Page 33 of Etched in Stone
“She was a free spirit. Never married. Didn’t want to get tied down with anything.”
“I put two wives under the ground. Both of them thought they’d outlive me and get their hands on my money.” Morris cackled.
“Well, I’m not here for your money. I’m here because my aunt mentioned something to me before she died about a special collection that you have. Of artifacts. Ones that certain people at the Rose Syndicate have a hankering for.”
“If you’re one of those asswipes, you can be on your way, no matter how pretty you are.”
Jesse laughed and smiled even brighter. “On the contrary, Morris. It is my plan to do everything within my power to make the Rose Syndicate as miserable as possible. But I need your help to do it,”
she said. She bent down closer to Morris, giving him a better view of her cleavage.
Morris smiled and smacked the arm of his chair. “You are definitely your aunt’s kin. She had a way of being... follow me.”
Morris wheeled his chair at a surprisingly fast clip out of the pool area and back into the main house. “I’ve got quite a collection here. Most of it I can’t even appreciate anymore because I’m too short and blind, but I’ll be damned if the bastards are going to get their hands on it. Every piece has been categorized and been given a place to go after I’m dead. Five years ago, I finished the list and since then, most of the major museums have been slobbering over me to die.”
“Well that’s not very polite.”
“When you are 97, you get used to it.”
He stopped the wheelchair in front of a glass case. On the top was a vase with gargoyles carved into the handles. A second piece was a bit of stained glass that also had some fearful gargoyles being speared by a cross wielding knight.
Ray flashed back through his history. Those had been some horrific and terrible times. They’d only had moments to flee their sinking ship, and many had been burdened with too heavy a load on what turned out to be a long flight to a solid piece of land. They had dropped precious cargo as they’d flown, and some had not made it. They’d vanished below the waves, never to be seen again.
The survivors had made camp on a beach, and a few startled humans had come to ogle at them.
Their leader had tried some primitive communication, tried to make peace, but they’d been taken as monsters, as beasts to slay.
His people had scattered after the humans had killed their leader. It was safer to wait and hide out the centuries, hoping for a rescue that might never come.
“St. George and the Dragon,” Morris said. “One of the earliest versions, but I think we both know what we’re looking at.”
Ray stared down at him, but said nothing. He gained nothing by revealing his cards so early in the game.
“What about jewelry? Amulets? Got anything shiny?” Jesse’s tone seemed more dumb interest than pointed curiosity.
“Open that drawer over there.”
He pointed to one of the drawers under the case. Jesse slid it open and Ray had to stop himself from immediately making a grab for the contents. It was the biggest collection of Durassian tech that he had seen for over a thousand years.
“Many of these have been salvaged from the bottom of the ocean. Most people think they belong to an ancient civilization that was flooded thousands of years ago.”
“Is that what you think?” Jesse asked.
“No. I think it’s the Rose Syndicate perpetrating a huge hoax on thousands of private collectors.
They’re creating this whole shit storm so people with buy up their pieces. But you know what?
They’re worthless, created by a bunch of hacks in the thirties who were desperate for money. And every time they ran out, they just “found” a new piece or two. And because they keep the whole thing hush hush, they can ask outrageous prices for everything.”
His whole experience here on this primitive rock had boiled down to how the locals could make a fast fortune by exploiting his tragedy. The worst moments of his life reduced down to a drawer full of trinkets and fakes. He clenched his fists and fought the urge to unfurl his wings and drop every Rose agent he could find off the edge of a very tall cliff.
Jesse seemed to sense his anger and kept her smile plastered in place. “Then why do you have so much of it?”
“Because I’ve had it for years. I was young and rich and stupid and bought into their whole schtick. I’ve gotten much wiser in my old age. Besides, art is only worth what someone is willing to pay for it. And when I die, it’ll still be worth a fortune, because there are just as many stupid young rich idiots lined up to buy.”
His laugh was dry and humorless. It ended with a little rattling cough that signaled to Ray that the man was not long for this world. It was unfortunate that he needed to check the sigil now, and couldn’t wait. With all the possibilities in this drawer, even if half of it was fake, Ray could possibly fix his perception filter circuits. He’d no longer be stuck on grumpy old fedora sweater Ray. If he planned a true life with Jesse, he’d need to be able to match her persona. They could move out of the city, buy an estate out in the country where Jesse wouldn’t be limited to a studio.
He wanted to ask her, but Morris prevented any side conversations. Jesse was still hunting through the drawer. Her fingers tickled upon the sigil, the true and obvious object that she was interested in.
