Caradon’s driver had told them that there were many amulet shops in Amanthus, but that there was only one of any significance located in Old Amanthus on Galen Avenue, a small street alleyway running parallel to the cemetery surrounding the Temple. Amulet shops, usually small, were prolific and often earned their profits from the poor and superstitious or the more wealthy eccentrics. They usually carried everything from lockets inlayed with health and love spells to large amulets, as large as a man’s fist, designed to be nailed to doors to ward off the evil eye.
Zan had never been to an amulet shop. Such things, in her mind, were hoaxes, the refuge of the superstitious and those overly concerned with magic although those same persons had no real magical ability themselves. Amulet shops were the suppliers of false witches and magicians and supposed cures for everything from colds and headaches to simple malaise. Then she remembered her father’s jade amulet that she was still wearing and the larger one in her reticule. Instinctively, her hand formed a fist above her breastbone.
In the shadows of the carriage, Caradon’s gaze tracked her movements.
She turned to look out the window, to watch the wretched, run-down buildings of Old Amanthus pass by to avoid his eyes. Some of the questions that he had of her applied to him as well. Why was he so interested in her uncle’s experiments? Why was he so interested in what she was doing or why she was going to resurrect his experiments? What lurked underneath that hard gaze and what sort of secrets hid beneath that enigmatic smile of his? Why was he so interested in her and why did he so suddenly remind her of that dream?
You dared me. You cannot ignore me.
On the outside, she did nothing to indicate that she heard anything. Those dark thoughts suddenly intruding themselves on her mind made her want to cover her ears. But she knew that covering her ears wouldn’t solve anything. She would have still heard it if she were deaf.
What? Suddenly afraid of me? You were oh so bold before.
He knew that she could hear him. Or did he? Was he simply testing himself, trying to see if he could goad her? And if she responded, could he hear her? And you have no tact, she projected.
She saw the slightest jerk of his head. “Miss Hu…”
The carriage stopped and Zan gripped the edge of the window before she could pitch forward.
The amulet shop was a narrow three story building of brick that had been stained completely black. The neighboring buildings were tall as well with windows filled with nailed wood boards or dark, dirty glass. A small stoop graced the green-black front door of the amulet shop with a wrought iron railing that was tilted at a drunken angle. A tarnished sign hung above the door and one could barely make out the shop’s name, “Eridanus Amulets.”
Zan stepped out of the carriage without the driver’s help and surveyed the surroundings with a cool eye. The street was empty but everything seemed dirty and rotting. A strong odor of decay came from everywhere at once making her wish that her sense of smell wasn’t so keen. She heard Caradon get out of the carriage after her as she walked up the store stoop and pushed the door open.
An old bell attached to the corner of the door rang weakly, almost overshadowed by the creaking of the door. Inside, the amulet shop smelled musty and old and the sunlight was mostly filtered out by the dirty windows and even heavier curtains. For a moment, she stood near the entrance, letting her eyes adjust.
Two lamps lit the store, both of them sitting on a long counter running along one side of the room. The walls of the shop were floor to ceiling drawers with tiny hand-painted numbers underneath the knobs. It looked just like a bank vault that had gone to seed. No one was out on the main floor of the shop.
“Perhaps the owner is out to lunch,” Caradon said lowly.
“Lunch? I doubt it. He’s probably sleeping in the back room. Considering the neighborhood, I doubt this shop gets many customers.” She walked to one of the walls and randomly pulled out one of the drawers. She lifted out a necklace made of round orange beads. She dropped it back into the drawer and pulled out another one. The second drawer contained broaches made of polished hematite that winked silver gray in the dim lamp light. They reminded her of Caradon’s eyes.
“Number seven four eight two. Ladies’ broaches. Cabochon hematite.”
At the sound of the rasping voice, Zan deliberately placed the broach back into the drawer and closed it before turning around. A lanky figure stood at the end of the counter, dressed in brown trousers and coat that fell into folds indicating the suit was too large for him. Stringy brown hair plastered against the man’s forehead. His face was pock-marked but his eyes were clear and assessing. It was surprising since she detected the sting of alcohol in the air.
The man cocked his head, his gaze on Caradon. Apparently he deemed Zan beneath his notice. “I’m Eridanus. At your service. I know every item in my store. Every owner must know his own inventory. Are you looking for a specific piece for your wife, sir?”
An amused, ironic smile flitted at the edge of Caradon’s mouth at the word wife. She turned a swift glare at him but he wasn’t cowed. Instead, he replied, “I wouldn’t dare be so autocratic as to choose what a wife should wear.”
“Wise man,” chuckled the owner of the amulet shop unaware of Caradon’s sarcastic tone.
Zan thought about sharpening claws on the man’s face. One wouldn’t be able to tell the difference afterwards due to all those pockmarks. Her patron reached out to grab her left wrist and squeezed gently in warning. Damn the man for reading her body language correctly.
“Hematite is a perfect stone for ladies,” Eridanus continued, oblivious to the byplay. “The word ‘hematite’ is from a word of the Ancients meaning ‘blood’. It is said that it helps soothe the female ailments, to cure hysteria, and to center the mind, body, and spirit. Quite a benefit for a woman, don’t you think?”
“Only if the woman in question wants to be a docile, mindless thing,” Zan retorted.
“What, you like hysterical females?” said the shop owner aghast.
Caradon’s smile turned into a grin. She had the impression that he would be laughing if the place and the audience weren’t so inappropriate. “I prefer the word feisty myself.”
The shop owner shook his head and decided to continue his sales pitch. “Many ladies are quite fond of hematite jewelry. Not only does it have practical uses.” At that, Zan gave a small huff. Superstitious uses, more like. “But it is also quite fashionable in the upper circles. It is even said that the Queen had a million hematite beads sewn onto one of her evening gowns. Of course, hematite can also be quite beneficial to a man as well. I have several signet rings that you may take a look at, sir. The Ancients regarded the stone very highly for it means success for a petition you may have with a person of authority. The Ancients also associated hematite with one of their gods of war and it was accounted that warriors would wear the stone for good luck into a battle. Nowadays in more civilized society, battle is perhaps more of a metaphor for securing business deals.”
“That is all very interesting,” said Caradon.
“I am here for information, not jewelry shopping,” Zan cut in. Her blunt tone caused the shop owner’s head to jerk toward her, his eyes widening. He looked at Caradon inquiringly, but Zan’s patron simply feigned disinterest.
“Ma’am?”
“My uncle was a customer of yours not so long ago,” she said. “It is of utmost importance for me to know precisely what he inquired of you and what he purchased from you if anything.”
“I don’t usually give out privileged information about that, ma’am.” His eyes reluctantly fixed on her as her eyes shone, intent. His body swayed on his feet as if he were drunk. Or hypnotized.
“Mr. Eridanus, it is quite important. It would set my mind at ease, of course, since he passed away not so long ago.” She grinned at him, showing sharp teeth.
“Passed away?” he choked. His hands trembled as he clasped them in front of his chest.
“His name is Elliot Waterstone. Do you have any records of him?”
Suddenly, the shop owner straightened to his full height and shook his head vigorously. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” His eyes narrowed onto her, fully suspicious. “I’ve never heard of that name before. You must have the wrong shop.”
“Then have you any customers from the Academy?” she asked. “Any at all? What sort of things did you sell them?”
“No! I don’t have any customers from the Academy! What would such men of science,” and he spat the word science out as if it were a fly he had inadvertently eaten from his stew, “want to do with a place like this?”
“If an inventor, for instance, were to ask you about any ideal materials he would have on his project about magnetism or electricity, what would you recommend…”
“I wouldn’t recommend anything! I don’t know anything about that. I don’t know why you ask so many questions, ma’am. Are you here looking for a specific piece or not?” His eyes shifted away from her, and he cough nervously after his sudden outburst.
Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. “And you wouldn’t recommend hematite, Mr. Eridanus? Magnetized hematite? I should think that every respectable amulet seller would know all its properties. Or have you not noticed its effect on compasses?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he repeated. A mutinous and sullen expression twisted his pockmarked face into an ugly sneer.
“I wanted to look for information, but apparently, you aren’t willing to give it to me,” Zan said coldly.
