The Giant's Almanac by Andrew Zurcher (black female authors .txt) 📕

…’ He stopped, and pursed his lips, causing the spiky hairs of his beard to bristle sharply against the light.

Fitz looked at Clare. She still sat stone-faced beside him, not blinking, hardly even breathing. It was as if she had been cast in bronze.

‘What do you recommend we do?’ said Ned.

‘I want to leave here,’ said Clare. She was speaking directly to Ned. ‘Surely you know a place where we can go, somewhere out of all this. Somewhere Professor Sassani can’t find us.’

Mr Ahmadi cut in. ‘This Sassani is a problem. He sets fire to things. But he is nothing near the greatest danger that you face.’

‘He’s right,’ said Farzan. He still stood before them. Now he leaned forward, spreading his hands on the table. His voice was grave, and steady, and the twinkle in his eye had completely dried. ‘The forces surrounding you are powerful, and they are watching this place above all. Sassani smoked you out of your hole. He set the fox running, but the huntsmen chasing this quarry are many, they are skilled, and they mean to succeed. Habi torched your car because they were watching the roads; indeed, most of the roads into London have been cordoned off tonight – it’s mayhem. Trains into London – the same. Did you notice that the tracks were quiet? Did you see the carriages standing still at the platforms? Why do you think you weren’t flattened by a tube train, as you walked down the Piccadilly Line? Only two out of eight lines were running tonight, and they weren’t stopping in central stations. London is locked down tighter than bark on a tree. If you try to leave the building – if you try to leave this room – they will see you, they will follow you, and they will take your son.’

Clare was unconvinced. ‘We got in. We can get out.’

‘You got in through a wartime evacuation tunnel, which the police believe to be closed – indeed, they think it has been filled in – and you only got in that way because I created a diversion.’ From his pocket the Professor took a pair of gold, griffin-headed armlets, and placed them gently on the table. ‘When these disappeared from a case in Room Fifty-Two, tonight at about ten p.m., it created for a brief time a great amount of interest, both inside and outside the museum.’

Ned’s mouth opened.

‘Part of the Oxus treasure. Fifth century. I will return them, Ned, don’t worry. But I had to get you all inside. All three of you had to see the statue for yourselves, or you never would have believed us.’

Clare seemed to crumple, as if she had had all the air sucked out of her. Beneath the table, she pulled her hand from her son’s, and placed it, palm broad across her chest, just beneath her neck. She tried to breathe deeply.

‘What, then?’ She was staring at the table in front of her.

‘These are grave robbers,’ said Professor Farzan. ‘They want treasure – and if this manuscript is anything to go by, they’re going to want lots of it. They want your son to help them get it. Give them your son, help them find their treasure, and then they will leave you alone.’

‘This is a ruthless enemy,’ said Mr Ahmadi. ‘He will not stop. This is the only way you can save this boy.’

‘I’m here,’ said Fitz, sitting up. ‘You can talk to me. I’m here.’

‘Well said, boy,’ said Professor Farzan. He sat down in a tall chair, with arms, that stood at the head of the table. He settled deeply into it, never taking his eyes off Fitz. ‘And what do you say? What will you do, to save yourself?’

‘I will do whatever is required,’ said Fitz, ‘so that we can all go home.’

‘No,’ said Clare.

‘I will do what is required,’ said Fitz.

‘What is required,’ said Mr Ahmadi, ‘is that you come with me to meet the most skilful, the most powerful, the most dangerous, and the wealthiest thieves in all the world.’

‘Who are they?’ asked Fitz.

‘They are the ones who own these manuscripts, this book – the statue, all the coins and gems and metalwork, the priceless things on loan to the museum here. They are the most accomplished grave robbers the world has ever known. They are called the Heresy. If I am the one to bring you to them, I can protect you. I give you my word that you will come home.’

Zenith. Nadir.

‘How can you protect him?’ said Ned. ‘What makes you think they will listen to you at all?’

Algorithm.

‘I know they will,’ answered Mr Ahmadi. His top hat sat on the table in front of him. He shifted it carefully between his fingers, and stared at it while he spoke. ‘Because I am one of them. Like my father before me, I am a member of the Heresy, and not the least of them.’

Albatross. And the roots drink the salt of many tears.

No one dared speak: not Mr Ahmadi, who had lured them to this place only to betray them; not Professor Farzan, who had connived at it all; not Ned, whose trust in his old friend lay in pieces on the table; not Clare, who had lost her whole life in a day, and was surrounded by enemies; and least of all, Fitz thought, himself – for he intended to break Clare’s heart in order to save it, and the words stuck in his throat.

Dilaram.

There was a knock at the door.

‘Habi,’ whispered Professor Farzan, ‘how long do we have?’

Mr Ahmadi’s hands danced in the air before his face. He seemed to be picking out invisible threads, weaving his fingers in intricate patterns across the face of some idea only he could see. His face expressed intense concentration, and his eyes sifted great matters like grains of sand.

‘A few minutes, no more – then the Director will arrive, and they will force the door. With him will be – enemies. They are