“I wasn’t. This came out of nowhere, but hey, I’m not going to refuse the gift. It comes with a hefty pay raise.” The thousand-watt smile returns. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”
Relief washes over me and I allow myself a smile. Our work partnership—Nico’s and mine—is like a blade honed on a whetstone: sharp, smooth, and polished.
I bury the smile, but not fast enough. Fagin notes my reaction with narrowed eyes and a darting glance from me to Nico who, wisely, keeps a straight face. While fraternization between Observers isn’t forbidden, Nico and I agreed to keep our physical relationship private to avoid the policy restriction that significant others can’t be assigned to the same mission in case the something goes pear-shaped.
“We’ll get you up to speed over lunch,” Fagin says, turning to him. She pauses a moment to throw a quick glance in my direction. “Unless, there’s something the two of you need to tell me.”
We shake our heads, feigning confusion over her question, but I’m not sure she buys the denials. She pulls up the lunch menu from the catering hologram and orders sandwiches.
An hour later, Nico knows everything we do about the English mission, minus my personal family history. I’m not sure how to tell him, or if I even want to tell him.
“I thought the Benefactors loved their favorite thief’s renegade ways,” Nico says with a smirk between bites of his roast beef-and-swiss sandwich. “Why punish the goose when she’s delivering golden eggs?”
“Maybe to keep her from flying into a window because she’s too focused on her own reflection,” Fagin says.
“More like revenge,” I shoot back. “Carter called in a big marker that someone important owed him because he hates me.”
“Maybe.” Nico nods, considering the options. “But they’ve always given you leeway because you’re, well...you. Taking their best mercenary out of the game just to teach her a lesson doesn’t make sense.”
Fagin sighs. I can tell she’s eager to get back to business. “If we’re done discussing Dodger’s behavioral issues, shall we take a look at the first item on the acquisition list?”
Fagin taps the augmented reality screen. A string of intricately carved wood beads hovers in midair in the middle of the round table.
“King Henry the Eighth’s rosary. These prayer beads are carved out of boxwood and bear the Royal Arms of England, along with...” Fagin highlights several tiny letters carved into the rosary. “Abbreviations for the king and Katherine of Aragon: He8 and Ka.” She pauses and taps the three-dimensional panel again. A holographic video of the king and Lady Anne replaces the rosary. This ghostly image of the real king and his second wife—not a theatrical performance or historical reenactment, but real video from an Observer’s LensCam—shows the couple at church. “Historical holograms tell us that the protestant reformation emerged during King Henry’s reign, and it began as a way to get what he wanted.”
“Lady Anne,” Nico says, cocking his head to one side as he studies the hologram version of the woman. “The king abandoned religion for love.”
“It wasn’t just a romantic consideration,” Fagin replies. The image switches to a tight shot of Henry, all pious and solemn-looking; the very image of spiritual devotion as he lowers himself onto the kneeler. “Henry wanted a son. When wife number one failed to produce an heir, he sought alternatives, and Anne was determined to be more than just the king’s maîtresse-en-titre—”
“The king’s official mistress,” I say, translating.
“Exactly,” Fagin nods. “Being the king’s flavor-of-the-month, as her sister, Mary, had been, was far less than she would accept.”
“It seems stupid to pay a fortune for a relic that has no real significance if the king renounced Catholicism,” I say.
Fagin chuckles. “Dear girl, if you’ve learned anything, by now, it’s that an item is worth precisely what a fanatical collector is willing to pay for it.”
“Yes.” Nico draws the word out, waggling a finger in the air as though he’s a great authority on the subject of odd ducks and their collecting habits. “People will pay a lot of money for silly things. In the twentieth century, hordes of consumers collected tiny stuffed toy animals under the delusion they would later be worth small fortunes if the funny tags weren’t removed.” He waggles his finger in circular motions around his temple. “Crazy.”
“Rumor has it,” Fagin says, “King Henry remained a practicing Catholic in private, and he held this rosary on his death bed. Observers have never been inside the King’s bedchamber during his final days, so this is all conjecture. Our Benefactor is a Tudor aficionado. Anything owned by Henry, his father, or his children is of particular interest.”
“Ours is not to reason why,” Nico says, in a sing-song voice, “ours is but to steal and spy.” He raises his eyebrows in satisfaction as I belly-laugh. Fagin rolls her eyes. “I need to steal a sense of humor for Fagin because that was clever.”
“We should ask for a different pilot before it’s too late.” I poke him in the ribs as I head toward a bookshelf to peruse the ancient book holograms. “With jokes like that, we’d be tempted to boot you from the ship before we’re halfway to England.”
Nico responds by tossing a pomander made of tiny, perfect rosebuds at me.
“Even if you were serious about that request, which I know you’re not,” Fagin says in a wry tone, “ours is an exclusive team. It’s just the three of us. Nobody else. It’s also highly classified. Any gossip gets out and we’ll wind up in prison.”
This bit of news gets my attention. I’m used to secrecy; mercenaries are accustomed to keeping well-paying clients’ secrets. It’s the size of our team that comes as a shock. “That’s unusual. We usually go in teams of at least five or six.”
“Not this time,” Fagin replies. I could be imagining things, but her hands look shaky as she thumbs through a reference book. “It’s just the three of us from here on out.”
Chapter 6
It takes three attempts to get my
