Ethan Gage Collection # 1 Read Free Page A

reducing my pile. Or he believed he could win it at table.
    If so, he was disappointed. I couldn’t lose. The soldier drew into an eleven, and then lost three more hands as he bet against the odds, too lazy to track how many face cards had been dealt. “Damnation,” he finally muttered. “You have the devil’s luck. I’m so broke I’ll have to go back on campaign.”
    â€œIt will save you the trouble of thinking.” I slipped the medallion around my own neck as the soldier scowled, then stood to get a glass and display my prize to the ladies, like an exhibit at a rural fair. When I nuzzled a few the hardware got in the way, so I hid it inside my shirt.
    Silano approached.
    â€œYou’re Franklin’s man, are you not?”
    â€œI had the honor of serving that statesman.”
    â€œThen perhaps you’ll appreciate my intellectual interest. I’m a collector of antiquities. I’ll still buy that neckpiece from you.”
    Alas, a courtesan with the fetching name of Minette, or Pussycat, had already whispered about the handsomeness of my trinket. “I respect your offer, monsieur, but I intend to discuss ancient history in the chambers of a lady.” Minette had already gone ahead to warm her apartment.
    â€œAn understandable inquiry. Yet may I suggest you need a true expert? That curiosity had an interesting shape, with intriguing markings. Men who have studied the ancient arts…”
    â€œCan appreciate how dearly I hold my new acquisition.”
    He leaned closer. “Monsieur, I must insist. I’ll pay double.”
    I didn’t like his persistence. His air of superiority rankled my American sensibilities. Besides, if Silano wanted it that badly, then maybe it was worth even more. “And may I insist that you accept me as the fair winner, and suggest that my assistant, who also has an interesting shape, supplies precisely the kind of expertise I require?” Before he could reply, I bowed and moved away.
    The captain, now drunk, accosted me. “It isn’t wise to turn Silano down.”
    â€œI thought you told us it had great value, according to your gypsy king and papal jailer?”
    The officer smiled maliciously. “They also told me the medallion was cursed.”

CHAPTER TWO
    I t was a pathetic attempt at verbal revenge. I bowed to Madame and made my leave, coming outside to a night made dimmer by the era’s new industrial fogs. To the west was a red glow from the rapidly expanding mills of the Paris suburbs, harbinger of the more mechanical age at hand. A lantern bearer was near the door and hoping for hire, and I congratulated myself on my continued luck. His features were obscured by a hooded cape but were darker than a European’s, I noticed: Moroccan, I guessed, seeking the type of menial employment such an immigrant might find. He bowed slightly, his accent Arabic. “You have the look of a fortunate man, monsieur.”
    â€œI’m about to get even more fortunate. I would like you to guide me to my own apartment, and then to a lady’s address.”
    â€œTwo francs?”
    â€œThree, if you keep me out of the puddles.” How wonderful to be a winner.
    The light was necessary since revolution had produced fervor for everything except street cleaning and cobblestone repair. Drains were clogged, street lanterns half-lit, and potholes steadily enlarging. It didn’t help that the new government had renamed more than a thousand streets after revolutionary heroes and everyone was continually lost. So my guide led the way, the lantern hung from a pole held by two hands. The staff was intricately carved, I noticed, its sides scaledfor a better grip and the lantern suspended from a knob in the shape of a serpent’s head. The reptile’s mouth held the lantern’s bail. A piece of artistry, I guessed, from the bearer’s native country.
    I visited my own apartment first, to secrete most