My name is Alan. Just Alan. I am a collector of fine and unusual antiquities and rarities. I also have a fine disregard for the law, so the nature of my collection is not openly discussed. It would be of interest to the police of several countries, some of whom have shown enough interest in my career that I find it necessary to choose my travel routes carefully.
Something has happened that drives me to take up laptop and write a carefully vague account of my recent adventure. As I type this I am flying, en route to America, having decided that Europe is a little too warm a climate for my health. Or as Americans put it in their crime novels, The Heat Is On.
The woman in the seat next to me is squirming, and flushed. She doesn't know what's gotten into her. I do. If I wasn't interested in keeping a low profile at the moment, I'd engage her in conversation, and flirt with her a little. But this is not the time to draw attention to myself.
+++
I'll pick up my story a week ago. I was in Spain, on an Austrian visa. (I'm not Austrian, but a visa is only a piece of paper and paper can say whatever you want it to say. It is never wise to trust a piece of paper, and European authorities are slowly coming to accepting this fact; another reason I am moving to America. Paper documents will never go out of style there.)
Spain has pretty countryside and a long and dark political and religious history, which means it is stuffed full of historical artifacts. That's what conflict does: it creates history, which in turn creates a regular sandstorm of valuable items and intrigues associated with them. If it isn't the sword of so-and-so, it's the last incense burner of Bishop thus-and-such, who unfortunately died from the fumes because someone who wanted his job added something unwholesome to the incense. (Yes, that happened.)
In the countryside there is a small monastery, dedicated to some minor saint, with a relic of minor interest to historians. Or rather it did have it, just a week ago. You'd think with all the teaching done about Original Sin and greed and various acquisitive vices, that churches would take guarding their treasures more seriously.
The job I was hired to do – I often work on commission – involved plucking a star sapphire from a statue in the narthex of the church. The sapphire was said to be in possession of the virgin Mary at one point. The claim is false; the church officially rejected the claim in the 1700's, and so have reputable historians; but ideas can have a long, long lifespan, and Mariologists have kept the story alive. I did my homework on the job and know that the gem was "brought back in the Crusades" by someone who never actually got as far as the middle east, and did a lot of gem trading in Greece instead; the stone is probably of Tanzanian origin. But it is large at 20 carat, and a beautiful rich blue, with a trace of gold in the star pattern. Someone was willing to pay 14,000 USD for it; a low fee for me, but also a simple job.
The old lock, mounted into the ancient oak of the door, succumbed in under an hour to 50ml of hydrofluoric acid. Picking it would have been much more satisfying, but would have involved me staying by the church door, on camera, for several minutes; and picking old locks can't be done silently. Squirting the acid required a few seconds and made less noise. When I got back an hour later, the oak was rotted, and prying the lock out was easy and quick.
I freed the gem from its golden mounting in under a minute. And while I was in there...
The church held a sanctuary lamp, the standard red glass lamp you see in the front of many churches. It's been a standard feature in Catholic churches since the early 300's. There is tradition behind these lamps; they are kept burning year around, except for a day preceding Easter. In these more modern times it's typically an electric light, but oil lamps still exist in older monasteries.
This lamp was different. It was lit by a candle; and while the monastery didn't advertise the fact, they kept it going year around, including the days Easter. Candles being more bother, and more expensive than oil, and much more expensive than LED lights, the choice was a curious one. I did some research, and found a confused tale of a candle that "had acted curiously and was confined to the monastery for study," which is the kind of writing that grabs my attention.
In short, I reached up with a candle snuffer, freed the lantern from its ceiling hook, and carried it out, pausing the blow out the candle at the door. It proved stubborn and took a lot of blowing to go out.
+++
I was full of energy that night, and I decided to walk back to my hotel room with my backpack slung over one shoulder. Abandoning the rental car at this point wasn't a problem; I was planning to do it in the morning anyway.
The full moon hung brilliantly in the southern sky. In a few hours I'd read that there would be a lunar eclipse, but not visible from here. That was a pity because stealing something during an eclipse was somehow appealing. Stealing a candle, I thought, would be especially funny. I whistled, cheerfully, wondering what would happen in the morning when the church was opened. They'd probably notice the missing lamp before they noticed the stone was gone.
The hotel was ahead; it was not a busy place, and I was a little surprised to come upon someone on the patio as I crossed it towards the door. I apparently surprised her as well. Her head turned suddenly; the outside lights were turned low, so she was mostly lit by the moon. Pretty, I thought. Very pretty, actually, with a figure her sheath dress showed off well. Her face was ringed by blonde hair; I doubted she was local.
"Hola," I said, conversationally. She tilted her head.
"Not a very convincing accent," she said in accented English. My guess wandered between German and Austrian, and settled on Austrian.
"Ist das besser?" I tried. She laughed.
"If anything, worse. Maybe you shouldn't have tried to give it an Austrian accent. Do you usually wear dark clothing and sneak up on girls at night?"
"I can't have been sneaking, with the whistling I was doing."
"Ah, that was you. It echoed strangely. Sound does in these twisted streets at night."
I settled my backpack lightly on a patio table, and maintained a respectful distance, but my eyes raked her. I have met women who claimed to be offended by this, but I've never met one who meant it. She didn't react; used to it, I assumed.
"And you? Lying in wait for men to walk innocently by? It seems suspicious. Perhaps even wicked."
"Never. I'm only out to look at the moon. I am innocence itself."
"Hmm. I find myself in part hoping that's not at all true, and in part hoping that it is. Either could be fascinating."
She blushed, but smiled. "Do you flirt with every Austrian you meet?"
"Only the females."
"So narrow. I've been known to flirt with both. Innocently, of course."
"I could not conceive of you flirting any other way. Can I get you a drink?"
"The bar is closed. It is a very sleepy town in some ways. It is after midnight, you know, so now it is Wednesday of holy week."
"It would be a shame to allow an ancient convention to prevent you from having a glass of the local Sangria."
"I only drink Sangria when I'm dancing," she said, smiling. "But if I said I wanted some, what would you do? Do you have a bottle in your room, and you hope to lure my innocent self there?"
"You wouldn't be lured so easily. And I don't. But if I can produce a pitcher of Sangria in five minutes, will you share it with me?"
"Hm. Perhaps. But I will put conditions on it. You must not go to your room, and it must be ice cold. Can you still deliver?"
I bowed to her. Then I took out a lighter and lit the candle on the table in front of her. "You'll need this light in a moment. Now time me."
