19 — Everything to Lose
A day had passed, and Johnathan was not taking the last twenty-four hours well.
“Not worthy of your consideration!” Johnathan shouted as he began to tear the murder board from the wall in a fit of exasperation. “An improper interpretation of your delegated duties and a critical waste of resources at your disposal!”
It seemed our investigation would be cut short. I dared ask, “So, they’re handing it to the police? Who’s the delegate in charge of that?”
“Beckett,” Johnathan said in a growl, with little red pins flying all over the room as he sloppily tore pages from the corkboard. “He won’t let me or my entourage near Daelus’ estate. Police are crawling all over the place. I poked around as best I could. They’re
all
entourage, and they’re just
guarding
. An investigation like that would require an actual human inspector. It's work for a detective!”
I felt as distraught as Johnathan, but my feelings were muted. I was, after all, alive. I was free of my delegated duties. I was my own self, with a possibly bright future ahead. Was it so wrong that the previous chapter of my life would be left as a loose end?
Still, this was important to Johnathan, He would be inconsolable if we simply dropped it. “You could talk with Jossimer,” I reasoned aloud.
“Already did. He signed off on it. His say is final, as landlord. They’ll cordon the place off. Worse, I imagine as soon as Daelus’ replacement arrives, the estate will go to whoever
that
is.”
“Uh,” I began with hesitation. “That apparently has already happened.”
Johnathan froze midway through tearing more from the wall, and turned to look at me, eyes bright behind his little nose–pinching glasses. “They didn’t inform me—”
“The new curator of the museum has already been installed. I haven’t met him. I wasn’t even given his name. We were all sacked. The
entire
staff of the museum. I couldn’t even get into my office to clear it out.”
“But you could break in,” Johnathan began, life coming back to his eyes, “You know that building better than anyone.”
“And do what? I already have the artifact and the journal with the transcription. I already have all of the paperwork related to Carmichael’s expedition safely in my studio. What more do I need from that place?”
“Sheam!” Johnathan shouted, suddenly on his knees in front of where I sat, grabbing my hands. “The
speed
of it! Doesn’t that alarm you?”
“Yup,” I said with a pop. “Don’t worry, dear friend, we’re aligned in our thinking.” We didn’t need to say it at all. It really looked like the delegation
itself
was behind the killing, not a rogue element. It may have been even ordered by the Benefactors themselves.
In a fury, Johnathan began collecting the pages from the floor; and then dropped them again, arranging and grouping them, eyes darting from one corner of the mess to the other.
“I’m losing the studio,” I then declared, ruining the new vibe.
“The studio?” Johnathan said, jolting up to look at me.
“My one-room flat? My home?” I said, realizing that someone of his social class may be unfamiliar with the terminology. “I was
fired
today, Johnathan. Also, I am
not
Daelus anymore. I have no access to the archive of wealth the delegation provided for him. I have a few weeks before rent is due, and I have no money — z
ero
.”
“I’ll scrape together some leads,” Johnathan said immediately, moving from the mess on the floor to his desk. “My network of contacts is vast. I will put it to good use, actually helping someone, for once in my life.”
I tilted my head, puzzled. “Wait, to find me a new job?” I said.
He nodded. “And a new place to live. I’d offer to let you stay here, but I worry that you being too closely connected to me would raise suspicion.”
I felt a little warmth growing inside of me. It was kind of him. “Thank you. That will take a lot of worry off my shoulders.”
He nodded and flashed me a grand smile. “For you, my dear friend, I’d move mountains.”
His kindness had taken me off guard. Suddenly, I realized that I felt safe. Just as suddenly I felt a quiver in my chest. I felt short of breath. That quiver quickly reached my throat. I felt it contract. Then it reached my chin which tightened and clenched. Finally it reached my eyes, and I couldn't hold back anymore.
I let out a pathetic cry of pure feeling. It startled Johnathan. The next thing I knew I was doubled over, sobbing. Now that it was all over, my body had let go. All of the terror was now gushing out of me. I shook and wailed, my throat and face hurting from the force of it.
“Sheam? What… what do you need? What can I do?” Johnathan asked helplessly.
I couldn't answer even if I wanted to. There was also no answer to give. He had already done what he needed to; he had made me feel safe. Everything that I had held tightly in check since the moment I had realized that there were intruders in my home now needed to come out. I had no choice. It was coming out.
Johnathan started to run up and down his bookcases. “Maybe a volume on… uh… how to calm down a woman?” He stammered, completely out of his depth, but still clearly so caring.
Frustrated but appreciative, I slid out of my chair and onto the floor. I looked at him through my tears and reached one hand out, gesturing emphatically. “Just, hold onto me, silly man.”
He did so, in a rush. He scooped me up and clung to me. I clung right back. Slowly I felt myself calming down, but then something surprising shook up out of me.
“Sheam, are you… laughing?” He asked, pulling away in surprise.
“Yeah,” I said, letting it take me. Breathlessly I managed, “bet this isn't how you imagined our first caring embrace, huh?”
“I… no.” He suddenly seemed sheepish, but he didn't let go. “No, I was sure I would have been the one who was crying.”
I laughed even harder. He joined in. Finally, I felt myself calm. It was over. I had escaped. I was safe. I was
myself
.
“It really is you, isn't it?” Johnathan asked, a look of surprise in his eyes.
I laughed all over again. “What gave it away?” I prodded.
“I don't know. I feel like I'm meeting you for the first time, and yet, you're so much the you I felt was always just under the surface. Still…”
I looked at him closely. “You hoped that the
me
just under the surface was a gay man, not a woman?” I asked teasingly, trying to soften the truth.
“Ah, well,” he mumbled. It wasn't a denial.
I patted him gently, and moved to get up. He stood and straightened his vest, clearly feeling vulnerable.
Wanting to distract him from the awkward topic, I reached into my bag and pulled out the journal and artifact. “We need to find a safe place for these,” I said. “Not here, I guess. Do you think we can trust Grégoire?” I knew the answer before I even asked the question.
Johnathan looked over the catastrophe of pages, pins, and red strings all over the floor, and what remained of it on the corkboard. “
No
, and not anyone else. Not a single delegate can be trusted. Even if they weren’t directly involved, their loyalty is to the Benefactors.” The unspoken new reality hung in the air. Johnathan’s loyalty to all of that was now as good as dust.
“Okay, for my safekeeping then,” I said, eyes moving to the two objects in my hand, mysterious, important, and apparently dangerous. I resolved then and there to continue my work cleaning and transcribing it. Maybe when I had the full text, it would shed some light on this whole thing.
Johnathan found Grégoire’s image, and pinned it back to the wall. “He also knows you have Randall’s journal. Is it safe as well?” The word JOURNAL was quickly written in big blocky lettering next to the portrait, with a string connecting the two.
I nodded. “It’s right here,” I said, producing the second, far older journal from my bag. “I always keep it with me. But Johnathan, if they knew I was Daelus’ entourage, they would have gone for me at the museum. There were police there too. They all got a good look at me. I think that’s a dead end.”
He nodded, thinking, and silently pinned a sketch of Randall and Jaegré nearby, though he hesitated on the placement of the red string between the three.
I watched for a good thirty minutes as Johnathan continued to work. He pinned up an image of Delphiné, a lavish illustration, no doubt a print of a piece she had commissioned herself. Johnathan scrawled KNOWS? next to her and attached a red string from her head to the word ARTIFACT. The connection was tenuous and not based on any facts. I felt like she was only on the board because Johnathan didn’t like her.
Kaite went onto the board. She was, after all, the delegation’s assassin. On the other hand, nothing about what I had experienced matched her reputation. Her mode of operation was reportedly far more personal.
In spite of those tangents, a clear pattern was present, and had been this entire time. Grégoire’s portrait had red strings to both ARTIFACT and JOURNAL. “It looks bad for your dear Grégoire Layne,” Johnathan said, tapping his chin.
I sighed. “Yes, he knows I had access to both items. So do
you
. Why aren’t
you
on the board then?”
“No need to protect him, dear Sheam, I know he was also a frie—”
“Motive, means, and opportunity, Johnathan. You have been repeating those three words to me this entire time. What are Grégoire’s?”
Johnathan's eyes were filled with an unexpected fury. “I swear, this was a
trap
he laid for you. There’s a
grudge
he holds against you, and I aim to find it.” I wanted to attack his logic, which was conspicuously absent, but it suddenly occurred to me that there was more here — jealousy? Was it Johnathan who held the grudge?
I cast the thought aside. “Let’s just…
not
jump to conclusions, okay? I don’t want our search for answers about this to cause trouble for anyone it doesn’t need to or alienate friends it doesn’t have to.”
“Goodness, Sheam, there’s been a murder! Our own organization is undoubtedly behind it! Some trouble
must
be made!”
“And if it gets linked from you back to me, what then? I’m a stranger here. I have you, yes, but everyone else I know is a delegate, and is now a potential enemy. I am broke. Very soon I may have no
home
. I need to catch my breath and regain my footing before I put everything at risk to solve a murder that was very likely orchestrated by the most powerful organization in the entire world.”
“But Sheam, it means you have nothing to lose! What better time to strike back!”
“I have,” I said, putting both hands on my chest, "
everything
to lose. In this moment, I have more to lose than I
ever
had in my life. I have never been
less
anxious to risk throwing away what I have.”
He slowed down. “I understand. Yes, I am sorry. I think I understand. This is very different for me and you. You are just starting this brand new life for yourself.” He looked at the still scattered and unfinished murder board a moment longer, and returned to his desk. “I think I know a few merchants who could use an assistant,” he said to me over his shoulder.
I let out a long breath. I was ready to let go, just for the time being, but I wasn’t sure that Johnathan was. Maybe he wanted justice — maybe revenge.
All I wanted, in that moment, was a bit of safety, a bit of stability — ironically, everything the Benefactors claimed to be here to provide.