After the unexpected announcement, it took Annja a moment to find her voice. “You’re lying.”
Garin laughed at her. “I’m lying? That’s the best you can come up with after I tell you that a plague is waiting to be released?” He sipped his coffee. “Why would I lie?”
“To get my attention.”
Garin gestured expansively. “I already have your attention. Despite my slight indiscretion—”
“Trying to kill me isn’t a slight indiscretion.”
“A momentary lapse in judgment.”
Annja started to protest again.
Garin held up a hand and looked irritated. “Whatever you wish to call it.” He took a breath. “Despite that, you talk to me whenever I wish because you’re willing to do whatever it takes to get knowledge out of me that you wouldn’t otherwise have.”
Folding her arms across her breasts, Annja said, “You’re not the only man I know who’s lived more than five hundred years. In fact, I’m not at all sure how long Roux has been around.”
“Nor am I,” Garin admitted. “But I am sure of one thing. You won’t be able to make casual conversation with Roux and have him trot out his past to be picked over like a buffet line. The only time he tells you anything is when he has his own motivations for doing so. Believe me. I’ve tried.”
“He’s trained you well.”
Garin grimaced. “I’m not at all like that old fool.”
“Maybe you are, more than you like to admit.” In fact, upon observing the two of them together, Annja had the distinct opinion that the two acted very much like father and son.
Five hundred years of failed expectation and rebelliousness. Man, that’ll leave a mark, she thought.
Garin cursed and shook his head. “We’ve never seen eye to eye. Roux continues to insist that good will triumph over evil.”
“I guess you can’t afford to think that way.”
“Because you think I’m evil?” Garin asked, sneering.
“Yes.”
“I’m not evil. I’m merely a man after my own pursuits.”
“You’ve killed and stolen to get them,” Annja said.
“So have you.”
Annja gasped. She had killed. No more than thirty-six hours ago.
“You killed people to save your life, or to save the lives of others,” Garin said. “So you excuse yourself for it. I don’t have a problem with that. I excuse myself for the same reasons.”
“You tried to kill me.”
“Will you get over that already?” Garin breathed impatiently. “You threatened me.”
“How?”
“The sword. Everything that I am, everything that I have gone through, is because of that sword. Now it is in your hands. When that happened, when I first realized that you had it, can you imagine how I felt?”
Annja couldn’t.
“After five hundred years, I’d begun believing that it would never return. Then you came along. And it did. After it had been shattered into pieces. I was afraid. When I attacked you, I wasn’t in my right mind. You can’t just label people so conveniently,” Garin said. “Do you honestly believe Roux is a pure force of good?”
Annja didn’t know. She wanted to believe the best of Roux, but he had bailed on her when she had so many questions about the sword and what she was supposed to do. He’d just given her some pop-psychology answers and left her to deal with it. He’d made it clear he didn’t see any need to be further involved.
But he’d also told her that she could affect the balance between good and evil. Did she believe that?
Garin scowled. “Roux has filled your head with that crap about the destiny of the sword, hasn’t he? And you’ve really bought into it.”
Annja didn’t care for the demeaning tone of Garin’s words.
“He told me the same thing, once upon a time,” Garin said. “Do you know what we did?”
Annja shook her head.
“Roux chased women and gambled across Europe and Asia,” Garin said. “Then Roux became intoxicated with the idea of Joan.”
“Why? What drew him to her?” Annja asked.
“Probably the same things that draw him to you. She was young—younger than you—and independent. A woman who wouldn’t give herself easily to any man.”
Annja knew that Roux liked young women. He was rarely without their company at home and abroad from what she had seen.
Frustrated with the conversation, and not liking how it was making her feel, Annja said, “We’re not here to talk about Roux.”
“I only wanted to put him in perspective so you could better see me,” Garin said. “You paint me as a villain, yet I’m the one who showed up here to help you.”
Annja restrained from asking him why. “Why do you think the treasure of Anansi has a plague in it?” she asked instead.
AS GARIN SPOKE, he studied Annja. He knew that she didn’t trust him. He didn’t care. She didn’t have to trust him, but only had to let him into the expedition. That was all that he wanted.
But he couldn’t get the image of her sleeping atop the bedcovers out of his mind. She was a tall woman, and full-bodied, equipped with warm curves over muscle. Strength sheathed in beauty. That was what she was.
Before he was able to truly launch into the story, the server arrived with their breakfast. Despite his complaining about the probable condition of the food, it looked and smelled good.
They ate while he talked, moving through the mango, bananas and uji, sorghum bread and beef strips. He’d ordered as much for her as he had for himself. He’d seen Annja eat before and had been impressed.
The hunger to know what he knew showed in her eyes. She wanted to ask him about what he’d seen, what he’d done, and he knew that, as well.
“I was here in West Africa during the slave trade,” Garin went on. “In fact, I knew Jozua Ganesvoort’s ancestors. For a time I did business in Ile de Goree.”
“Selling slaves?” she asked. The accusation was soft in her words, but it was still there.
“No,” he lied. “I sold goods and managed a banking operation.” That was the truth. He’d dabbled in many things.
Annja continued eating and listening.
“There’s more to the legend of the Spider Stone,” Garin told her. “In the Old Testament, God smote the pharaoh and his people with plagues.”
“Ten in all,” Annja said. “I’m familiar with the story. There’s been some conjecture that the plagues may have been the result of activity in the Thera volcano 650 miles away. The Nile could have been polluted by the volcano stirring up the silt and rendering the water undrinkable. That would have accounted for the dead fish, as well. It might even have been red algae, a blood tide. With the water gone bad, the frogs would have abandoned the river and allowed the insect population to grow. Disease-carrying insects could have infected livestock and given the people boils. Plagues of locusts happen even without any of these other events, and enough of them can even make the sky dark. With the volcano involved, perhaps it was ash floating in the air. As for the firstborn dying, if the food was ruined they may have died from the diseases it carried.”
“And what does the field of archaeology say?” Garin asked.
“When it comes to the Bible, archaeologists are divided,” Annja admitted. “Some treat it as a historical document, and others believe it’s a work of fiction.”
“Designed to keep the believers in line.”
“Perhaps.”
Garin smiled. “What if I told you that those Biblical citizens weren’t that far removed from people today? That there existed within their ranks men who would use whatever means necessary to achieve their ends.”
“That’s mankind in action,” Annja said. “No surprise there.”
“True. However, research I’ve done indicates that some of the people scattered after the pharaoh figured out that the disease that ran through his city wasn’t all due to the Hebrew god. The pharaoh’s men discovered that some of the diseases had been deliberately started by men.”
“Where did you get this information?” Annja asked.
Garin reached into his pocket and took out a USB flash drive. “I have copies of the document.”
Annja pushed her empty plates away and put her computer on the table.
Watching her become absorbed in the task, Garin felt a glow of success.
WORKING QUICKLY, Annja opened the flash drive. There was only one file on the device. She copied it to her computer—she couldn’t risk Garin snatching it away whenever he wanted—and opened the file. There were several folders tucked inside the main file. Most of them were jpegs.
“They’re photographs of tablets recovered from a Hausa village about a hundred years or so after they were written,” Garin said. “Evidently the author couldn’t live his life in anonymity. That’s probably how the pharaoh found out about his culpability in the plagues.”
Annja studied the first photograph of a clay tablet. It appeared to be similar in nature to those used in Egypt at the same time period.
“I can’t read them. Can you?” Garin asked.
“No,” Annja replied.
“Select the next jpeg and you’ll see a translation.”
The next file had a picture of the same tablet with a translation overlaid on it in white letters. Annja read the story.
While I lived among the dark men and feared Pharaoh’s revenge, I had cause to once more use the potion I had concocted to ravage Pharaoh’s army. My adopted village was approached by a young man, no more than a boy, who said that his own village was beset by enemies.
I was touched by the boy’s story of how Anansi, the spider god of his people, directed him to me in a dream. I knew that he probably came to me because I have solved many problems for this village where I have chosen to stay.
He appealed to my vanity, praising me as one who has been chosen to be spoken through by his gods. Since his people do trade as much as they do and carry news of many countries, I thought it would be best if I maintained their friendship.
I gave him a pot of the potion and told him to spread it in the water of his enemies. I told him that only a small amount would be necessary, for it was very powerful and water in these lands is a precious commodity, just as it is in Egypt.
Annja launched into the second set of tablets. Excitement stirred within her, along with fear.
I saw the boy again today. He told me that the men who attacked his village are now dead. The potion has always performed well.
When I asked him what he did with the rest of the potion, he told me that Anansi directed him to put it in the place of treasures so that it might be used again if needed.
He gave me a small bag of emeralds and rubies. Before he left, he also showed me a small stone he’s inscribing that will tell the history of Anansi’s promise to protect his people. On one side, the stone bears the image of an atrocious spider. The other holds the language of his people.
Finished with the translations, Annja stared at Garin. “Is this true?” she asked.
He nodded. “You’re hunting something that could kill you and a lot of other people.”
“And you’re here because you care about people?”
“No,” Garin said. “I’m here because I care about you.”
Annja didn’t believe him. There was more. She waited.
Garin cocked an eyebrow and grinned. “But there’s more, Annja. For five hundred years, only Roux and I have shared the mystery of the sword. I’d given up on it. But you came along and made that mystery new again. Made it attainable once more. Or at least clothed it in that illusion. And you’ve turned our two-sided war into a three-way battle. I’ve never gotten the best of Roux. With you at my side, I think that balance of power could change.”
“Why would I ever help you?” Annja asked.
“Because one day, you may not have a choice. Roux is not your benefactor. If you get in his way—and you might—he’ll step on you.”
A chill threaded down through Annja’s spine as she faced the possibility that Garin might be speaking honestly.
“Well,” Garin asked, “do we have a deal? Or did we just have breakfast?”