sipping hot cider.
Sailor said, “I will begin. I will tell everything Zeru-Meq, Mowsel, and I have learned to this point. Opari will follow and speak for her and Ray, then you, Zianno—tell us what you know.” He paused and looked hard at each of us. “We must be brief and do this quickly. Perhaps we can solve this riddle. Only then should we discuss our purpose for being here, regardless of the Fleur-du-Mal’s purpose.”
“What is that?” I asked.
“The same as yours, Zianno,” Mowsel said. “We are here to assassinate the assassin. We are here to kill the Fleur-du-Mal.”
I glanced at Sailor and looked at Zeru-Meq. Xanti Otso was an evil, amoral being, but he was also related to Zeru-Meq. I wondered how Zeru-Meq felt about plotting to kill his own nephew. He saw my concern and said, “The Fleur-du-Mal, poor soul, shall die the way he prefers to kill—by the blade.” He reached down and withdrew a long dagger from inside his boot. The knife blade glinted in the firelight. There was silence in the room, then Sailor, in his measured voice, began to talk.
Thirty minutes passed. Sailor spoke and Opari spoke and I spoke, accurately recounting the events leading each of us to Norway and Askenfada. We were seeking an answer or a clue as to why this elaborate rendezvous had been orchestrated. Why was Zuriaa here? Was Susheela the Ninth involved or had she also been tricked and lured to this “final enclosure”? Was the Octopus with her? The Fleur-du-Mal most likely knew what we wanted, but what did he want? All was still a mystery.
Trumoi-Meq suggested there was no need to wait any longer. Rune and Antoine would ferry us across the cove and accompany us the rest of the way from a distance. Svein would stay here. Once there, we would act on instinct. We should remain apart and approach the residence with extreme caution. We must be vigilant and ready to act at any moment.
We all agreed without saying a word. In a mock toast, Sailor held out his mug of cider toward the fire, which popped and crackled at almost the same instant.
“The ‘Knives of Caesar’?” Geaxi asked.
“Yes,” Sailor answered.
I looked down at my dagger, which had an ivory handle engraved with a Latin inscription. “These aren’t —”
“Yes,” Sailor interrupted. “These are a few of the knives used to murder Caesar. I have always carried them, but never used them. Now is the perfect time.”
Svein advised us to have one cup of soup before we left, which we did. After collecting our coats, gloves, caps, and mufflers, we made our way down to the fishing boat and climbed aboard. Rune started the engines and we pushed off. There was no other sound in the cove. The snow on the peaks of the mountains looked heavier and deeper than ever.
As we made the crossing, I began to experience something strange, yet I was certain I had experienced it before. It was not deja vu; it was an echo through time from someone shouting in a language I did not understand. It felt like a warning or signal of distress. It was old. Opari squeezed my arm. I knew she also heard it or felt it. We were huddled together, standing in the stern of the fishing boat. Everyone else stood packed inside the cabin with Rune. Ahead of us, the long dock on the opposite shore slowly came into view. The speedboat was anchored there inside a covered slip. Beyond the dock and up the steep slope, I could see the hothouse lights of the expanded greenhouse. Through the swirling snow and against the dark background of cliffs and peaks that surrounded the compound, the powerful electric lights burned like a cluster of fuzzy stars.
Rune cut the engines and docked the fishing boat with barely a sound. We stepped carefully onto the dock and Mowsel turned to Rune. He asked him to follow at a safe distance, but Rune refused and insisted on going with us. He had his own personal reasons and would not even consider staying behind. No more was said about it and we set out for the nearest stone path leading up the slope toward the greenhouse and the home of the Fleur-du- Mal. We walked in three groups. Rune, Sailor, and Zeru-Meq led the way, followed by Geaxi, Nova, and Ray. Trumoi-Meq, Opari, and I were last.
Our progress up the hillside was slow. The complex of buildings had changed since Rune owned the property. After two days and nights of continuous snowfall, he was deliberate about choosing our route. Everything in Askenfada was built on a series of connecting terraces. The Fleur-du-Mal’s residence and greenhouse were on the highest terrace, virtually at the foot of the massive cliffs and overhangs, and there were several ways to approach. No one spoke as we climbed steadily higher and closer. Tall firs, their limbs heavy with snow, were scattered between the stone paths and buildings. One by one, we climbed the terraces, each one slightly steeper than the last. I glanced up at what I could see of the sky. We probably had more than an hour of daylight left, but it was already getting hard to see. On the terrace just below the greenhouse, Sailor motioned for everyone to stop with a wave of his arm. In silence, we each looked up at the bright lights shining through the foggy windows of the greenhouse. Every other building in the complex was dark, including the Fleur-du-Mal’s private residence. The greenhouse was the most reconstructed and renovated structure on the property. A new wing now stretched a hundred feet from the residence itself to the building that was once the entrance to the abandoned tunnel and now housed a generator for the hothouse lights. Directly behind everything, a rock overhang rose fifty feet in the air. I noticed huge snowdrifts piled high on the ridge above the overhang. Opari tugged at my sleeve and pointed out three entrances to the greenhouse, spaced about thirty feet apart. Three stone stairways led down from the doors to our terrace. Sailor was thinking the same thing and waved for each group to cover one of the doors. Without a word, we spread out and climbed the final set of steps to the upper terrace.
On the top step, we paused and stared at the amazing structure Rune had begun and the Fleur-du-Mal had completed. Made of iron, stone, and glass, the long greenhouse glowed like a warm lamp against the frozen background of rock and snow. Then we heard the music, barely audible and coming from inside the greenhouse. It was a recording. The melody was haunting, spare, and beautiful. I looked at Opari and Mowsel. Mowsel whispered, “Mozart—Piano Concerto Number 23 in A—Adagio. My favorite.”
The entrance itself was recessed in the wall and the door was in shadow. On either side, the glass windows were fogged over, but only the lower panes. Opari stood watch inside the recess while I climbed on Mowsel’s shoulders and peered into a higher window. I looked inside. The rose garden was directly beneath me. Dozens and dozens of rosebushes, all in red, were planted in perfect rows. All had been tended immaculately. Bright lights shone down at certain angles, capable of creating the illusion of different times of day and seasons. The soil in which the roses were planted was dark and rich. Svein had said the foundation was three meters deep and could be heated from below, if needed. Deep within the garden, a space had been cleared. In the center of the space stood a rare Ming Dynasty three-panel screen. It was positioned behind the phonograph playing the music. Six feet away a boy was snipping and trimming a rosebush while Mozart played. He wore leather boots laced to the knees. His dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail and tied with a green ribbon. He had his back to me. He worked carefully on the roses and made each cut with precision. Suddenly he stopped and laid down his scissors. A second passed—two, three, a dozen—finally, slowly, his head turned in my direction. Then I saw it, there in his pierced ear. This boy was not wearing the ruby earrings of the Fleur-du-Mal. He was wearing Usoa’s blue diamond. It was Zuriaa!
She knew exactly where I was and looked in my eyes. A cruel smile crossed her face. She laughed and walked over to the standing screen. She folded back two of the panels, revealing a girl, a black girl, gagged with a red scarf and bound to a chair with rope. Her skin was the color of coffee beans, rich and dark. Her hair was black, silky, and cropped close to her head. Susheela the Ninth. In her lap was a small black box made of onyx, inlaid on top with a unique design in serpentine and lapis lazuli—the Octopus. She glared up at Zuriaa with fury in her green eyes. Zuriaa walked behind her and withdrew a curved dagger from her boot. She jerked back Susheela the Ninth’s chin with one hand and lightly traced the long knife blade across her throat, smiling at me as she did it.
I stood down from Mowsel’s shoulders and started to tell him what I’d seen. He shook his head and nodded toward the recess in the wall. I turned.
My heart froze, but I said nothing.
“You are late,” he said. “What kept you, pray tell?”
I took a deep breath and glanced at Mowsel. “Yes, well…it snowed.”
