I crawled out from under my desk, wondering as I brushed off the dusty knees of my pants who was calling us. I'd only set up the phone lines the day before, and had given the number out to just one person other than Clare. It was probably just the phone company checking to see if the line worked. I turned on my laptop and sat down at my desk while Clare made little murmurs of encouragement to whoever was on the phone.
"I see. Well, I don't believe that will be a problem, Mr. Race. My partner has a particular talent with finding lost objects. Oh, you did?" Clare looked at me, her eyes round. "Then perhaps it would be best if you talked to her yourself. Can you hold? Thank you."
"Lost items?" I asked. "That's not a client, is it?"
"Yes, it is. It's a Mr. Owen Race. He's a medieval specialist of some sort, and he wants us to find some sort of an antique book for him. But Sam - he says that Brother Jacob recommended you to him. I thought you were kicked out of the Order of Diviners?"
"I was, but Jake said he'd keep an ear out for me for anyone who might be able to use the services of a failed Diviner. Sounds like he found someone. Hello, this is Samantha Cosse. I understand you need some help locating an object?"
Like Clare's, the man's voice was English, very upper-class, positively reeking of places like Eton and Cambridge and of the BBC. It made me all the more aware of my flat, accentless (to my ears) Canadian speech. "Good morning, Miss Cosse. Yes, as I told your associate, I am seeking to locate a very rare medieval manuscript that was stolen from me recently - the Simia Gestor Coda is its name. I understand from Brother Jacob at the Diviners' House that you studied there for several years and have a good deal of experience in locating missing items?"
Oh dear. He wanted a Diviner, and I was anything but one. I'd have to let him know right away that I wasn't what he thought I was. "I've had some luck locating missing items, yes. But if you are seeking the assistance of a true Diviner, Mr. Race, I'm afraid you may have been misled. I did study at the Diviners' House with the Order, but I was... well, to put it bluntly, I was kicked out before my novitiate was completed. Although I have been trained in elementary divination, I'm afraid I am unable to conduct the more advanced rituals."
"I see. I appreciate such frankness, and can assure you that I have no need for the services of a professional Diviner. Brother Jacob recommended you to me because you apparently have a talent for locating items that goes beyond mere divination."
I slumped back in my chair in relief. I hadn't anticipated Jake sending me a customer, despite his declarations that he would do all he could to help me, but now that I had bared the ugly truth in my past, I could focus on the job being offered. "I will be happy to put the full resources of my firm at your disposal," I said. "Perhaps we can meet to discuss this further?"
"Excellent. I'm in Barcelona at the moment, but I would be happy to pay your airfare out here."
I blinked back my surprise. "Er... I appreciate the offer, Mr. Race, but we are still in the process of setting up our business, and I wouldn't be comfortable leaving all the remaining work to my partner." I motioned to Clare and wrote he wants me to go to Barcelona on the notepad. Clare looked panicky. I'd had to promise her, when we thought up the idea of the investigation agency, that I would handle all of what she termed the "messy businessy stuff."
"Sam, no," she whispered.
"Don't worry," I mouthed, then said into the phone, "That's very generous of you, but I'm afraid it's out of the question. However - " I raised my eyebrows in question. Clare nodded quickly. "However, my partner would be available to fly to Barcelona. She would be very happy to stand in my place and discuss with you all the necessary details."
"Erm... no, that won't be necessary," he said, sounding disappointed. I shook my head at Clare. "I will be returning to Edinburgh at the end of the week, so we can meet then."
"I would be happy to get started on your project if you can give me the details over the phone," I said in my most professional voice, opening a text document. "Why don't you give me the specifics of the item that was stolen, and later you can fax me any insurance documents you have, as well as the police report."
Twenty minutes later I hung up the phone and hit SAVE on my document file.
"Well?" Clare asked, absently nibbling on a carnation. "Do we have a job?"
I smiled. "We are employed! Let fly the doves and all that."
"Hurrah! I told you this was going to be exciting! Although I'm disappointed I won't be going to Barcelona. Such a pretty city. So, we're looking for a book?"
"Yes, some sort of medieval manuscript that was stolen. Evidently Mr. Race has quite a collection, and he didn't notice the theft until he had ordered an inventory of his holdings a month ago. He's going to have his housekeeper round up some information about the manuscript, but until then, we can get to work on the little info he gave me. He believes the manuscript could well have been taken by a rival collector."
"Oooh. How thrilling! It's like an art theft, only with a medieval book."
"Mmm," I said, gathering up my bag and jacket. "I'm going to go visit a couple of antique shops and see if I can't get some info on who the big collectors are in Britain."
"What would you like me to do?" Clare asked, chewing another bit of flower.
"You'd better stop eating those flowers, or you won't have anything left but a vase full of stems," I said at the door.
She shot me a look of pure outrage. "I do not eat flowers!"
I raised my eyebrows and looked at the half-eaten carnation in her hand. She glared at it for a minute as if it had magically appeared there. "You're a faery, Clare. No one else eats flowers but really hard-core vegetarians, and I've seen you wolf down a steak, so I know you're not that. If you want to do something helpful, do an Internet search for me on the" - I consulted my notes - "Simia Gestor Coda. With a name like that, it has to have some sort of a history. I'd like to know everything you can find out about its past. All Mr. Race told me was that it was written by a mage who was supposedly in Marco Polo's service. Oh, also, pull up a list of the major antiquities dealers for England. It wouldn't hurt to know who might be dealing in something like a rare antique manuscript."
I spent the next couple of hours visiting various antique shops in and around the Royal Mile, the most famous street in all of Edinburgh. By the time I tottered into the last shop on my list, a small, dusty shop tucked away between a bookstore and a gyro shop, I was feeling uninspired. The antique dealers were particularly loath to talk about their clients, and none of them had heard of the Coda.
A little bell over the door jangled as I entered the shop. Like others of its ilk, this antiquities shop was filled to the rafters with statuary, objets d'art, stuffed animals, strange old mechanical pieces, books and illuminated manuscripts, and a myriad of other items whose use and purpose were shrouded in the distant reaches of the past. I browsed through the items, glancing periodically at a man I took to be the owner as he stood with his back to me in the doorway to another room, speaking to someone I couldn't see.
"Shoot," I said to myself as I glanced at my watch. I was three hours away from the office already, and I wanted to get back to help Clare. I stopped in front of a bookcase bearing a stuffed spider monkey, and sent yet another impatient look toward the man in the doorway. "I don't have time for thiaaaaieeeeeee!"
My heart just about leaped out of my chest as the spider monkey I'd assumed was stuffed suddenly jumped from the bookcase to my shoulder. "Oh, man alive, you just scared a good ten years off me. Hello there, Mr. Monkey. Um... that is, I assume you're a mister. I can't tell, what with that little sailor suit you're wearing. Do you belong here? Of course you do, what a stupid question. What else would a monkey be doing in an antiques shop? Would you mind asking your owner if he could talk to me for a few minutes? No? Drat. Well, doesn't matter - you'll do as an excuse to interrupt him."