The River of No Return by Bee Ridgway (best novels of all time txt) 📕

was a power he gained from an instrument of some kind. He called it a talisman.” Eamon spoke dreamily, watching his finger as it stroked the desk. He looked up at Julia. “What is the talisman, Julia?”

“I have no idea,” Julia said. Nor had she. She had never heard Grandfather mention a talisman, not once.

Eamon narrowed his eyes and searched her face. “It must be an ancient or a strange object, one of these stones of his perhaps. Something that carries a spell locked up inside. I spent years trying to get it out of him. Again and again I pressed him for the information. But he never told me, damn him. I even thought that maybe he had lost it since that day that he whipped me. But you have just told me differently, with your tale of that housemaid’s apron.”

So she had already told Eamon more than he had known. She had to gather her wits, and fast. Eamon believed there was more to the secret, and perhaps there was. But a talisman? Julia didn’t believe it. Grandfather’s talent had been vital, a part of his body, his spirit. It didn’t rely on some trinket. He must have spun Eamon a yarn about a talisman in order to lay a false trail. Keep him from the truth. Whatever that was. If only Grandfather had trusted her with more information—or told her nothing at all. Other people played spillikins or fox and geese with their granddaughters. Would that he had amused her that way and kept his time games to himself.

She looked up to find Eamon watching her. “You have been informative this morning,” he said. “I told you that you could keep no secrets from me. Now.” He leaned forward over the desk. “Sit down, Julia. No more balking. You started to tell me the secret when you were four years old. Now you are going to finish what you began. You are going to tell me what your grandfather’s talisman is, where he has it hidden, and how to use it.”

“And if I cannot?”

“Oh, but you can and you will, kitten, I am sure of it.”

CHAPTER FOUR

The huge jet plane overflew London, banked through 180 degrees, and followed the Thames. In the early-morning light Nick could see the Isle of Dogs sparkling with tall glass buildings, the New Globe, St. Paul’s scrubbed clean and white, the London Eye, the Houses of Parliament, Battersea Power Station. He traced out the river’s ancient, familiar shape through all the new developments, Kensington, Wimbledon, the gargantuan sprawl of the City. He was returning to England, breaking a cardinal rule of the Guild at the express command of Alderwoman Gacoki herself. He had with him a few changes of clothes, a blue U.S. passport, and tucked into the inside pocket of his jacket, his Summons Direct. He didn’t intend to stay long.

The Alderwoman was waiting in arrivals with Arkady Altukhov, her enigmatic and seldom-seen husband.

“This is an honor, Alderwoman Gacoki,” Nick said as he took Alice’s cool fingers in his own. He had last shaken her hand at the fish market in Santiago. Leo had been beside him. He felt a brief sensation of falling backward. It had been almost ten years. Where was his brilliant, uncompromising Pocumtuk friend now? What would he look like, at thirty? Or was he dead? Nick let himself remember that last night, fighting in the car. Nick had been a stubborn fool—but still. Leo would surely have forgiven him by now; found a way to make contact if he were alive. And what was Nick doing, shaking hands with the woman who may well have ordered Leo killed?

“Thank you for coming,” Alice said, as if the Summons Direct had been a party invitation. “And please, call me Alice. You know Arkady . . .” She gestured to the man beside her.

The Alderwoman’s husband shook hands as if handshaking were a contest of strength. He was a tall, white-haired Russian of few words. Nick had seen him at conventions but had never spoken to him before and knew almost nothing about him. Altukhov’s accent was thick: “Welcome back to England, Mr. Davenant.”

Alice looked at the canvas and leather bag slung across Nick’s shoulder, then let her gaze skim down his body and up again. “Is that all you’re carrying?”

Nick patted the bag and looked lightly around him at the shifting crowds of travelers. “I don’t plan on staying.”

Arkady snorted, but Alice took Nick’s arm and began steering him toward the escalators. “We have much to discuss. Come. Have you ever ridden in a helicopter before?” She flashed Nick a white smile, as if he were a child and she were taking him on his first pony ride.

He had to admit that it was exhilarating, buzzing like a wasp over the city, headphones clapped to his ears. Nick stared down at the streets, at the people hurrying along, the traffic. It all looked normal to him now. The cars and buses, women in trousers, electric lights, and tall buildings. The helicopter dropped and landed on top of a building on the South Bank, and soon enough he and Alice were zipping up the elevator of the skyscraper known as “The Shard.” Arkady had disappeared.

The elevator doors opened onto an elegant reception area of stark white marble walls and a black marble floor. A beautiful young man sat behind a huge black reception desk.

“Hello, Badr,” Alice said. “Water for me, please, and a pint of bitter for Nick.

“It’s not even noon,” Nick protested.

“Ah, but I want to see you taste your first English beer again. We keep traditionally brewed ale on tap here, always perfectly cellared. I believe today we’re pulling Theakston’s Old Peculier, isn’t that right, Badr?”

The beautiful youth flashed an even more beautiful smile of assent, but Nick shook his head. “No, thank you.”

“Have it to please me. It’s been ten years, hasn’t it, since you tasted the real thing?”

“Thirteen. I was in Spain for three years before I jumped,