Archie grimaced and backed a step. “Then no thank you.”
Moira held up the soaked treat to Hugh, who snatched it with his large beak, while warbling a sound like a Swiss yodeler.
“That’s my good boy,” Moira said with a warm smile. She then wiped her fingers on a folded cloth and turned to them. “As to your arrival, I took a call from Monsieur Laurent. A worker’s strike in Paris has delayed him, but he should join us in the next couple of hours. Once here, he’ll take responsibility for Saint-Germain’s diary, get it out of the country.”
Sharyn shared a look with Duncan.
She must be talking about the Frenchman from the phone call...
Duncan raised another concern. “That’s fine for the book, but what about us? We’re still wanted by the police and hunted by an unknown enemy.”
“TheConfrérie des Illuminés,” Sir Kelly intoned.
His daughter translated, “The Brotherhood of the Enlightened.”
“That name,” Archie groused. “Such a load of tosh. They sound proper full of themselves, don’t they?”
The old man shifted in his chair. “Indeed. But they’re not to be underestimated. Due to the speed of changing events, you’ve managed to outmaneuver them. For that you should be commended.”
“But who exactly are they?” Sharyn asked. “For that matter, who is the alchemist who wrote this book?”
“The answer to both your questions are tied tightly together.” Sir Kelly waved to the table. “Sit. If you might indulge me, I would very much like to see this notorious tome. I’ve only viewed it once, briefly, long ago.”
Their group spread out to the chairs closest to the constable, while Moira moved to stand at her father’s shoulder.
Before taking a seat, Sharyn tugged the crossbody strap and drew the bag into view. With a twinge of trepidation, she unzippered it and slipped the book out. She placed it on the table. The tome’s copper bands shone dully in the weak light flowing through a bank of windows at the back of the hall. Still, the crystal orb gathered all that meager light and glowed on its own.
Sir Kelly reached for the book, but Sharyn placed her palm atop it and drew it closer to her. “First, tell us about who wrote this.”
20
4:22 p.m.
Sharyn refused to hand over the book without some explanation, wanting to know about the man who penned a book that had led to so many deaths.
Sir Kelly leaned back. “You’re right to inquire, Ms. Karr, and deserve an answer. Though, I must say the author—the Count of Saint-Germain—remains as much a mystery as the book itself.”
“Then what can you tell us?” Sharyn pressed. “We had to toss all our electronics and never had a chance to search the internet for his name.”
“If you had, you would’ve come across stories both historical and fanciful. In fact, evenwherehe came from is fiercely debated. Some say he descended from a disgraced royal family, and to save face, he kept his past secret. Others that he was raised by the infamous Medici banking family. Or he might have been an Alsatian Jew or a Spanish Jesuit. No one really knows. Still, regardless of his origin, he arrived at the French court already a man of great wealth, always appearing in public with clothing adorned in jewels.”
“Then whatisknown about him?” Sharyn asked.
“To best answer that,” Sir Kelly continued, “I’ll stick to what is substantiated by court records from the time, along with written accounts from luminaries of that era, including Frederick the Great, Mozart, Voltaire, even Casanova. TheLondon Chroniclewrote of the man, along with newspapers in Italy and the Netherlands. For a time, throughout Europe, he was a celebrity in his own right.”
Sharyn lowered to her seat. “What made him so famous?”
“Ah, first, he was a savant in many fields. He was a musical composer, a skilled violinist, a poet and painter. He spoke every language in Europe. He was also a well-studied historian, not just of Europe, but farther afield. As such, he served for a time as diplomat for King Louis XV. In fact, his politics were so astute that he predicted the French Revolution years before the Terror started, but his early warnings fell on deaf ears. Still, that all aside, his greatest fame lay in his scientific work.”
“Scientific work?” Sharyn asked.
“He called italchemy, a word synonymous withscienceat the time. Though, the two terms grew apart around the middle of the eighteenth century. But Saint-Germain still considered himself primarily an alchemist.”
“Why do you say that?” Tag asked.
Sir Kelly reached over and tapped the symbol embossed on the book’s cover. “It’s practically his signature.”
Sharyn frowned. “How do you mean?”
