Napoleon's Pyramids Read Free Page A

nuzzled a few the hardware got in the way, so I hid it inside my shirt.
    Silano approached.
    “You’re Franklin’s man, are you not?”
    “I had the honor of serving that statesman.”
    “Then 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.
    “An 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…”
    “Can 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.”
    “I 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.”
    “I’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.”
    “Two francs?”
    “Three, 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 scaled for 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 of what I’d won. I knew better than to take all my winnings to the chamber of a trollop, and given everyone’s interest I decided it best to hide the medallion as well. I took some minutes to decide where to conceal it while the lantern bearer waited outside. Then we went on to Minette’s, through the dark streets of Paris.
    The city, glorious though it remained in size and splendor, was, like women of a certain age, best not examined too closely. Grand old houses were boarded up. The Tuileries Palace was gated and empty, its dark windows like sightless sockets. Monasteries were in ruins, churches locked, and no one seemed to have applied a coat of paint since the storming of the Bastille. Except for filling the pockets of generals and politicians,