t get the final one. The crown. And that’s the big deal.”
Katja read the lines aloud. She closed her eyes, as if she was picturing the inside of a chateau magique. She pulled out a marker from her front pocket and started to plot and plan in a similar way to Natasha. Natasha watched closely, keenly focused and interested.
“Ah. I think I have it.” Katja held up the page where she’d rewritten the line that had stumped Natasha. “Montréal is where The Forgotten King is.”
“We already knew about Montréal,” Malek said. “But The Forgotten King?”
“Oh my God. Why didn’t I think of that?” Natasha grabbed the iPad and did a quick search.
A museum display came up, with “Montréal” written in gold above the announcement, a crown on top of the last letter.
“The Montréal Museum of History is having a gala to support their new exhibit, The Forgotten King—or Le Roi que le Temps a Oublié. I remember reading about this the same day Caspar was broken out of prison, but I never finished the article.”
“What’s The Forgotten King, though?”
“It’s the name they gave to this collection of relics they found from Egypt.
It’s not a permanent collection, hence why the Main Street house got the invite.
We always get stuff involving non-permanent collections in case we ever wanted to add something to our own.
Even if we’re a small historical site more than a museum, we’re all part of the same company. ”
“And the crown is one of the relics?” Caspar asked.
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
“But I’m not from Egypt,” Malek said. “My parents were from Nigeria decades ago, and most of my djinn culture is based around Nigerian customs and folktales. Maybe there’s a mistake?”
“I don’t think so. Look at this.” Katja held the iPad up to show Malek and Caspar a glass case that was filled with fancy vases and jewels. No recognition dawned on Malek’s face until she swiped to the next image, where a diadem sitting on a purple pillow behind a glass case came into view.
Malek grew pale. “That’s it!”
“This is the main feature,” Katja said. “It’s the crown of The Forgotten King.
The curators called it that because they found no record of the historical period or historical figure it belonged to.
They probably thought it was from Egypt because they found it among the other historical items and took a wild guess. ”
“Not to be a dream crusher,” Natasha said.
“But wouldn’t the archeologist in charge of the dig have done tests and realized it wasn’t as old as the other artifacts?
I understand not finding a historical figure to match it up with, so they guessed and then played up the anonymity factor for tourists, but this is a newer crown.
You’re only thirty or so, right, Malek?”
“Thirty-eight at the end of May. But this crown has been in my family for years. My mother passed it on to me, since I was the only boy in a long, long line of girls. This is… this is it. This is mine.”
“And so close,” Katja said. “Only eight hours away.”
Malek seemed to want to shoot up from the table and drive there overnight. He managed to compose himself as he combed a hand through his hair. “How did it get in a museum? Among other antiques?”
“Well, it’s a non-permanent collection, so let’s see who owns it.” Katja browsed through the iPad again, and then read off the name. “George Cosner. I think he’s a diplomat who won these at auction.”
“He’s a developer,” Natasha said. “He’s bought a bunch of land and runs estate sales.”
“Yes!” Katja said, smiling. “I just googled it, and you’re right. How did you know?”
“I work in real estate, and his name has come up several times now.” Natasha rose from the table and pushed past the pizza boxes that scattered the counter.
She dug through the papers until she found what they’d been looking at yesterday.
“Cosner’s company bought out Bluebeard’s, the pawn shop, and Caspar’s parents’ grocery store. ”
“Shit,” Malek said. “He’s the scavenger.”
“What now?” Katja asked.
With a sigh, Natasha informed Katja of what they’d discovered through their various searches on real estate closings and what Caspar knew from selling his family’s property.
A scavenger was someone who was human, desperately searching for power by going to storage auctions, estate sales, or even yard sales and dumps, hoping to stumble onto enchanted objects to use for their gain.
“People have made industries out of it,” Malek said.
“If you’re lucky, you find an item associated with a djinn and locate the patriarch, who wants to serve you exclusively by offering up his entire family as wish-granters.
It’s why most people leave when they can—but in order to do so, they also become vulnerable, because they need to forsake their objects to do so. ”
“And thus, the cycle starts all over again,” Katja said, nodding as she understood. “Okay. So George Cosner is a scavenger who’s been buying and buying items and now realizes he has something in the crown. What’s the end goal?”
“A set-up,” Natasha suggested.
“What?”
“It’s a set-up,” Natasha repeated more emphatically. “This is a con.”
“How?”
“George could have kept his item all to himself, but he wants the crown to be on display. He’s expecting you to come and take the crown—or any of these artifacts—so he can trap whoever tries to steal it.
You never know how much a rare item is worth until you put it on display and see who wants it.
He’s hoping for something—but not necessarily you.
Anything. That’s the problem with scavengers.
They have no standards beyond potential dollar signs.
Probably doesn’t even know or care who Odafin really is. ”
“Of course,” Malek said. “I’ve been too involved in my own family drama to realize that people just want wishes. Everyone wants to rule the world. Fuck.”
Caspar clenched his jaw. He still felt the hands of the gargoyles on his body, their gravelly voices in his ear. “But they were asking for me. My eye. Their prize. I… I don’t see how Cosner fits into that model.”
“If he’s a developer, he’ll have access to gargoyles, since they work construction sites,” Malek said. “And maybe they got sick of waiting for their prize, so they went after it themselves.”
“So we are both random victims of supernatural violence?” Caspar shook his head. “No, don’t buy it. How do I fit into this?”
“You’re with me,” Malek said. “Bound to me. If he tried to rub the crown, he wouldn’t get me because I’m bound to you, and Jocasta had it before then. You’re both just along for the ride. Collateral damage.”
“No one here is collateral damage,” Katja said. She opened her mouth to argue more, but Malek held up a hand.
“It’s true, though. William would have died if not for his powers kicking in. Natasha had to fight three guys on her own, and it was only by chance she had her brass knuckles with her. We got lucky. So lucky this time. And I don’t… I don’t know if I can put you all at risk.”
“Nonsense,” Katja said. “You remember what I said not fifteen minutes ago about you not being the centre of the world? Well, that applies now, too. You don’t get to ruin our lives or call us collateral damage.
That gives you way too much power over us.
Thank you, Malek, but I have control over my life. We all do.”
Katja folded her hands over her chest and turned to the others, who nodded. Caspar’s heart skipped a beat. He wanted to tell Malek he’d stay and get them as free as he could, even if it meant being thrown into the line of fire.
“We’re all here,” William said. “And we’ve got no place else to go for the time being, so you may as well accept our help.”
“For what, though? To get my crown back? It’s a scavenger baiting a trap. We’re all fucked if we walk into this.”
“Not if we steal it back.” William flashed a grin to all the others around the table. “Not if we beat the gargoyles at their own game and somehow managed to come out ahead.”
“Somehow, if, maybe,” Malek said. “I don’t know if I like the odds.”
“I do,” Caspar said. The table turned to him, as if it were the first time he’d really spoken.
He cleared his throat and tried to sit up straighter.
His bones ached from the fight, and from growing so rapidly, but he held onto his conviction.
“I know odds. I know gambling. And yes, this is a gamble, but it only matters if we lose.”
“Stealing from a museum, though?” Malek said. “I get playing the grifter’s tricks in the store today, but we’re talking about a huge space. Security systems, security guards. And who knows what room it’d be in?”
“Most museums are laid out in the same way,” Natasha said. “And I’ve seen the blueprints for Le Musée de l’histoire de Montréal before.”
“Still,” Malek said. “That doesn’t rule out lasers and trapdoors or whatever else they could be hiding in a place like that.”