Page 39 of Lord of Fortune
“You worked for Mr. Mackinley then?”
“I was Mr. Mackinley first,” he said, his eyes twinkling. Though he and his son weren’t the same in stature, they shared the same rich brown gaze. “He’s right—young men come in from time to time asking about that book. The first one came not long after it arrived to be rebound. I remember because he was an odd fellow. He was a bit older than the Oxford gents that came in after the fire, but not old enough to be bald. Yet he was. He asked to see the book, but we told him we weren’t a library and sent him on his way. I thought it strange that he knew we had the book at all, let alone had the nerve to think he could look at it.”
Penn’s pulse picked up at this information. It could be nothing, but then again, it could be something. It was certainly more than they’d had five minutes ago. “Did he ever come back?”
“Not that I’m aware of. The fire was a few weeks later, I think. And about that fire… It started at the theatre. Some say by arson, but how can we ever know?” The elder Mackinley shrugged, his eyes narrowing slightly as he added, “There was a extreme lack of water—the main was shut down because there was an issue with the flow, and they were working on repairing it. Terrible luck since the theatre was completely lost, along with several other buildings including ours.” He shook his head. “It was awful, but that didn’t stop people from stealing while others fought the blaze. Several people were arrested.”
Arson? Was there a chance the fire was set as a distraction so someone could steal the White Book? It was a bit of a stretch, but given what Penn knew about the Order and Camelot, he’d believe almost anything. “Is there any chance you remember the name of the person who wanted to borrow the White Book?” Penn held little hope but had to ask.
He shook his head. “My son might. I never forget a face, but he’s better at names.”
Penn glanced at Amelia, who gave him a subtle nod. “We’ll ask him when he’s finished, thank you.”
A moment later, the customer left with his book, and the elder Mackinley went to the table. “I was just talking to these folks about the fire. Do you remember that gent who came in before—he wanted to look at the White Book that belonged to the Williams-Wynn family.”
Confusion marred the younger Mackinley’s features for a moment before his eyes widened briefly. “Yes, I remember him now. I think he came in twice, actually. The second time, he asked about bookbinding—said he was interested in learning the trade. He asked an overabundance of questions. I found it strange because my father hadn’t been particularly polite when he’d come in the first time.” He cast his father a look that revealed the fondness between them. It reminded Penn of his own father, whom he admired and loved.
“It’s extraordinary that you recall all that,” Amelia said. “Thank you for sharing it with us. I don’t suppose you remember his name? If you even got it at the time.”
“I’m sure Father told you I’m excellent with names. Of course I remember it, especially since it seemed perfect for someone interested in books—Foliot, the word folio is tucked in there.”
Penn heard Amelia’s intake of breath but didn’t look at her. Later, he’d explain the necessity of maintaining their composure in order to keep their secrets close.
“Do you know him?” Mackinley the younger asked Amelia.
“No. You’re right, that’s a very interesting coincidence with his name.” She smiled her dazzling smile again, and Penn decided she’d already learned the lesson he was going to teach. Yes, she was incredibly quick-witted.
Mackinley smiled in return. “I thought so too.”
“Well, you’ve been most helpful,” Penn said, offering his hand first to the elder Mackinley and then the younger.
“Our pleasure,” the elder said.
Penn escorted Amelia from the shop and back into the coach. Once inside, she settled herself on the seat and apologized. “I shouldn’t have gasped like that. It’s important we don’t reveal things.”
He sat next to her, and the coach moved forward. “You covered for it very well. I’m beginning to think you were born for this sort of thing.”
A pretty blush bloomed in her cheeks. “So what do we do now? We have to assume the book was lost to the fire.”
“Do we? I wasn’t entirely convinced before, and now I’m even less so. It could be that after Foliot was denied access to the book, he went back the second time to learn all he could about the shop and how they did business.”
She gasped again, her eyes widening. “So he could go back and steal it?”
“That’s what I would do.”
Her lips parted. “You’ve actually done that?”
“A time or two. Not to steal anything, but to obtain information.”
“That’s a form of stealing, isn’t it?”
He couldn’t tell if she was offended or simply asking a question. “I don’t think so, but we could dispute that for some time. I accept that a certain ambiguity is necessary in this profession.”
“What profession? I thought you worked for a museum.”
“I do, and my job includes obtaining artifacts for the museum, which sometimes necessitates me to search for them. And searching requires information. On occasion—such as now—that information is hard to ascertain.” He waited for her to respond, and when she didn’t, said, “I find it ironic that you’re questioning the gathering of information when you shot at Egg in order to get the dagger.”
She blushed again. “Yes, well, we’ve been over that. I do understand why you would gather information in whatever way you could. It seems as though you regularly court danger.”
