“Impudent rascal, see here-!”
“From now on, I am your sole partner in the antiquities trade.” Burleigh gave him a cold smile. “Fair price plus twenty percent and a ready sale. You will never have to chance the whims of a fickle public.”
“Don’t want much, do you?” sneered Charles. “Anything else?”
“Only that you will not breathe a word of our partnership to another living soul.”
Charles dashed down the rest of his drink. Then, arranging his features in an expression of defiance, he said, “I won’t do it. I refuse.”
With the grace of a pouncing cat, Burleigh leapt from his chair. He snatched the young scholar by the throat and yanked him to his feet. “Listen to me, you prodigal prig. I know very well what you have been up to. I know about the gambling, the drinking, the whoring. I know the places you’ve been and the company you’ve been keeping.”
“Unhand me, rogue,” began the frightened Charles in a somewhat strained voice.
Burleigh tightened his grip and cut off any further protest. “You owe money all over town, and men have been sniffing around to collect your debts. It is only a matter of time before they catch you and you end up dead in a ditch with a broken head or a knife in the back.”
Charles scrabbled at his attacker’s hand, but Burleigh held firm. “Listen very carefully. You will agree to the terms I have outlined, and you will keep your mouth shut. Nod your head if you understand.”
Charles, his face growing red, gave a feeble nod.
Burleigh released him then and threw him back into the leather chair. The young man bent forward, clutching his neck and gasping for air. In a moment his colour and breathing returned to normal.
“No need to glare at me like that. You aren’t hurt,” Burleigh said, standing over him. “Tell me how you got these pieces.”
“Private collection,” muttered Charles, still rubbing his neck. “Been in the family for donkey’s years.”
“Who collected them?”
“My grandfather-there’s a whole chest full of the stuff.”
“Where did he get them?”
“Haven’t the foggiest,” Charles began, then, seeing Burleigh flex his hands, quickly amended his reply. “He travelled a lot-spent most his time on ships to foreign parts. Had an eye for the odd trinket. He collected them.” He thrust out his chin. “Satisfied? Or are you going to choke me again?”
“His name. This grandfather of yours-what was his name?”
“Arthur,” answered the young reprobate. “Arthur Flinders-Petrie.”
“Where can I find him?”
“You can’t.” Charles shook his head. “Died before I was born. Caught an ague or something on one of his travels. That’s all I know.”
“And your father? What is his name? What does he say about you selling off the family heirlooms?”
“My father passed away last year. But I doubt he would approve. He didn’t approve of much, my father-at least where I was concerned. His name was Benedict. Anything else?”
“Arthur and Benedict Flinders-Petrie,” said Burleigh, making a mental note. “That’s all for now.” He stepped away. “I will contact you if I require anything more.”
“What about the money?”
“You will get your money. It has already been arranged through Catchmole at Sotheby’s. All we need do is agree on a price; I will tell him and he will do the rest. He is being paid for his silence and discretion. How much do you owe in gambling debts?”
Charles frowned. “Fifty pounds, give or take.”
“And your battles?”
“Another twenty, perhaps.”
“We’ll make it an even hundred, then,” decided Burleigh. “And don’t look so disappointed. It is more than any decent labourer earns in a year, and more than you would have made at auction. There, you see? I’ve saved you no end of trouble.”
The young man frowned. “That’s it, then?”
“Do cheer up. Think of it this way-you now have a new and supremely influential partner in business, and your pecuniary worries are over.” He moved towards the door. “Still, I wouldn’t go running up any more whacking great debts about town-I may not feel so generous next time.”
“What if I don’t want a partner?”
Burleigh put back his head and laughed. “Farewell, Charles.” He opened the door and stepped out onto the landing. “Until we meet again.”
“How do I contact you?” asked Charles, following him onto the staircase.
“You don’t. If I should need to see you, I will contact you.”
“When I want to sell something,” suggested Charles, “how do I reach you?”
“Whenever you wish to sell”-Burleigh started down the steps- “you will send to Catchmole. He will do the rest.”
“Why are you doing this?” Charles called after his visitor’s disappearing form.
“I already told you,” answered Burleigh, receding down the steps. “It is my business.”
“Just business? Nothing more?”
Burleigh gave a laugh as he disappeared into the shadows. “You have no idea how far my business interests take me.”
CHAPTER 18
Cupping his hands to his eyes, Kit blinked at the black stretch of highway as it shimmered gently in the full sun of a blistering summer day. The shock of seeing that road rocked him backwards a step. An image so drearily commonplace in his home world… in this world the sight jolted through him like lightning. It was a moment before he could properly frame his thoughts, and then the best he could manage was a feeble and ineffectual How…?
The narrow passage in the cave contained a ley line-that was the only explanation. He had unwittingly crossed over and was now… where? Judging solely by the highway, it was somewhere reasonably modern. In other words, a world about as far away from the Stone Age as Marylebone from Mars. Kit gazed at the asphalt artery as it curved through the valley, hugging the sinuous curve of the river, and the sight filled him with dread bordering on despair. Why? he wondered. Why now?
There was a time when his first instinct would have been to run to that dusty band of tarmac, fall on his knees, and kiss it for everything it signified. But he was past that. Now he wanted nothing more than to dive back into the cave and take the leap back to rejoin his clansmen in the cave. His clansmen! Being part of River City Clan, learning their ways, discovering all the little mysteries of their existence, of another form of human life… this was his life, and he was not done with it yet, and he was in no way prepared to leave them without so much as a “So long, see ya later.”
“No,” he muttered with a determined shake of his head. “Not now. Not like this.”
He glimpsed a burst of motion far down on the slope below as the cave lion disappeared into the thick brush of the riverbank. “Byebye, Baby,” he murmured. “You go your way, and I’ll go mine.” With that, he turned right around and scrambled back into the cave.
Kit fumbled his way along the interior of the cavern, leaving the world of air and light behind. It was a slow and nerve-wracking process, but stubborn resolve kept his feet moving. When it grew too dark to see anymore, he steadied himself with one hand on the near left wall and worked his way along until he felt the passage straighten out and reckoned that might be the end of the ley.
Bracing himself for a blind leap, he started off. Trying to walk normally and with purpose in total darkness- one hand on the rough rock wall beside him and the other waving out in front-was more difficult than he expected. After a bit of practise he was able to achieve a respectable gait, but to no discernible effect.
