Night of a Thousand Stars (16 page)

“Did she ever find it?” I asked.

Starke roused himself, seeming to see me for the first time. “No one knows. She retired to a sprawling house on a hillside, and lived out her days in splendid squalour. But that doesn’t mean anything. She may well have found it and hidden it again. All her family were famous eccentrics. It would have amused her to keep the secret.”

“It would,” Sebastian agreed. He turned to me. “We know at Ashkelon she unearthed a priceless statue of Zeus, the greatest archaeological discovery to date. And she ordered it smashed and the pieces hurled into the sea.”

I remembered the incident from the book I had read. “It was outrageous,” I said hotly.

Sebastian nodded. “That it was. And what for? Sheer bloody-mindedness? Desire to thwart the Turks, who would have claimed it for themselves? No one knows. But if anyone was capable of discovering a treasure of Templar gold and never telling a soul, it was Lady Hester.”

I looked at Starke. “What did you do with the map?”

He smiled, and it was a ghost’s smile. “We did what any group of people facing their own mortality would do. We put it back. It had clearly lain undisturbed for a few hundred years. We made a pact to leave it in peace until the war was over. When it was finished, then we would claim it and share it out—a pact I have not broken,” he added with a meaningful look at Sebastian.

“Then what did you give Evangeline?” Sebastian returned.

“There was another document, a second map,” Starke said. “This one led to a very different sort of treasure.”

“What treasure?” I asked, eyes round with anticipation.

“The True Cross.” I shook my head stupidly.

“The True Cross? You mean the actual Cross, the one that— Oh, my heavens,” I said weakly.

“Exactly,” he said with a shadow of a grin. “The document detailed what happened to it after it was removed from Golgotha, tracing its movements throughout history. It suffered in the process and bits of it were burnt or hacked off, but a sizeable portion remained. To most historians, it was lost after the Battle of Hattin.”

“Hattin? Wait, I know that name,” I said quickly. “How do I know it?”

“Because it was fought here,” Sebastian supplied. “On a desert plain between two peaks called the Horns of Hattin. The army of the King of Jerusalem clashed with that of Sal¯ah al-Di¯n—known to our historians as Saladin. The Bishop of Acre himself carried the Cross into battle. They were crushed by the heat and the Mohammedan army. Sal¯ah al-Di¯n picked it up and carried it in triumph here to Damascus. He had it paved into the stones of the place as his greatest trophy, but it was lost to history.”

Starke broke in. “Lost to Western history,” he corrected. “As it happens, easterners have known all along what happened to it. Their chronicles explain that the Cross was badly damaged in the Battle of Hattin, and Sal¯ah al-Di¯n brought what was left to Damascus—a fragment of the original, but still the largest piece left anywhere in the world. He had it embedded in the floor of the Great Mosque, and it didn’t leave again until 1400 when Tamerlane sacked the city. He had the mosque burnt and prised up the Cross, carrying it back to Samarkand. After a century, it was recovered by a group of Christian monks whose monastery was in the
Badiyat ash-Sham
. They reset it in gold and crystal, preserving what was left. They kept the secret of its existence—a little too well. One of the usual tribal wars erupted, and the monks scattered. One of them hid the Cross and documented its whereabouts. But he and his brethren died, and the Cross was lost again.”

“Until you,” Sebastian said thinly.

“Yes, well,” Starke said. He cleared his throat. “As it happens, I did find it. And I gave it to Evie. Or at least, I meant to.”

“Where is it now?” Sebastian demanded.

“Burnt in an aeroplane crash,” Starke answered cheerfully. “There was someone else after it, and he was rather tenacious. He crashed his plane in the
Badiyat ash-Sham
and the Cross was melted in the fire. Nothing left but a puddle of molten gold, although I suppose the Bedouin have helped themselves by now,” he finished, stroking his chin.

“And you would have kept it for yourself,” Sebastian said, his tone clipped.

Starke held up a hand. “I did not break our pact, Slightly. We all gave our word not to go after the Ashkelon hoard alone, and I didn’t. I went after something altogether different. And I’m happy to relinquish my claim to the Ashkelon gold if it’s ever found,” he added. “That’s more than enough to make up for taking the Cross for myself.”

“How much is the Ashkelon gold worth?” I asked as a matter of curiosity.

Starke gave me a cool smile. “Three million.”

“Three million
pounds
?” I squeaked.

Sebastian shook his head. “No, child. Three million pieces.”

I stared from one to the other. “You can’t be serious. Three million separate pieces of gold. But it must be worth—”

“Fairly incalculable,” Starke said gently. “And I wash my hands of the business. My seventh is to be shared out amongst the rest, however many there may be left. If they can find it.”

Sebastian’s gaze sharpened. “What makes you say that?”

Starke sighed. “I had to go back to the monastery to retrieve the map to the Cross. The Ashkelon document was missing, Slightly. It’s been taken. And without it, you’ll have the devil’s own time finding the gold.”

Sebastian’s face was livid. “I don’t believe it.”

Starke was gentle. “You must. I’ve come to terms with it, and so must you. One of our merry band is a traitor.”

“In that case—”

Starke held up a hand. “In that case, the likeliest suspect is me. But I didn’t take it. I give you my word. And whatever else I’ve done, I think we both know that’s still worth something in this part of the world.”

Sebastian flushed. “I know, Gabriel.”

Starke rose and drained the last of his wine. He held out his hand for mine, and when I gave it to him, kissed it. “My dear Miss March, it has been a most unexpected pleasure. Most unexpected indeed.”

He smiled at some secret amusement, then turned to Sebastian, hesitating. He put out his hand slowly, and Sebastian took it. They clasped each other’s hands, then leaned in, resting their foreheads together in an Eastern gesture of respect for a brief moment before Starke withdrew, clearly in the grip of strong emotion.

“I don’t know if I’ll see you again, Slightly. I’ve told you all I can. Rashid is in Damascus. I can spare him for a few days if you need him. And mind you take care of Miss March,” he added with a significant glance at me.

And then he was gone, disappeared through the secret door.

I turned to Sebastian, feeling as though the air had gone out of the room. And without warning I began to laugh.

He turned his head. “What is it?”

“I’ve only just puzzled out why he calls you Slightly. You were the Lost Boys, Peter Pan’s band of adventurers,” I said through peals of laughter. “And you are Slightly Soiled.”

Sebastian did not find the remark nearly as funny as I did. He gave me a sour look and threw a length of wool at me, gesturing towards a straw pallet on the floor as he did so.

“You need rest now. So do I, for that matter.” Beyond the kohl darkening his eyes, I saw shadows, crescents of purple smudged just above his cheekbones.

I wrapped myself in the wool and lay down on the rough pallet.

“Haven’t you slept?”

He shrugged. “Not much. Too busy chasing down leads on where I might find Gabriel.” He folded a bit of wool and eased himself down into a corner, still wincing slightly.

“Should you have a look at those ribs?”

He gave me a faint smile. “Only bruised, my dear Miss March. If they were broken, I would know.”

“You sound as if you have experience with that sort of thing.”

“I do. Now go to sleep.”

I closed my eyes, but sleep was the furthest thing from my mind. A kaleidoscope of pictures tumbled in my mind, splintering and chasing and breaking again as they formed new images. I could not believe so much had happened in so little time. I saw Hugh’s face, twisted with avarice, and Sebastian dashing to my rescue like something straight out of myth. He was exhausted, but still he sat up, attentive to every noise, waiting for danger.

I forced myself to sit up, rubbing my eyes.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I keep seeing it all over again.”

“It takes people like that sometimes, their first experience with this sort of thing.”

“I hope it’s not my last,” I told him solemnly.

He cocked his head, taking me in from tumbled hair to impractical shoes. “Do you really think you’re cut out for this sort of thing?”

“I don’t know,” I said slowly. “But I should like to try.”

“Why?” His voice was blunt. “It’s dangerous and dirty, and if you’re only in it for a bit of fun, you’ll get yourself killed.”

I thought and chose my words carefully. “It’s because I’ve never really belonged.”

He quirked up a brow. “The society debutante with the millionaire stepfather has never belonged?” The words were cutting, but he had the grace to say them gently.

“That’s just it,” I explained. “Reginald’s money opens doors, but what I do when I go through them is up to me. And usually I’ve just made a mess of it all. I can’t ever seem to settle down to doing what other people expect of me. That’s how I ended up running out on poor Gerald. I thought I was doing what was right, what I’d been bred for, but I just didn’t fit. I never have. Not in school, not even in my family. Mother had the twins and then the boys came along, and through it all Reginald was really rather wonderful to me. He has always treated me as his own, but I don’t look like them. I don’t speak like them. I’m not one of them. I am the cuckoo in the nest.”

“And now you’d like to fly your own way, is that it?”

“Precisely. Only I never knew what that way might be until recently.”

His gaze sharpened. “What happened recently?”

“I discovered my Aunt Julia’s memoirs. She was a detective, you know. Not on purpose, you understand. She fell into it. Her husband was the one with the inquiry agency, but he made her a partner, a real partner. And she learned to be herself. That’s what I want.”

“You think international intrigue is the way to go about that?”

“Heavens, no! That bit is your fault.”

He choked a little. “My fault?”

“By disappearing so dramatically. I thought there must be something terribly wrong. I was worried about you,” I told him.

Suspicion seemed to dawn then, and he lowered his chin, fixing me with an icy stare. “Do you mean to tell me you came out here on a rescue mission? You thought you were saving me?”

“Well, yes, actually.”

He said nothing for a long moment, and then the words came in bursts. “Of all the— I can’t imagine— The most insulting, infuriating—”

“Of course, that’s before I knew you,” I said. But he wouldn’t be placated. He clamped his jaw shut, the muscle in his cheek working furiously.

“Sebastian?”

“Go to sleep.”

“I didn’t mean to insult you, really I didn’t. I thought you were just an unprepossessing clergyman who had been abducted or assaulted, and I honestly believed—”

He cut in with swift brutality. “I am not at all interested in your beliefs, Miss March. Now go to sleep.”

He rose and flung his bit of woolen fabric around his shoulders as he strode to the door.

“Where are you going?”

He turned, giving me a cold stare. “I am going to keep watch. Don’t worry. If I get into any trouble, I’ll shriek for help.”

He stalked out, closing the door carefully behind him.

I lay back down, cursing my own chattering tongue. I hadn’t meant to make him sound so much like a milquetoast, but I
had
thought I was coming on a rescue mission. How was I to know he was some sort of spy, I asked myself irritably. I punched and thumped the lumpy straw into something passably comfortable, but it was a long time before I slept. I had come to know Sebastian well enough to know that he would be racking his brain to find some way of getting me back to England safely. If I wasn’t lucky, I would find myself packed onto a steamer the very next day.

Of course, that was before I knew about the murder.

Thirteen

I woke stiffly, groaning a little as I moved my limbs.

“What’s the matter? Accommodations not to your liking, princess?” asked Sebastian coolly.

He was sitting at the table, eating a plate of cold meat and flatbread. I pushed myself onto my elbows with a sigh. Clearly he hadn’t forgiven me for my lapse the night before.

There was a bucket of cold water in the corner and I washed my face and hands hastily before joining him at the table. He shoved the food at me with bad grace, and I began to eat. The meat was tough and the bread stale, but it was delectable. There was more wine, and I drank a little of that to clear my head.

“Feeling better?” he asked. His earlier irritation seemed to have faded a little, and I smiled.

“Yes, actually. It’s a new day, Sebastian. Why don’t we forget our differences and make the best of things? I’ve been thinking it over, and I believe I can help you. I know Gabriel said the map to the gold was gone, but what if we go back to the monastery? He might have been mistaken. It’s been a few years since the group of you were there, and what if he didn’t look thoroughly enough?”

Sebastian regarded me thoughtfully. “A logical plan, I’ll give you that. But how far do you suppose we will get when I’m wanted for murder?”

I stopped eating, my hand halfway to my mouth with a piece of bread. I put it down and wiped my mouth carefully. “That isn’t a very nice joke, Sebastian.”

He pushed a newspaper towards me. “I was going to wait until you finished, but it’s best you know.”

And there it was. In lurid black and white. The body of an Englishman had been discovered in the old quarter. He had been shot to death and left where he fell. The body, discovered in the middle of the night by a watchman making his rounds, had been identified as Hugh Talbot, valet to Colonel Cyrus Archainbaud.

“It’s not possible,” I murmured.

He poured another cup of wine and pushed it towards me. “Drink.”

“Oh, my God,” I moaned. “I don’t understand.”

“At some point, friend Hugh must have shaken off the blow I gave him and given chase. And somewhere along the line, it ended badly for him.”

“Pickpockets—” I began, but he gave me a pitying look.

“Pickpockets don’t shoot men to death, not in Damascus. Besides, his papers were still on him as was his money,” he pointed out.

I moaned again and dropped my head to the table, but as soon as it hit I jerked it up again.

“There’s no mention of me,” I said suddenly.

Sebastian gave a nod of satisfaction. “I wondered when that would occur to you. As far as the colonel knows, you’re missing.”

“But why? The colonel must know I’m gone. Oh, God, he must think I’ve been abducted by the villains who killed Hugh. He must be frantic.”

“So frantic he didn’t tell the police?” he asked gently.

“But it doesn’t make sense,” I protested. There was a sense of watchfulness about Sebastian, as if he had already puzzled it out but meant to give me time to catch up. I gave a sudden gasp. “Unless he thinks
I
did it. If he thought I killed Hugh he wouldn’t tell the police. He’d try to protect me by hushing it all up. But what possible reason would there be for me to kill Hugh?”

Sebastian gave me a pointed look. “He did come to your room last night. Perhaps someone saw him.”

“He did not come to my room. He came to my balcony, as did you,” I said coldly. “And if anyone had seen him come, they would have seen me leave with you.”

“Not necessarily. They mightn’t have liked to pry.” His cool detachment was maddening, but it made a horrible kind of sense.

“I suppose,” I said slowly. “Someone might have seen him come to my room, but then what?”

“He could have persuaded you to go out with him. I believe you’ve been out in public with the fellow several times since your arrival in Damascus,” he said, widening his eyes innocently.

“Yes.” The word was as clipped and sharp as I could make it. “We were friendly.”

“And you’ve been seen out with the
comte
, too, haven’t you?” he asked in the same sweetly insinuating voice.

I looked up, horrified. “But it sounds so sordid. As if I were carrying on with both of them! And I wasn’t carrying on with either of them, not really,” I finished roundly.

“But, in fact, you did—what was the phrase you used—‘carry on’?—with Hugh,” he said, his voice gentle. He was watching me closely, and I made every effort to keep my voice calm even though my fingers were shaking on the newspaper.

“It’s very simple,” I told him. “Hugh made overtures towards me. I thought he might be useful, so I didn’t discourage them. I thought a man of action might be helpful if matters proved complicated with regard to finding you.” Sebastian’s face darkened, but I went on. “So, I didn’t put him off. I temporised. Women have been doing it for centuries, you know.”

He tipped his head thoughtfully. “Why?”

“Because some men don’t take kindly to being rejected,” I told him a trifle waspishly. “They’re like overgrown toddlers. You have to take them by the hand and lead them into doing what you want in order to avoid a fuss. Oh, I could have thrown him over, but he would have sulked. He was just the type. And I didn’t want scenes and an atmosphere when I was trying to work. So I humoured him.”

“And that meant kissing him,” he said, idly scraping a knife under his fingernails. “Of course, I can hardly blame you when he was doing precisely the same.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What do you mean?”

His expression was thoughtful. “Doesn’t it seem a trifle coincidental to you that Hugh should try to make love to the one girl he thinks is capable of leading him to me? To the Ashkelon hoard?”

“You think he only kissed me because he was using me to get the gold?” I demanded.

He gave a half shrug, wincing when he remembered his tender ribs. “Granted, you’re alluring enough, I suppose he might have been inclined to have a go anyway, but let’s just say I don’t like coincidences.”

I ground my teeth together and he waved a finger. “That’s very bad for your teeth, you know. I’m sure your mother wouldn’t approve.”

I opened my mouth long enough to ask a question. “If you don’t like coincidences, how do you account for the fact that I just happened to be in the colonel’s employ at the same time as Hugh Talbot?”

Sebastian considered this a moment. “How did you come by the job? Advertisement in the newspaper?”

“No, actually it wasn’t. Cubby Ashley, a friend of mine, happens to be the colonel’s nephew. He put me onto it.”

“A grown man going by the name of Cubby? You can’t be serious. He ought to be horsewhipped.”

“It’s a pet name, and I hardly think someone called Slightly ought to be throwing stones.”

Sebastian gave me a glowering look from under his brows but decided to let that one pass. He spread his hands. “But there you go. I suspected for some weeks before my departure that I was being watched. Talbot or a confederate of his could have very easily seen us leave the church together. And given the unorthodoxy of our departure,” he added, his dark eyes gleaming, “they might have put entirely the wrong construction upon our relationship and assumed it was far more intimate than it is. They could have traced me to the steamship office and lost the trail there. The most logical thing was to backtrack and pick you up to use as their pointer.”

“And then he could have had a word with Cubby,” I said slowly. “He could have suggested it first to the colonel, convinced him he needed someone else to help with the travel. And then he could have worked on Cubby, persuaded him to put the plan to me, knowing I’d be desperate to find a way to the Holy Land. It’s rather diabolical, isn’t it?”

He gave me a thoughtful look. “Does your unfortunately named friend need money?”

“Pots of it. He’s expected to marry well, and he’s fallen in love with a girl who has nothing. He could easily have been bribed to suggest the job to me. And Cubby’s not terribly bright. He would have bought any story, thought it a great lark. Oh, the fool!” I said bitterly. I gave him a cold look. “Go on. Say it. Cubby’s a fool but not as big a one as a girl who thinks trips to the Holy Land just happen.”

He gave me a thin smile and said nothing.

“The poor colonel,” I murmured. “I must get that note to him.”

“Not a chance,” Sebastian told me flatly.

“But he’s worried! He thinks I’ve been abducted. Or worse,” I said darkly.

He fixed me with an inscrutable look. “I’ve been abducted, Poppy. There
is
nothing worse.” I stared at him, mouth agape, but he merely went on speaking in a calmly matter-of-fact tone. “The colonel is in no danger from Hugh’s conspirators, whoever they may be. There’s clearly been a falling-out amongst thieves—or perhaps they decided Hugh’s usefulness was outlived since he managed to bring you out here and flush me from my cover. And one less conspirator means one less share of the gold given out.” He paused and I wondered if he were thinking of his own Lost Boys and the traitor amongst them. “Besides,” he went on, “you cannot contact the colonel because the note would be handed over to the authorities and would serve no purpose. You are just as much a possible murderess as potential victim in this case.”

I spluttered. “But that’s impossible! They can’t really believe I killed Hugh.”

“Why not? You had an intimate friendship with the man and then he ends up dead the same night you disappear? Looks suspicious enough to me, and I’m inclined to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

“The benefit of the doubt?” My voice had risen to a screech and he held up a finger, wincing. “Why shouldn’t you,” I hissed, “when you were with me the whole time? You know I didn’t kill Hugh.”

He shrugged. “I assume you didn’t kill Hugh, but I wasn’t with you the whole night. I stepped out to keep watch, remember?”

“You were keeping watch. You would have seen me go,” I pointed out acidly.

“Not necessarily. Sometimes a gentleman has bodily functions to attend to,” he told me, batting his eyes modestly.

It was the batting of the eyes that tipped it. “You’re joking! You think this entire affair is some great jest,” I accused.

He sobered. “No, I don’t. A man is dead, but he’s not the sort I’ll weep salty tears for, and I don’t see you reaching for the sackcloth and ashes, so spare me the indignation.”

I shook my head. “I have never been so wrong about a person in my entire life. I thought you were
nice
.”

“I am nice,” he returned, giving me a hurt look. “If I weren’t, would I have rescued you from his clutches last night? Would I let you stay here even though I could collect a generous reward for your return?”

I pointed to a significant sentence in the newspaper. “I think not. You are wanted just as fervently as I am.”

He shrugged. “There are ways to manage these things. I have friends, you know. I could simply put one of them forward to claim the reward and share it out. I’m generous like that.”

I screeched again, and he put up a hand in protest. “For God’s sake, Poppy. My grandmother had a parrot that didn’t make noises that off-putting.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Fine. What do you want out of all this? What is your grand plan?”

He folded one booted leg over the other. “I’ve had considerably longer to think this over than you have, and I have a bit more experience of what to do when the authorities would like you to do something you really, really don’t want to do.” He rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Putting you on a train for Beirut is obviously a non-starter since they’ll be watching the station, and the last thing we need is for you to be taken into custody now. So we’ll have to leave Damascus another way.”

I blinked. “Wait. You’re taking me with you?”

His gaze was marginally kinder. “I am. I told you, I’ve thought it over. So long as you don’t mind the newspapers saying nasty things about you for a few days, the best plan is to get right out of Damascus. Whoever killed Hugh is looking for the gold, Poppy. That means they’re looking for us,” he finished gently.

“Oh. OH,” I said, putting it together. “You mean we’re in danger, then. But how do you know Hugh was killed by someone after the gold? It might have been a robber or—”

He shook his head. “It won’t do, Poppy. I told you I don’t like coincidences, and that would be a monstrous one. He comes here as part of a conspiracy to recover a fabled treasure and just happens to get murdered? I can’t believe that. He wasn’t robbed. He was shot at very close quarters, in the heart. That implies it was someone he trusted to get close to him, a confederate. He might have told them about me, and if he did, we’re in even more trouble. Our only choice is to stick together.”

“I’m surprised you don’t want to hand me over to the police,” I said. “It seems the reasonable thing to do.”

“If we were in England, I would. But have you been questioned by Syrian police? I have. It’s not an experience I care to repeat, and it’s not one you should have. Ever,” he said flatly. “First things first—we need to get out of the city. We’ll need to plan a route and secure disguises.”

It seemed logical enough and I told him so.

“Thank you,” he said dryly. “It is what I do, you know.”

“I’m beginning to wonder if I know you at all,” I said.

He threw me an enigmatic smile. “Then here endeth the lesson.”

We finished the remains of the cold meat and flatbread and I asked him if he had specifics in mind with regard to our next move.

His expression was thoughtful. “I’m not thrilled about our prospects, but for now the best thing will be to lie low and get out of Damascus. Somehow I have to get you out of the country and into the hands of the British authorities.”

“I’m rather surprised you don’t plan to go straight to them,” I said mildly. I hated to give him ideas for getting rid of me, but I was quite certain he’d already thought of it.

“Almost as difficult an option as the Syrians, but for very different reasons. The situation here is delicate. There’s a revolution afoot, in case you hadn’t noticed,” he told me. “God only knows what’s going to happen, but right now the British authorities here are in no position to hold off the Syrians if they want you for murder. Or me for that matter. We’d put them in a devil of a bind if we simply turned up. No, we need to get you somewhere else entirely.”