Mirages
Part 6

"More?" Pierre asked, offering the platter of eggs, sausage and mushrooms. It had been loaded when they started and after eating their fill they had barely made a dent.

"I can't eat another bite." Solomon insisted, wiping his mouth on his napkin and laying it aside to indicate that he was full. He hadn't eaten that much in weeks but Pierre's cook was excellent and he'd allowed himself to indulge. Considering he'd be leaving for Morocco soon he thought he might as well enjoy good food while he had the chance.

"I could go with you if you'd like," Pierre offered, knowing that his friend's thoughts were on his upcoming voyage.

"It would be a pleasure to have your companionship, Pierre, but I don't know how long I'll be gone. I've got to find Florian first, and then I have to convince the man who bought him to give him up. I don't think it will be a matter of offering to return his money."

"You're right, of course, but I don't like the idea of you doing this alone."

"I'll send you a telegram when I arrive in Morocco and another when I have Florian. If I run into trouble, I'll let you know. Your friend Monsieur Campion said that he has acquaintances in Italy with associates in Morocco. If I run into trouble perhaps you could ask him to assist." Normally Solomon wouldn't make such a request - he was used to looking out for himself and he was usually very cautious but it couldn't hurt to have some contingency plans in place should something go wrong and Solomon needed an ally in a foreign land.

"Right, then. I suppose that's the best we can settle on. I still don't like it Solly, but you make your own decisions. And in this, I think you're doing the right thing in getting the lad out of there. That Romwell fellow is a bad sort from what I've heard - into all kinds of funny business. He can't want the lad for anything good."

"No, Solomon agreed, speaking carefully. "Nothing good." He lifted his coffee cup and sipped the comfortingly hot beverage while thinking of Madame Rochefort's only son, sold to a man of questionable morals, believing his mother was dead and that he was without friends in a country far from home.

Solomon looked over at Pierre, making faces at whatever he was reading in the newspaper and chewing on the end of his pipe. He was grateful beyond words for his friends in general and this one in particular. Even if chewing on pipe stems was a habit that drove Solomon crazy.
 

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"I've brought your breakfast," Laila told Ray quietly as she pushed the cart into the room and set out plates and cups and silverware. She moved swiftly but didn't make any unnecessary noise as Florian was still asleep. The man was curled against Ray, one arm draped across Ray's chest and his head tucked against Ray's shoulder. Ray had an arm around his shoulder holding him close. Both men were naked, but Ray had heard Laila approaching and had draped a blanket over their lower halves.

When Laila was finished setting out the breakfast, she brought over the jar of ointment and sat down on the bed beside Florian. Very gently she began to treat his wounds.

"Uuunn?" Florian said sleepily, shifting away from the cold ointment towards the heat of Ray's body. He settled in again and closed his eyes, a small smile on his face.

"Not a morning person?" Ray asked Laila. She shook her head, no, and kept working. After a moment Florian shifted again and mumbled. This time Ray decided it was time to wake the other man up. He could sleep again later if he needed to. He picked up the cup of coffee Laila had placed on the nightstand and held it close to Florian's nose. The blond made a face, but his eyes opened.

"Morning," Ray said with exaggerated cheer - he wasn't much of a morning person either.

"Morning," Florian mumbled, sniffling as he tried to roll onto his back only to be stopped by Ray and Laila. "What?" and then he realized what that coldness was on his back. "Oh. Thank you Laila," he said politely.

"You're welcome. Sit up now so I can wrap these and then I need to see your wrists." He complied, careful to keep his lower half covered as he moved, but leaving Ray to scramble for his own share of the blankets.

"Thanks," Ray muttered, wrapping up in a blanket before sliding out of bed. Taking his coffee along, he settled in at the table and loaded his plate while he watched Laila finish treating and binding Florian's wounds. Some of them did look a little better today - her healing ointment seemed to be working. He'd have to ask her to give him some before they parted ways - Noir was prone to small scrapes and bruises.

"Thank you, Laila," Florian said softly as she finished treating him. He gave her a warm smile and touched her hand. "I'm sorry to take so much of your time. I know you have other duties."

"Don't worry about my duties. You can give me less work by not aggravating your master." It was risky teasing Florian like this - she'd gotten it wrong a few times before and he'd gone quiet and melancholy. She hadn't been able to bring him out of it once, and Azura had shown his displeasure by making the man bleed. He hadn't blamed her, but she'd felt responsible for the pain he'd suffered and she'd worked very hard to help him recover both his health and his good humor. Thankfully, Count Courland seemed to be helping - the two men were certainly taken with each other. It pleased her to see that they were so comfortable in each other's presence and that the Count seemed willing and able to offer comfort to the other man.

"I'll try my best not to aggravate Azura, but I make no such promises for you," Florian bantered back, clearly in a good mood after waking up in Ray's arms, even if he was embarrassed at being half-naked in her presence.

"It's part of my job, aggravating you. Now go eat and let me get to my other duties. I'll be back for the tray in an hour. If you need me beforehand, use the bell." She smiled at the face Florian made at her - they both knew only Azura and occasionally his guests were allowed to use the bells to summon servants.

She took her ointment and left, catching a glimpse of Florian standing up draped only in a sheet as she went. It was a nice view, but she preferred the one she'd gotten of Count Courland.
 

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Madame Rochefort greeted her friend warmly, taking in the pleasant view of the gardens through the open patio doors. She'd appealed to her dear friend for a place to stay in private while she recovered from the shock of the fire and separation from her son. She'd known Eloise all her life, a distant relative who'd had her own share of traumas and understood the need to be discreet and occasionally secretive.

Helene du Rochefort was grateful for the time to rest and think and to catch up with Eloise. She'd be leaving France soon enough - for good - and was glad to have this visit, especially if it was to be their last.

She noted that the food wasn't done quite as well as her cook would have prepared it, but it was acceptable and she was hungry. The tea was more appreciated for it's lovely aroma and warmth. She over-sweetened it, needing the energy for the day ahead.

"You look rested," Eloise said, taking a sip of her own tea. She'd eaten breakfast already, not knowing if Helene would be up to joining her after arriving so late the previous evening. She'd been shocked when she'd read about the fire destroying the Rochefort mansion, but she hadn't really believed that her friend was dead. When she'd received the telegram - hand delivered - she knew that there was more at work than a case of mistaken identity.

There was more to the story than Helene had told her - she understood that. She'd had a few scrapes in her own past that she'd never fully explained to anyone. But Helene had always been there for her and she was glad to repay a little of that kindness now. She didn't press for answers, or bring up painful subjects. She couldn't stand forced conversation when talk wasn't necessary at all, so she sat, and sipped her tea and waited for more of the story to unfold, trusting that whatever it was that had brought her friend to her doorstep would be revealed in time.

Eloise only had one wish in the matter, but she kept it to herself for now. She wanted to offer whatever encouragement or enticement she could to convince Helene to find her beloved son Florian and to bring the boy home.

Eloise had never had children of her own - not that lived anyway - and Helene had been gracious enough to share her precious child. They'd summered together when the boy was young, after his father had passed away, and she'd taken charge of him more than once. He was a sensitive and headstrong creature - much like his mother, and much like Eloise herself.

And so, while she sipped her tea and waited, Eloise began to plan.
 

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"Take a drink," Ray ordered pushing Florian's coffee cup closer while thumping Florian on the back. The man was coughing, trying to clear his throat after inhaling some of his beverage.

"What set that off?" Ray demanded when Florian had settled again, wiping his eyes and reaching for his coffee again with an unsteady hand.

They were discussing the new information Laila had provided about the Queen's treasures and their connection to the riddle Ray had been trying to solve. He'd reached the part about the treasures themselves, reeling off the names by memory when Florian had let out a small gasp and started choking.

"The Queen's Flame," Florian replied weakly. "You believe that's one of the legendary treasures?"

"According to Laila it is. Have you heard of it?"

"Not the others, no. But the Queen's Flame – I know of a jewel with that name. Did Laila give you a description of it?" Florian was calmer now and there was something of an air of resolve about him that Ray found curious. If he hadn't heard of the Flame, how would Florian know of it? Unless…

"The Rochefort diamond!" Ray practically threw himself at Florian gripping the man's arms as he demanded an answer. "Did your family hold the Queen's Flame?"

Florian went so pale that Ray expected him to pass out, but he regained control of himself. Shaking off Ray's hold, he pushed back his chair and rose, pacing a short distance off and then finally returning. He reclaimed his seat, sitting rigidly, his manner formal and remote.

"As the last son of the Rochefort line it falls to me to protect the family." He faltered for a moment adding, "Despite what my mother may believe." He regained his composure and continued. "At eighteen, when I claimed my title, I received a book and a letter from the family solicitor. It was required that I read them both in his office and return them to his safekeeping when I had finished. They contained information about family history and detailed my responsibilities as the Duke du Rochefort."

"You're a Duke?" Ray hadn't really thought of the other man's position. In fact he couldn't remember ever hearing it before now.

"I am. Was. Perhaps I still am." He brushed it off easily, but Ray wondered how much that casual dismissal of something that was so central to most aristocrats cost the man. "It's of little importance now that I've no family or home, nor even my own freedom." Florian leaned closer, gripping Ray's arm urgently. "What is important is the history I learned about the family's legendary diamond. It divulges no secrets to tell you that at one time the Rochefort family did hold such a gem and it was called the Queen's Flame."

"Does the family still hold this diamond?" Ray asked urgently, wondering if Florian would admit it even if they did. But then he remembered that the family had been so far in debt he'd sold himself to a man who abused him – would he have sacrificed his freedom to save a family treasure?

"The Queen's Flame is a cursed gem – one that brings unhappiness and death. It was taken at great cost and forced an alliance that never should have been made. My ancestors bled and died for it, and anyone who touched it afterward came to harm. My grandfather, many times removed lost his bride because of it and in his grief he ordered it hidden away in a place where no one – family or thief – would ever lay hands on it and live to possess it or profit by it.

"I was marked by it at birth," Florian said bitterly, "and sold my freedom for it – to a man who values it more than my life." He raised his hand to stop Ray's comment before adding. "And that is the last complaint you will hear from me about the matter. I know the blame I carry in this by choosing Azura over the others – Hobson's choice though it may have been."

"I'm not making a judgment," Ray assured him. "Is there anything else you can tell me about the diamond? What it looked like – if there are any other stories about it? Anything might help."

"It was a large diamond – almost the size of a man's fist from what I've read. It was almost round with many tiny facets so that it shone brightly even in dim light. I don't know more than that."

"What about your ancestors – surely there were stories passed down or written down in the family records."

"If there was anything, I never knew of it. It would be of no use now anyway – the house and what was left inside is nothing more than ashes." Florian's tone had changed as had his manner – he seemed weary beyond measure but he listened patiently while Ray asked another question.

"You said that the possession of the diamond forced an alliance that should never have been made. Who was that alliance with? And why should it not have been made?" Ray knew he should stop, that he should respect Florian's effort to uphold his family's secrets, but he also wanted to help Florian understand that protecting himself was more important than preserving secrets for people who were long dead.

"Even the Rochefort family has some members who were motivated by money or power more than family honor or loyalty." Florian sat back and crossed his arms, making it clear he wouldn't say any more about the matter.

There was more Ray wanted to ask but he recognized the signs of stubbornness in the man's jaw and the way his eyes had gone hard. He'd get nothing more by pushing now and might even ruin his chances to return to the subject in the future. Better to let it go. He rested his hand on Florian's arm for a moment then rose and went to the wardrobe where he located his flask. He handed it to Florian without a word.

"I've just had breakfast," Florian said, a hint of a smile breaking through. He took the flask anyway and downed a healthy swallow before returning it. He shook his head at the burn.

"Never hurts to be early," Ray replied before taking a drink too. He set the flask on the table between them, an open invitation for Florian to help himself. He took out his cigar case and offered it to Florian – who refused – before taking one for himself and lighting it. He inhaled deeply and held the smoke for a long moment before blowing it out again.

Florian watched and shuddered, turning his head away, remembering the night before and the disconnected helplessness he always felt when Azura made him smoke. He'd never taken up the habit by choice and now he didn't think he ever would.

"Come with me," Ray stood abruptly, cigar clenched in his teeth and his eyes alight with mischief. "We're going out."

"What? Out where?" Florian spluttered. Without realizing it he cast a nervous glance around the room.

"We're going to look up an old friend." Ray patted his pocket, checking for his wallet. "If you're good I'll buy you something in the market."

Florian made a face at the taunt, but Ray noticed that he didn't object to the idea of a treat.
 

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"You're as lovely as ever my dear lady," Campion said as he bowed low over Eloise's hand, brushing his lip across it lightly. His mustache tickled.

"And you must be Lady du Rochefort." He turned and greeted Helene the same way, but with a bit less familiarity.

"Now then," he said as he settled into the comfortable armchair he favored when visiting his friend Eloise. "I understand, Madame, that you have a few items you wish me to appraise for you?"

"They are family heirlooms. Quite old. I'm still not certain I want to part with them but Eloise suggested I have them appraised before I make a decision either way."

"A wise suggestion to be sure. I'm happy to take a look at them for you." He cleared his throat loudly and looked hopefully at Eloise. She laughed and shook her head, already heading for the cabinet where she kept a bottle of single malt just for him.

"Thank you, dear. I am a bit dry," he told her as she poured. For herself and Helene there was a nice red wine and they enjoyed their drinks and conversation for a quarter of an hour before Campion was ready to see the items.

Eloise had covered a large tray with a folded black velvet wrap and Helene had laid out the items on it. She had cleaned them herself, not wanting any of the servants to know she had them. The metal had mellowed from a bright gold to a lovely honey color making the jewels stand out brightly.

"Remarkable," Campion said as he leaned closer, scrutinizing the objects. He looked up at them smiling. "Appraising items this old is a rare pleasure, but this is my second lot this week."

"It is?" Helene said a bit sharply. When Campion looked up at her in surprise, she smoothed her features into a smile and asked, "The other items were just like these? These have been in the family so long I came to believe that they were somewhat unique."

"They are, they are." Campion assured her. "Look at that patina. Beautiful. And the craftsmanship there. Nothing like it these days to be sure. The other things must have been about the same age as these. Fantastic."

While Campion studied the items, Eloise and Helene had a silent conversation. Helene seemed determined to have the name of the other possessor of rare artifacts, so Eloise topped off Campion's glass and charmed him with conversation.

By the time he set down the last artifact and drained his glass – again – she knew the name of the other man – Sugar – and she knew that Helene had the confirmation she wanted.

She escorted the two guests off to a late supper in the dining room, smiling and laughing as she played the perfect host. And all the while she waited for when Campion would leave and she and Helene could have a nice, long conversation.
 

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"You're going to burn if you don't keep that on," Ray pointed out when he saw that Florian had let the hood of his cloak fall back from his face again. They'd had to walk past the marketplace on the way to visit Ray's old friend and Florian kept getting distracted by the wares and the merchants.

"You're worse than a kid," Ray grumbled as he grabbed Florian's hand and pulled him along. He'd grown accustomed to cooler climates and it was taking a while for him to adjust to being in the Moroccan heat. He was fairly safe from burning, however, unlike his flighty companion, who wouldn't last ten minutes uncovered. Ray really didn't want to answer to Azura if he returned Florian sunburned or suffering from heat stroke.

"Who are we going to meet?" Florian asked, finally pulling his attention away from the distractions of the market. He hoped there would be time for them to explore later once Ray had visited his friend. Florian had been in Morocco this long and had only been in central marketplace a handful of times. Besides, it would be much easier navigating with Ray - Florian had a tendency to get lost.

"His name is Isaac, and he's an old friend. He watched out for all the orphans in the area - gave us food sometimes or old clothes. He made sure we had lessons too, but we made him work for it - having to chase us with that cane of his."

'Sounds like a nice man." Florian was pleased that Ray had had someone looking out for him. He and his mother had given what they could spare to local orphanages, but there were so many children and not much left to give at the end.

He was an orphan now too, he realized. He hadn't really thought of it in those terms before. For all of Azura's faults, he'd done some kind things - especially in the days after his mother... Florian didn't remember much about those, but he knew that he was fed and cared for and he had one clear memory of lying in Azura's arms weeping, but there was no real connection to any of that and he didn’t try to make it clearer. The pain of his mother's loss was a permanent ache in his chest but he'd learned to live with it now.

"We're almost there. Pull your hood down... We're attracting too much attention already." Ray pulled Florian along impatiently, aware of the interested eyes tracking their movements. He had no worries for his own safety - he was fast and agile and knew how to fight, but Florian was the kind of easy target thieves dream of. He had no sense of the people watching them from the shadows, nor did he seem to understand what would happen to a pretty white man in such a place.

Azura provided some level of protection, but he wasn't here and Florian could be well hidden before Azura returned. Of course, given Azura's mood, those people might die when he caught them, but it wasn't a sure thing.

No, better to move quickly and get to Isaac's house before there was a problem. Ray made a mental note to berate himself later for his own stupidity in bringing Florian along. It had been an impulsive offer, and Ray wasn't usually impulsive. But he did want to walk the marketplace with Florian and perhaps share a few memories with the man - someone who would probably be able to understand the wonder of the place for a young boy - even one who knew first-hand the dangers there as well.

"You love it here, don't you?" Florian asked suddenly, slowing a little but still moving along behind Ray without protest. He glanced up towards the bright cloudless sky so far overhead. It was like looking up from the bottom of the ocean.

Around them was dirt and poverty. The buildings were dingy and in disrepair, the people were ragged and watched them with suspicious gazes but still... It reminded Florian of the time he'd gotten lost in the wrong section of Paris and had wandered like a visitor in a foreign land. He'd been frightened, but he'd also been filled with curiosity and wonder that a place could be so dismal and yet contain surprising beauty.

Florian's uncle used to call him a dreamer and had often lectured him about the real world and the need to be cynical and prepared for anything. Florian had listened, but no matter how many times the words entered his ears, they never took root in his heart.
 

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"Let me see that." Pierre leaned over and snatched the letter out of Solomon's hand, studying it intently. He turned it over then back again and read it once more. "I can't believe you got an invitation to tea from Lady Fairmont herself." Pierre pulled back and grinned, tapping Solomon with the invitation. "It does say you can bring a guest."

"And you just happen to be free, I suppose?" Solomon countered, not looking up from the pile of mail he was sorting. Pierre had offered to give him a ride home and help him make arrangements to travel to Morocco. Now, apparently, he was hoping to accompany him to tea with a woman Solomon had never heard of.

"Who is Lady Fairmont and why would she invite me to tea."

"Solly," Pierre shook his head in mock despair at his friend's ignorance. "Lady Eloise Fairmont – sinfully wealthy and even more sinfully attractive. Widowed for years now and the prize that every unmarried aristocrat covets."

"Even more reason to wonder what she would want with me. I'm hardly an aristocrat and I'm not in the market for a wife."

"I should hope not!" Pierre teased. "She'd have to be a saint to put up with you. No, I suspect that we may have a mutual acquaintance or two."

Solomon pondered that for a moment, considering the list of friends and acquaintances. There certainly weren't obvious choices – most of those on the list were trades people or friends from the local pub. Pierre was likely to be the closest to an aristocrat that Solomon ever got. Unless…

"Madame Rochefort?" Solomon asked, mind working overtime to remember any information he might have ever read about her or Lady Fairmont. Given the limited circle that aristocrats seemed to travel in, it was likely that they were related in some way.

"Perhaps. Or perhaps Campion is the clue. He does most of his appraisal work for that crowd. He's likely to be known by Lady Fairmont."

It made sense on several points – Campion had seen the artifacts Madame had given him. If Madame was staying with Lady Fairmont – another good possibility – and had asked Campion to appraise any of her remaining pieces, he was sure to have made the association. Not that he would have given too much information – he didn't believe the man was indiscreet – but it was easy to be flattered and charmed by an attractive woman and Campion did seem the type to enjoy a little flattery.

Solomon took the invitation back and scanned it again before handing it to Pierre.

"There's the phone. You make the call and tell her we accept while I sort the rest of this lot. Then you can go look through my wardrobe and see if there's anything proper for the two of us to wear."

Pierre laughed at the idea of finding something suitable in Solomon's possession – the man's sense of fashion was barely passable – but he'd make the effort for a laugh, already knowing what he'd wear from his own wardrobe, and imagining several choices he could offer his friend.

"And stop laughing," Solomon snapped, opening yet another bill. He knew Pierre would ignore him – he always did.
 

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