Читать книгу Incredible Spy Detective. Poets and Liars - - Страница 11

[Great Britain, London, Soho]

“Aren’t you going to at least ask where we are?”

The young man in a late 16th-century suit sat at an elongated glass table, his legs crossed, his pointed shoes resting on the tabletop, his full-lipped face smiling.

“No,” Alexandra shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“Everything matters.”

In front of him stood a bottle – labelless and dust-covered – and three goblets.

The young man pointed at the bottle, and Alexandra shook her head. “No, Christopher, I can’t stand this wine anymore.”

Now it was Christopher’s turn to express disapproval.

“Such faint-heartedness!” he snorted with a mischievous smirk and clicked his tongue.

“Are we waiting for William?”

“Yeah. He’s running late – a huge commission for Dante engravings.”

Alexandra took a seat with her back to the white canvas of the projector screen and looked around. It was a typical conference room for about a dozen people, with a glass door, tall windows through which, if the lamps inside were off, sparse lights from the building across and the glow of streetlamps could be seen.

“I can give you a hint about where we are!” Christopher persisted.

“Go ahead.”

Christopher was charming, the way brown-eyed young men, artistic, having had their fair share of entertainment, success and emotion, gifted with rich intellect, can be charming.

“We,” he theatrically gestured with his hands, “are at the circus!”

“At the circus?”

“Why specify?”

“To understand – and remember. I might have to write this down in the red book later.”

“You’ll remember everything; don’t underestimate yourself. Forgetting certain things is your defense, a trick of your own mind. You hold the keys.”

Alexandra leaned her elbows on the glass surface, sighed – in the same theatrical style as her interlocutor. They exchanged glances, chuckled, and Christopher continued to rock in his chair, leaning back with his legs still on the table.

“What kind of beasts are there in the circus?” Alexandra asked.

“Oh,” the young man said with a conspiratorial look. “Various ones.”

“Are we part of the circus too?”

“No. We live in the wild – no one forces us to jump through fiery hoops, dance for a piece of sugar or dental insurance—”

“Poor animals.”

“You don’t say! They dream of being themselves, but they’re not allowed to.”

Alexandra frowned, Christopher didn’t consider her contemplation a hindrance to their conversation.

“By the way, you promised to find me a partron,” he mentioned.

“I remember.”

“How’s that going?”

“Christopher, where am I supposed to just find you a spy gathering intel for the British Queen in France?”

The young man didn’t have a chance to respond. They both turned to the glass door simultaneously as an older man entered.

“William!” Alexandra threw her hands up, getting up from her chair.

Christopher continued rocking.

William was of short stature but youthful and robust, his posture straight, he was dressed in an early 19th-century suit. People like him always drew attention to themselves – as soon as they entered a room.

“Alexandra!” he mirrored her tone.

“How are you? How’s Catherine? How’s Dante?”

“Good, Catherine is my hope and support, and Dante is a work in progress.”

Their embrace was warm and friendly, Alexandra immediately livened up – Christopher, on the other hand, squinted.

“You didn’t hug me!”

“Because you’re not her partron,” William replied forgivingly, as if speaking to a child.

“Don’t worry, I’ll hug you too.”

Alexandra walked around Christopher and positioned herself so she could lean down with her arms outstretched, while Christopher continued to lean further back.

“Circus,” William commented as he walked further inside and sat in Alexandra’s chair.

She never did get the chance to hug Christopher – both of his chair’s legs slipped on the linoleum, he fell to the ground with a loud crash.

While Alexandra helped him up, William, lost in thought – as Alexandra was before him – looked off into the distance, past the bottle and the three goblets.

“Even if you don’t like chess, you’re already playing,” William began when the woman and the young man finally settled down at the table. “You’re on the board.”

He pressed his finger on the glass surface of the table, and Christopher swallowed.

“Both of you are playing – you and Christopher’s partron.”

They exchanged glances. William continued.

“Now’s your move, Alexandra. Such is the nature of the game – you represent the forces of chaos.”

“And me?” Christopher widened his eyes.

“Your partron desperately clings to order, but soon he will understand that there will be no more old order – because he has already begun his path to becoming.”

“Hooray!” Christopher exclaimed. “I mean, I hope it doesn’t tear him apart and all, and I’ll finally get to meet him.”

“So what’s going to be my move?” Alexandra spoke.

“Any – it depends on your wish to move the plot along. To push what’s already moving.”

“Christopher’s partron,” Alexandra concluded. “He came into motion.”

William nodded.

“So I need the one who acts in a circus, jumps through fiery hoops, spies for the British Queen, and he’s on the first stage of the Great Work already?”

“Exactly,” William agreed.

“What should I do with the wine – and the fact that someone wanted to kill me?”

“Trust your intuition. They didn’t intend to kill you – it was a counter-move, an attempt to provoke a reaction.”

“Why a counter-move?”

“You’re successful,” Christopher answered for William. “They’re afraid of your radiance. Your existence is like a red flag to them.”

“After what happened, there will be even more resonance.”

“They’re foolish. They’ve read your books, but they didn’t understand anything.”

“That’s how it always goes—”

“Our lot, Alexandra, is to be out of time and place in our era,” William rose from the chair, adjusted his jacket’s lapels. “And to get slaps on the back of our heads from those who speak a different language.”

“It’s a wordplay,” Christopher added. “They can speak our language just fine.”

Christopher repeated after William as he stood, Alexandra watched them walk to the exit, as always, no goodbyes.

The young man turned around.

“Circus,” he reminded.

Alexandra nodded. When they disappeared, she mouthed the word – to make sure she remembers.