Heart of Steel - Meljean Brook [29]
“Your sketch, Mr. Fox.”
She’d transferred the sketch from his protective satchel to this? Dear God. He hadn’t trusted the satchel to be watertight, but he also hadn’t exposed the paper to air and moisture again. Had it been damaged? Heart pounding, he untied the strings and lifted the cover. Two plates of tempered Rupert glass shielded the delicate paper, yellowed with age. Ink had faded to brown, but the elegant lines of the glider and the distinctive backward handwriting were unmistakably da Vinci’s.
Or rather, an incredibly well-rendered copy of his work. He closed the portfolio. “Where’s the original?”
She bristled. “The what?”
“I don’t traipse through zombie-infested cities to be fooled by a fake, Captain.” He tossed the portfolio back into her strongbox. “You should sell that. Scholars will be clamoring for a look at the sketch, and a replica will be as close to it as most of them will ever get.”
Her hand dropped to the knife at her thigh. “Mr. Fox—”
“I wondered why you agreed to hand it over so easily. It’s a clever ruse. Had someone held a knife to your throat, you could have given them the fake and they wouldn’t have known the difference. I do.”
Silence reigned for a moment. Even the lovebirds quieted, as if aware of the tension. Finally, Yasmeen relented and shook her head.
“Very well.” Her smile held no apology as she rose to her feet. “You understand I had to try.”
He’d have been disappointed if she hadn’t. A da Vinci sketch falling into the hands of someone unprepared to protect it would only end in tragedy.
Ducking his head, he looked into the strongbox. “Is it hidden in here?”
“Feel around inside and find out.”
Even without the wicked edge of her voice to serve as a warning, he wouldn’t have. “Does it close on a timer, too?”
“Yes.”
Clever and useful—his favorite sort of device. Curious, he looked up at her. “What would you have done if I’d left with the forgery?”
“Laughed. Then I’d have sold it for no less than fifteen thousand, and kept a portion.”
Only a portion? Yet she said it so easily that he believed that had truly been her plan. “And what of the rest?”
“I’d have given you your ten thousand.” Her cool smile appeared again in response to his surprise. “If I possess five thousand livre, Mr. Fox, then adding another ten thousand means nothing. It is like having two hundred puddings. It doesn’t matter if I give away half, because it’s impossible to eat the hundred that remain, anyway.”
A scratch at the door prevented his reply. He stood as Ginger rushed in. She wound through the cushions scattered around the table and set down a covered tray. As she straightened, her gaze darted from the open strongbox to Yasmeen’s face.
“Will there be anything else, Captain?”
“No. I’m to be left alone until I call for you.” When the door closed behind the girl, Yasmeen glanced at him. “She’ll be upset when she hears that the forgery didn’t fool you. But if scholars will buy copies, she won’t be too disappointed.”
“She created that?” Incredible. “Where did you find her?”
“Oyapock.” She named the Liberé capital on the coast of the southern American continent. “But to hear the rest, you’ll have to buy the first Lady Lynx serial adventure.”
Archimedes almost laughed, but the same instinct that often saved him from stumbling into a room full of zombies stopped the sound in his throat. If he’d taken the forgery, she’d claimed her response would have been laughter, too. But she wasn’t laughing. Instead, she regarded him with the same cool amusement that she’d used with her crew—the amusement that said everything was happening exactly as she’d anticipated. And it was, in one way: When he sold the sketch, she’d still be receiving a ridiculous fortune. Perhaps not five thousand, but even two thousand was the equivalent of having more puddings than could ever be eaten.
Apparently the money wasn’t the issue at all. If he’d taken the forgery, she wouldn’t have laughed because she’d gotten away with the fortune—she’d have laughed because she’d gotten