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“Well, I’m afraid you won’t be able to ship me off now,” Harte said, trying not to look half as awful as he felt. “I’m not going anywhere without the Dragon’s Eye, and I’m definitely not leaving without the other items you stole from me.”
“I stole nothing,” the old man said. “Those items do not belong to you. They simply confirmed what I have known since you were a boy—you were never going to be anything more than a common criminal. When I figure out who you’ve taken them from, I’m sure I’ll be handsomely rewarded for their return.”
“You will return what belongs to me, and you will hand over the Dragon’s Eye, or I will take everything from you.” Harte put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and felt an echo of Seshat’s satisfaction when his father’s eyes widened.
“If you think I’d let you—”
“Try me.” Harte felt the boy trembling now, the birdlike bones of his shoulder fragile beneath his hand. “Or… you could help me retrieve the item I came for. Help me, and for your son’s sake, I will let you keep your pathetic life and all you’ve built.”
“Even if I believed your lies, I can’t help you. The Committee won’t give up the crown.”
“I wasn’t planning on asking for it.”
“I won’t help you steal it either,” Samuel Lowe said. “If that piece goes missing, and they trace what you’ve done back to me, I’ll lose everything anyway.”
“What if I can keep you safe?” Harte asked. “I can make sure the Committee won’t ever touch you. Your pathetic little life can continue on as it is now.”
His father’s expression flashed with understanding, and Harte could see the hatred warring with indecision. “You can’t make such assurances.…”
“You of all people know that I can,” Harte told him. Even though he wanted nothing more than to destroy Samuel Lowe, Harte would keep his word. Harte would leave his father untouched if it meant protecting the boy. “You know what I’m capable of. Help me, and I can make sure you keep the life you’ve built here. Or don’t, and I will gladly tear it apart. Either way, I will get what I came here for.”
Harte saw the exact moment when his father relented. “Fine. I’ll take you to the crown, and then you’ll see how impossible it is.”
“You’ll also give back the belongings you took from me,” Harte added.
“After,” his father said.
“No—” Harte began to argue, but his father held up a hand.
“Once I’m assured that you haven’t done anything foolish to put me at risk, we’ll discuss those other pieces. Until then, I’ll keep them as insurance against you double-crossing me,” his father said. “This is my offer. Take it or leave it.”
Harte considered his options. Perhaps it was another trap, but accepting his father’s terms would get him one step closer to retrieving the Dragon’s Eye. Even if it was a trap, Harte had some insurance of his own.
He put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Fine,” he agreed. He would win one way or the other.
“Leave my son,” Samuel Lowe commanded, eyeing Harte’s grip on the boy. “He’s not to be a part of this.”
“I’m afraid he’s already a part of this, and I find that I require some insurance of my own.” Harte glanced down at the boy, and when he noticed the fear in the child’s too-familiar gray eyes, he knew himself for what he truly was. A bastard. An abomination.
Truly his father’s son.
And if Harte felt his resolve softening as he looked at the boy? If he felt the beginnings of regret for what would happen to the child once he was gone? He would not give in. He couldn’t. This time, he would not allow himself to lose sight of what was most important: Retrieving the artifacts. Finding Jack and the Book. Giving Esta a chance at a different future.
Even with the small victory of his father’s agreement, though, Harte still worried. He didn’t like how quiet Seshat had become. He was used to her mockery and to her constantly testing the boundary between them. He’d expected it, especially as he drew closer to obtaining the artifacts that could end her, but instead, she remained silent.
With every passing second, Harte’s legs felt heavier, and he was having more trouble holding back the shivering that threatened to rack his body. He’d grown so weak over the past couple of days of confinement. It would have been easy enough for Seshat to rise up and breach his defenses. But she hadn’t. Because Seshat knew she had to allow this—to allow him—to find the stones. Because his promise to Esta was the only thing keeping Harte from curling up somewhere, from giving up and letting whatever this illness was take him—and Seshat along with him.
Harte did not mistake Seshat’s silence for acquiescence, though. He didn’t trust it. Instead, he reminded himself—and Seshat—that he needed the artifacts. Without them, he would not return to Esta… and that was the thing they both desired most of all.
THE PROFESSOR
1904—Denver
Only once before had Esta ever been in a situation that had seemed impossible to escape. She’d been lashed to a chair in Professor Lachlan’s penthouse library, adorned with the five artifacts, and everything she’d once believed about her life had been crumbling around her. Maybe the Antistasi in Denver hadn’t tied her to a chair, but she still felt every bit as trapped. Her free will had been obliterated by Maggie’s formulation, and there was nothing Esta could do to take the information back now that she’d given it to them. Worse, she could not let go of one word Cordelia had said before she’d left.
“Who is the Professor, Maggie?”
Maggie turned to Esta. “What?”
