“You know, it would be convenient if we had more than three people. We could split up and cover more ground in pairs.” She paused, then added, “but I’m willing to take my chances. So, I’ll cover a three-mile radius on this side, you guys do the same on that side. Look for anything that seems suspicious, and mostly try to seek out someone who speaks enough English to help us decode that relic. Even with the tiniest knowledge of French, no part of the riddle on the relic makes sense. If you find something or someone, come find me. If not, we’ll plan to meet back here as soon as we’re finished covering ground.”
Disappearing into a fairly busy crowd, Salem got to work studying people to see if any looked out of the ordinary. It seemed futile to judge people based on their appearances considering how easy it had been to change theirs. The clothing Salem had stolen had practically fallen into her lap, and if it had been so easy for them it would be twice as easy for whoever their enemy was. There was nothing about these missions that wasn’t perfectly calculated and perfectly timed. Salem knew that somewhere out there, probably hidden in plain sight, was their enemy. And before she killed them, she wanted answers. She deserved answers.
As she continued working her way through the crowd, a man caught her eye. He stood out amongst the group of fair-skinned, fair-featured Europeans that seemed to make up a majority of the crowd. He had dark, curly hair and tan skin like her and her brother. In fact, she forced herself to give him a second glance because saw Grimm everywhere and in everyone. She wondered if it would ever be different, if she would ever get over his disappearance. Perhaps even if she got him back, she would still see his face in a stranger’s or smell his cologne in a bar and think he had been there just before her, just barely slipping out of her reach. Saving Grimm was the only reason she was willing to put her life on the line for these missions, he was the only thing in her life that was worth dying for.
“[Do you speak Arabic?] Or English?” She switched smoothly between the two languages, studying him with a sharp, intense expression. She had been careful not to reveal herself to anyone other than him because she feared what she didn’t know. She had little knowledge of history to draw from, and she didn’t want to leave her life up to a coin toss on whether tensions were high between the French and the English or the French and the Middle East during these times. She wondered if they were being purposefully left in the dark--surely with the extensive thought that had been put into this operation, someone may have thought to throw in a linguist or a historian. All they had were three military members with extensive knowledge in limited fields.
The man’s eyes lit up, and he watched her curiously. “[Arabic],” he replied gently, “[but not very well. Do you speak Spanish? Or Portuguese?]”
“[No],” she countered, crossing her arms. “[But if you speak French, I need your help. Lives depend on it.]”
He watched her with a skeptical expression, but followed her as she turned to leave. “[Wait, where are you going?]”
“[I need you to translate something for me. It’s a riddle, it won’t take long.]”
“[I will do it],” he obliged, his strides opening to close in on hers. Soon they walked in unison, headed towards the area she had last left Wiremu and Reagan to explore. “[Under one condition.]”
“[Name your price.]”
“[I request your company this evening. There is a ball, and I would like you to go with me.]” She spun around to face him, arms crossed. Her green eyes were feisty and wild. She displayed more skepticism than he had moments earlier, and he continued. “[I am surprised you do not know who I am.]”
“[And who are you?]”
“[A prince.]”
His eyes glowed with implied arrogance. Salem sighed, arms still crossed. She didn’t get paid enough to interact with long-deceased royalty in a way that demanded respect. “[I don’t believe you. Prove it.]”
She continued walking, and he followed suit. It was more of a pursuit now than a casual walk along the lawn. “[I’m the second heir of Andalusia, that’s why I speak Arabic. Some of the Muslim influence remains though they are long gone. The language still lives in parts of my country.]”
“[Why are you here?]”
“[To study the arts.]”
Salem swallowed, a massive revelation making her blood freeze. “[Your name is Henrique.]”
He nodded, seeming pleased that she remembered him now. The look on her face did not reflect nonchalance, it reflected panic. This man’s paintings were on the wall in the exhibit in the Louvre: she had been set up. She wasn’t sure how, yet, but she had been set up.
“[So, will you accompany me to the ball?]”
“[I don’t speak French, I won’t make for good company.]”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her towards him gracefully. She scowled up at him, but he smiled in an antagonizing manner and replied, “[but I do, and I would like to have you there. My help in exchange for your time, do we have an agreement?]”
Salem frowned, swallowed, then nodded grimly. “[Yes.]”
…
Once they had found Reagan and Wiremu, Salem looked at them with a concerned expression, gesturing to Henrique who stood beside her. She didn’t say anything, hoping they understood what she was wordlessly trying to get across to them. “He doesn’t speak English, but he speaks Arabic and French. Hand him the relic.”
“[This is an ugly poem],” Henrique muttered to Salem while he wrote the translation down from French to Arabic. “[It doesn’t rhyme at all, it doesn’t seem to match.]”
Reading the translation, Salem sighed, then translated it into English. Not so much to Henrique as to herself, she replied in English, “That’s because it was never meant to be read in French, it had to be translated from French to Arabic, then from Arabic to English.” She sighed, then sat down on the grass, slightly pale. She couldn’t think about it too much. Someone out there knew she spoke Arabic, who? Only a handful of people knew that about her, and she couldn’t see any of them as capable of something like this. If she thought too much about it, it only led to panic.
“Where five seek, but three succeed. Where three seek, but one proceeds.”
“What does that even mean?” Reagan complained, taking a seat next to Salem on the grass. Henrique stood awkwardly, not understanding what they were saying or why they were sitting on the ground.
“What if it’s talking about the portal home? What if it’s only open to a certain number of people, and there are people here that want to get out? Either way, it doesn’t make sense. I don’t know how to make it make sense, either.”
Sighing, she rose to her feet, thanking Henrique for his assistance and assuring him that she would meet him at the ball in the evening. She had no intentions of doing so, but she couldn’t help the nagging feeling that he had something to do with their mission.
After she was certain he was out of earshot, she sat back down between the two men and began speaking again. “He’s important to this mission somehow. Whoever is doing this knows that I speak Arabic. No one knows that beyond my immediate family. On top of that, his paintings were the ones in the exhibit the portal activated in. He said he would help us with the relic if I went to a ball with him this evening. As much as every bone in my body resents the very notion, I’m starting to think I should go. Maybe there’s something there that we need to know. The only problem is, one person that doesn’t speak French isn’t all that suspicious. Three people that don’t might be. I don’t know if I should go alone or if I should find a way to sneak you both in. Anyway, did the two of you find anything?”
Windy with Flurries
