The Dark Remains - Mark Anthony [72]
The two bellhops showed her to her room, and Deirdre tipped them generously from the wad of pound notes Farr had given her. They shut the door, leaving her alone. There was a massive bed, an ornate sofa and chairs, and a marble fireplace with a gas fire burning. The champagne and flowers had arrived ahead of her, arranged on a table before a window that had a view of Westminster Abbey, Big Ben, and the Thames.
Not bad.
Deirdre kicked off her boots, unzipped her duffel bag, and pulled out the file folder Farr had given her earlier. She headed for the bed, detouring along the way to grab the bottle of champagne from the ice bucket, and flopped on the king-size mattress.
For the next hour she drank champagne and flipped through papers. She hadn’t talked long with Farr at the Sign of the Green Fairy. He had said he had matters to attend to before their departure, and that he would brief her further on the plane to Denver.
There wasn’t much in the folder, and she had seen most of it before. There were photographs of Travis and Dr. Beckett, and of various locations in Castle City. There was the drawing of a sword taken from a half-burned journal found at the ruins of James Sarsin’s London bookshop in 1883, and a photograph of Dr. Beckett’s necklace, which could be nothing but a fragment of the very sword depicted in Sarsin’s journal. Of course, Sarsin was one and the same with Jack Graystone, Travis’s antique dealer friend who had persisted for many centuries in London and then in Colorado. How his case—one of the most celebrated in the history of the Seekers—was connected to Grace Beckett was still an enigma. But perhaps that would be answered soon.
Deirdre skimmed through the rest of the folder. There were schematics of the Mine Shaft Saloon, chemical analyses of samples taken from burn stains on the floor, and also from soil samples taken at the Beckett-Strange Home for Children. Only at the end of the file was there something new to her: the transcript of Farr’s conversation with Dr. Beckett, recorded yesterday.
Champagne bottle propped between her legs, Deirdre sat cross-legged and scanned through the transcript. Certain words stood out. We’re back. And then later, We’re all in Denver.
We, she kept saying. But exactly who was Beckett referring to? Travis Wilder certainly. But her words seemed to imply the presence of another. One didn’t usually say we’re all when talking about just two people. Then, near the end, her eyes met words that caused a thrill to well up insider her, like the bubbles in the champagne bottle.
We’re not alone—we have a friend. He’s in the hospital, in a coma. A question from Farr. Then, Yes, he’s from Eldh.
Deirdre read the words again, heart racing. If this were true, it had enormous implications for their studies of the alternate universe. It was almost unimaginable what they could learn of the otherworldly culture and biology from direct study of an indigenous.
Deirdre read through the rest of the transcript. The last sentence struck her.
Please help us.
Beckett had called the Seekers to ask for help. But to help with what?
She shut the folder and laid it aside. Suddenly the taste of champagne was sour in her mouth. She set the bottle on the nightstand, dug into the pocket of her jeans, and pulled out something round, silver, and heavy.
Save me. That was what the woman Glinda had said earlier that day, when she slipped the coin into Deirdre’s hand at the absinthe bar in Soho. However, her plea was just as mysterious as Dr. Beckett’s. Save her from what?
Deirdre turned the coin over in her hands. In the light, she could make out the symbols. On one side was a pair of shoes with little bows on them. On the other side were the letters SD. She didn’t know what it meant.
But maybe someone else would.
It was already getting late; she knew she should go to bed. Then again, she would have nine hours to sleep on the flight to Denver. And something