Mirages
Part 2

Solomon Sugar was having one of those days - the kind where he questioned every aspect of his current existence - his apartment, his job, his clothing, even his decision to ignore his mother's advice and become a policeman instead of an accountant. By nine in the morning he knew it was going to be a very long day.

It had rained hard for three days and it was drizzling now. The ground was a slippery marsh of mud and ash with bits of rubble added to make footing unstable. The closer he got to the ruined structure, the more debris he had to pick his way through while trying not to fall - again.

The Rochefort mansion had burned months ago and anything salvageable was long gone, taken by people braver or more foolish than him. He was only here because of a rumor - another apparent dead-end in his investigation into the criminal activities of the notorious Black Hand.

The organization seemed to attract the most ruthless criminals - the kind that rarely left witnesses alive. Those with information about the Black Hand kept their secrets in fear for their lives and the lives of their loved ones. It made Solomon's self-appointed task of finding the leader of the Black Hand almost impossible.

Every time he decided he had had enough, the memory of his sister and her husband spurred him on again. He'd loved them both dearly, and he'd never forget the sight of their mutilated bodies.

The day after their murders, he'd resigned his post with the Paris police and taken on the title of private investigator. It paid poorly, but it gave him the time to pursue his investigation into the Black Hand.

It also allowed him the occasional brush with the phantom thief, Noir. The jewel thief had become something of an obsession for Solomon while he was with the police and he'd taken no end of teasing for his failure to actually catch Noir. Still, there was something elegant, almost artful about Noir's crimes and Solomon had begun to think of him as his "black cat".

Surprisingly, information about the Black Hand and, indirectly, about Noir had led him here, to the ruins of the Rochefort mansion. If the source was correct, something here would point the way to both.

He cast a glance upwards towards the gray sky and hoped the information he was seeking hadn't been washed away.

The cellar door had been forced and the ground around it had been well trampled – most likely by people carting off salvage. Solomon peered down into the gloom and sighed; he wasn't fond of cellars.

It took three attempts to light the lantern, but he was glad that he'd had the foresight to bring it along. He wanted to get this over with and spend some time pursuing his only currently paying case – the search for an old woman's missing cat.

He descended the slippery stairs carefully, listening for sounds of any remaining looters. It wouldn't do for them to think he was trying to stop them – more than one policeman had been injured that way.

Given the state of the cellar, it was clear that anything useful was long gone. Only bits of wood and a few broken bottles remained. He kicked one of the bottles aside and watched as it rolled towards a corner. He was about to begin his investigation in earnest when something in the corner caught the light.

He moved closer, still very aware of his surroundings – he didn't trust the integrity of this ruined structure and had no intention of staying in the cellar one moment longer than necessary.

His source had hinted that the mark would be in plain sight, but not obvious. The carved "R" set into a small stone in the corner of the foundation was exactly the kind of mark he would expect – something that most people would pass off as a bit of family pride.

With a surge of excitement, Solomon bent down to examine the stone. He prodded it experimentally, and then tried pulling on it. When that failed to produce results, he felt around the stone, then examined the area around it and the floor in front of it. Other than dirtying his hands, he accomplished nothing.

"Far too easy," he chastised himself, standing up and giving the stone a light kick for good measure. With a sigh he resumed his search of the cellar.

There was a series of rooms, some large, that appeared to run most of the length or width of the mansion. He searched those closest to the exit first hoping he'd be lucky and find his clue.

The storeroom yielded nothing, nor did the laundry room and what might have been a workroom judging by the few scattered, rusty nails.

It wasn't until he reached what must have been the wine cellar that he found another carved stone. This time, it was set over the doorway inside the room. Solomon reached up, ignoring the dirt and cobwebs and was rewarded when the stone shifted as he prodded it.

Searching eagerly, Solomon found a broken piece of wood – probably from one of the old wine racks – and wedged the narrow end in beside the carved stone. He set the lantern down for better leverage and almost tripped over it when the stone suddenly gave way.

Picking up the stone from where it had fallen, he examined it carefully and found an additional carving on the back – a date of 1423. It held no meaning for him, but the Rochefort family history was well documented – he should be able to uncover the meaning with a bit of research.

Pocketing the small stone, he lifted the lantern and studied the hole it had left. It was just a bit too high to reach so he dragged a few boards over and stepped up onto them cautiously, holding onto the doorframe for stability. Cringing a bit, he reached up into the hole and felt around. All thoughts of dirt and dead bugs fled when he felt something cold and metallic.

It was a well-worn key, heavy and ornate. Solomon slipped it into his pocket and checked the small opening once more before deciding that it had yielded all of its secrets. He jumped down off the boards feeling bolder for his success. He kicked the boards to scatter them and headed towards the exit, pausing just before he reached the stairs.

What if there were more stones?

He made a quick search of the rest of the cellar, moving as quickly as he could through the dark, dangerous space. His instincts were telling him that he'd found everything of importance, but he pressed on anyway.

In a small room too far from the cellar exit for comfort, he found one other item of interest. It was a book – ragged and damp, with some of its pages torn. Still, there was something about it that made Solomon curious. He tucked it into his coat pocket, wincing at the work he'd have to do to get the garment clean again.

Deciding that there was nothing else of interest, Solomon hurried back to the exit and climbed up and out into the rain. After the musty basement, he was glad for fresh air, even if it did carry the faint scent of ashes.

Before he left, he gave one long, last look at the remains of the once-fine mansion. He'd seen it many times when it was standing – a magnificent building for one of Paris' finest families. Solomon wasn't one for poetry, but there was something sadly poetic about the building and the family fallen to ruin.

Feeling a bit melancholy, Solomon left the grounds and started the long walk home. He was dirty and disheveled, but his thoughts turned to his one encounter with the young du Rochefort heir, Florian. The young man had gotten lost in a disreputable part of town and Solomon had escorted him to more familiar and safer streets. The young man had been extremely grateful and had insisted on treating Solomon to a late lunch.

To Solomon's relief, Florian had chosen a nice but inexpensive café rather than a more formal and expensive restaurant. The food had been excellent and the conversation light but engaging. It was only after they'd parted that Solomon realized he'd done most of the talking. It took him even longer to understand the manner he'd interpreted as polite distance was actually loneliness.

That night, dining alone in his apartment, Solomon had considered seeking the man out. Then he'd remembered his place, and Florian's, and knew he'd never be able to close the distance between them.

Drawing his thoughts back to the present, Solomon realized that he didn't even know where Florian was. He'd heard rumors that the young man had been taken on by a wealthy patron in exchange for payment of all the family debts. Solomon wasn't foolish enough to believe it was an alliance of goodwill – it was common knowledge that the aristocracy bartered children as easily as trade-goods.

His thoughts turned back to the ruins he had just left, and the woman who had perished inside, alone. Solomon hoped that - wherever Florian was now - fate would be kinder to him than it had been to Florian's mother.
 

+++++
 

"Good morning, my friend. I trust you slept well."

Ray nodded his greeting in response and picked up a paper from the sideboard before taking a seat at the table. Azura knew better than to expect much conversation before Ray had had his breakfast.

A young woman with close-cropped hair wearing men's clothing served his breakfast. Judging from the remains on Azura's plate, he'd had the same – bacon, eggs and toast. It made Ray smile to think how, as orphans they'd breakfasted on scraps of bread while boasting of the magnificent breakfasts they'd eat every morning when they were rich adults. It was funny to realize that at least one of their fantasies had become real.

"Laila, tell Florian we're waiting for him to join us," Azura told the servant as she cleared away his plate and refilled his tea. She nodded once, and left immediately, leaving Ray and Azura alone for the moment.

"I've set up a workspace for you in the library. Florian will assist you in locating reference materials. If you need something I don't have, give him the details and I'll order it." Azura leaned back smiling broadly, the way he often had when they were causing mischief in the marketplace.

"I'll admit you've got me intrigued. Where did you find this text?" Ray pushed his empty place aside and leaned in close. "Or is that not a matter for discussion."

"A rare text containing a riddle that may lead to something of great value. Draw your own conclusions," Azura replied smoothly, but his eye was as bright as a mid-day sky and he couldn't quite tame his smile.

Florian arrived before Ray could frame a reply. The man was slightly out of breath and his robes were askew. He looked as if he'd just gotten out of bed.

"You're late." Azura said coldly, stopping the blond in his tracks. A flicker of fear passed across Florian's face before he smoothed his expression into one of polite apology. He bent his head and moved to Azura's side quickly.

"My apologies, Azura. And to you Monsieur Courland."

Azura gripped the man's wrist, squeezing hard. Florian remained still and silent, accepting the painful contact. When he was finally released, there were finger-marks visible on his pale skin.

"Ray needs a secretary. You will meet us in the library in ten minutes – properly groomed and attired. If you are quick you may have breakfast in the kitchen before you join us."

Florian nodded once to each of the men before leaving the room at a fast walk. Off to the side, the servant had returned to gather their dishes. She placed them on a cart and retreated through a set of doors at the far end of the long, narrow room.

Ray lifted the paper, taking a moment to consider what he'd just seen – the cruel way Azura had disciplined Florian, and the calm, almost resigned way the man had accepted it.

It reminded him of Florian's comment from the night before – that Azura wasn't the kindest patron he could have chosen, but he wasn't the cruelest either. That thought twisted Ray's insides; he understood all too well what Florian meant. Before Azura, Ray had faced a similar situation, but with even less choice than the penniless aristocrat. Ray had been a child, at the mercy of adults. Those were the memories that drove Ray, that never let him stop pushing himself to become smarter, richer, and more clever than those around him.

He'd had help, back then. Azura took him in – protected and taught him what he needed to know. Ray wondered if Florian had ever had someone offer that kind of help.

With this new incentive, Ray was more anxious than ever to get to work on solving Azura's riddle. He set the paper aside and stood, smiling.

"Excellent breakfast," he said pleasantly. "Just what I needed to get started. Shall we solve that riddle?"

"I believe we shall," Azura replied, and this time his smile was more predatory than pleasant.
 

+++++
 

Florian was waiting patiently outside the library when they arrived. He'd changed into a well-cut three-piece suit and brushed his shoulder-length hair back out of his eyes.

He remained silent and unobtrusive as Azura gave Ray the tour of the large book-lined room. When Ray was settled at the desk Azura had set aside for him, Azura handed Florian a key and had him retrieve one copy of the rare text. The original and Azura's copy would remain properly stored and safe while Ray's copy would be brought out only when Ray was in the room and locked away before he left.

It was Florian's responsibility to ensure the safety of the copy and Azura had made it clear to him how severe the punishment would be if he failed.

"I must tend to business matters for a few hours, but I will join you for lunch, Ray." Azura moved closer and placed a hand on Ray's arm. He leaned in and added, "My staff is at your disposal. They will tend to your needs, so don't hesitate to use them." He glanced over at Florian who was still standing silently beside Ray's desk. "You can't work the entire time you're here."

"I'll remember." Ray played along, smiling as he glanced over at Florian too.

"Excellent," Azura said as he swept out of the room leaving an awkward silence in his wake.

"My apologies for keeping you up late last night." Ray offered sincerely as he took a seat and picked up the copy of the text. Florian remained in place, waiting until he was needed. He tilted his head slightly as he frowned.

"There's no need to apologize. I enjoyed your company."

"But I caused you to be late this morning."

"Not true, sir. After I left you, Azura spent some time reminding me of my duties while you are here. My past behavior has led him to believe that he must be thorough in his explanations. He feels that I benefit from occasional demonstrations."

That explained the man's stiff movements, Ray decided. He'd noted that Florian was moving with less grace than the previous evening, but he'd passed it off as a poor night's sleep.

"Well I won't get anything done without coffee. Would you ask one of the servants to bring some? Fruit and pastries would be welcome if there are any available."

"Of course, sir. If you would excuse me for a moment?"

Belatedly, Ray realized that Florian was waiting for permission to leave. Ray nodded distractedly, glad to get him out of the way while he settled in to work. He was used to being alone, especially when he was working, and his odd lot of servants did as they pleased most of the time. Having Florian hover was going to be a distraction unless he found something to keep the man occupied.

He left the desk and wandered the room, studying a book here and there as he went. In addition to the wide array of history and science texts, there was a small collection of music books. In one of the other rooms he'd seen a piano, but here, tucked away in the corner beside an armchair and a gold music stand, was a rather plain lap harp.

Ray hoped that his guess was correct and that the instrument was Florian's rather than Azura's. It would provide the man with a distraction and allow Ray to work without having someone looming over him.

Satisfied, Ray selected a few books that might prove useful and settled down at the desk again. He was thumbing through one of the volumes when Florian returned with the woman who'd served him breakfast. She was pushing a teacart loaded with carafes of coffee and tea as well as a pitcher of lemonade. In the center was a large tray piled with fruits and pastries.

"Thank you, Laila," Florian said softly once she'd parked the cart out of the way. She glanced at Ray, then placed a hand on Florian's bruised wrist.

"Use this ointment when you can," she whispered, handing him a small bottle, which he accepted gratefully. He touched her hand briefly then escorted her to the door, closing it behind her.

Without asking, he prepared a cup of coffee, black with one sugar, and set it on the desk, within easy reach, but far enough away that it wouldn't be accidentally spilled. Beside the cup on a small plate he placed several sweetbreads, a small bunch of grapes and several orange slices. On top he placed a sugared pear slice.

Ray smiled at the selection, looking up into those magnificent eyes. They were darker today, the color as subdued as the man. Ray much preferred the version who'd blithely stolen that onyx ring off of him last evening.

"There's a harp in the corner over here," Ray said casually. "Do you play?"

"I do," Florian answered neutrally before a hint of a smile slipped out and he added, "but that's the wrong question to ask."

"Oh?" Ray drew the word out into a tease.

"When speaking with an amateur musician, the questions is always 'do you play well'?" Florian leaned forward slightly. "I confess to playing. It's up to you to determine if it's well."

"You do like a challenge," Ray countered, leaning back and meeting Florian's gaze full on. "Go on then, Mozart. Dazzle me."

"I apologize to your ears in advance." Florian deliberately circled in front of the desk on his way to the corner. He settled into the chair and took up the harp as if greeting an old friend. He plucked a few stings idly before settling into an off-key rendition of a familiar children's song.

When Ray simply shook his head and returned to his work, Florian ran a few scales and then launched into a slow, sweet melody. He played softly, head bowed over the instrument as he was absorbing the music into himself.

Ray watched for a few moments then let him go, returning his attention to the difficulty of identifying and translating the ancient riddle. It was nearly noon when he looked up again, surprised to have been so focused on the work, but even more surprised to realize that Florian had been playing his harp the entire time.
 

+++++
 

Solomon settled onto his lumpy mattress with a sigh. He was bone weary from a day spent exploring cellars and climbing trees. The carved stone, old key, musty book and handful of coins he'd obtained hardly made up for the aches and pains he'd have in the morning.

The one bright spot had been the plate of cookies the old woman had given him when he'd returned her cat. The fact that she hadn't been able to pay his usual fee hardly mattered - or at least it wouldn't until he was eating watered down soup at the end of the month.

Still, the fact that his information had been correct and he'd found the rock and key in the Rochefort mansion ruins was a bit of good luck that he sorely needed. Perhaps the date carved on the stone would lead him to some forgotten family treasure in addition to giving him a lead on the Black Hand.

It was a fantasy, he admitted, but it was a nice one.

The same thought greeted him when he woke the next morning from a night of restful sleep. He got out of bed slowly, pleased to discover that he wasn't as sore as he thought he'd be.

He indulged in a bath anyway, using the excuse that he needed to plan his next steps. He'd need access to Rochefort family history to discover the importance of the date carved on the stone. That would provide him with some idea of where the key could be used. He also needed to examine the book he'd found - see if the remaining pages were readable.

Research wasn't his favorite pastime, but he'd gladly make the effort if it brought him closer to discovering the leader of the notorious Black Hand and their connection to the Rocheforts and possibly Noir.

Feeling refreshed and optimistic, Solomon left the bath and got dressed. He studied the musty book while he prepared a breakfast omelet. There weren't many pages remaining, and what was left was barely legible. Solomon struggled with it while he ate, finally conceding that there weren’t enough pages left to provide any useful information. Out of habit, he examined the covers, frowning in concentration when he realized that the back cover was thicker than the front.

Using the butter knife, he pried up the endplate and prodded at the extra bit of paper underneath.

He had to work carefully to extract the folded sheets without tearing them, but when they were free he was delighted to see that they were intact and had been protected from the worst damage by the fine leather cover.

The letter was old and the ink was faded but he was able to read enough to understand that it was an apology and a plea for forgiveness. The salutation was illegible and the signature was splotchy. There was a month and day, but no year, and the parts of the letter that could be read yielded no obvious clues.

Still, Solomon was certain the letter was important. He didn't believe in coincidences and the fact that he'd found it, the stone and key in the same place convinced him that they were all significant.

Carefully refolding the letter, Solomon was about to put it safely away in his desk when the design at the top finally registered. Taking out his prized magnifying glass, he leaned in and studied the small text inside a banner draped across the image. A moment later he leaned back and let out a delighted laugh. He'd solved one riddle without even leaving his apartment. The numbers on the letter matched the date carved into the rock, but the rest of the letterhead design spelled it out clearly - Loire.

He'd make arrangements today, and tomorrow he'd set off for a visit to the Rochefort ancestral castle in Loire.

Quite pleased with himself, Solomon set off for the market, intent on rewarding himself with a nice cut of meat and a reasonably priced bottle of wine for tonight's dinner.
 

+++++
 

"What have you done to your fingers?" Azura grabbed Florian's wrist, almost causing the man to drop his soup spoon.

Florian quickly took the spoon with his other hand and set it down before allowing Azura to examine both hands. The fingers were red and sore from playing the harp for so long. It had been a while since he'd been allowed to play and he was out of practice.

"I've told you about this, Florian," Azura said coldly. The tone sent shivers up Ray's spine but Florian remained passive. "See Laila immediately and then tend to my correspondence before returning to the library at one.

Florian nodded once and immediately rose from his seat, intending to obey Azura's orders.

"Finish your meal, Florian," Ray instructed calmly. "There will be time enough for you to see Laila and take care of the letters after lunch."

Caught between conflicting orders, Florian remained standing. He looked at Azura, to his right at the head of the table, and then across to Ray. Both men were watching him, expecting him to do as he'd been told.

When the moment stretched out too long, Azura finally snapped out an order to sit and Florian quickly complied, pasting on a pleasant smile.

"Thank you," he told them both, quickly taking up his spoon again and bending his head to focus only on his meal.

After a protracted silence, Ray commented mildly, "I find that music helps me concentrate when researching."

"You've made progress?" Azura's earlier anger was gone in an instant, his face lit up with excitement and he leaned forward eagerly. "You were able to translate?"

"Not everything – it's an ancient dialect and the phrasing is curious. However, I believe I have the first line completed. Now that I know what I'm working with, I expect the rest of the translation to go much faster."

"I'll get you a real musician if that will help you concentrate, an ensemble even."

"That won't be necessary. Florian indulged me this morning and I abused his kindness. I would appreciate hearing him play again on another day, but we both need to concentrate on our work this afternoon."

"Of course," Azura sat back, considering. He took up the bell and rang for the servants to bring the next course before looking at Florian.

"You're to play when asked, even if it requires you to set your other duties aside temporarily. If you have free time, you may practice, but no more than thirty minutes a day. Laila will supply you with ointment to treat your hands. You will use it without fail as she instructs. Calluses are unacceptable."

"Thank you, Azura. I will see Laila immediately after lunch."

Dismissing the matter and the man entirely, Azura turned his attention to Ray and the two shared reminiscences and discussed current events until the meal was over. When the last plate was cleared, Azura waved Florian off without even looking at him.
 

+++++
 

"You shouldn't let me take advantage of you," Ray told Florian as he examined the man's hands. The fingers were still red and sore looking, but they were better than they had been at lunch. Obviously Laila's ointment was helping.

"I'm afraid I was taking advantage of you," Florian countered with a smile, withdrawing his hands. "Azura rarely allows me to play."

"It is a bit unusual; most aristocrats I know favor the pianoforte."

"I learned that as a child, but then mother had to sell ours and there was no occasion to play. I found the harp in the attic among the family cast-offs. It was too worn and plain to be sold, so mother let me keep it. The music would soothe her when she had one of her headaches."

"You taught yourself to play?" Ray was impressed – his aunt had wanted him to learn the pianoforte when he'd gone to live with them in Paris, but he'd never had any real aptitude for it.

"I had help." Florian laughed. "One of our servants played. I'd help her with her work and then we'd sneak off and have a lesson. Sometimes she'd write down songs for me to learn, otherwise, I made up my own tunes." Florian leaned in a bit closer and smiled. "I can be very creative with my hands."

"Oh?" Ray leaned back and gave a smile of his own. "Prove it then. Find me everything this library holds on the history of Carthage."

"Done," Florian promised, heading off towards the shelves. He just laughed when Ray threatened to time him.
 

+++++
 

"You did ask for everything," Florian reminded him forty-five minutes later when he added another three volumes to the pile of books on the floor. He'd already filled up the corners of the desk and a nearby chair and table.

"Then I change the request. Why don't you find a chair and help me search the chapters on Carthage. Note any references to their queen, a treasure or a sacred object."

Florian eyed the single volume Ray had already scanned and then looked at the piles he'd pulled from the shelves. He crossed to the far corner of the room and dragged the most comfortable chair of the lot towards the window where he'd have better light.

Ray watched him, considered, and then dragged his chair over to join him. Together they moved a heavy wooden table within reach and then settled down to read. When the late afternoon teacart was brought in, they were surrounded by stacks of books.

 

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