TWENTY
“YOU SAY IT WAS A GIANT THYMIATERION,” PAPY confirmed. “Ancient Greek?” He flipped through an auction catalogue as he launched questions at me. We were ensconced in the back room of his gallery, sitting between life-sized statues of gods and warriors.
“No, Bran said the bardia came from Italy,” I replied, checking my notes.
“Ah, Etruscan then,” Papy said, replacing the catalogue and pulling out another.
“Yes, that’s what he said—Etruscan,” I confirmed. “When Constantinople was under siege, they snuck their treasury out, hid it, and it was later plundered.”
“I wonder what exactly they mean by ‘giant,’” Papy said, opening a two-page spread of ancient objects for me to see. “This is an example of an ancient Etruscan thymiaterion.” He pointed to a picture of a red clay chalice. Its stem was shaped to look like a man who was holding the cup’s bowl on his head.
“They were used to burn incense during religious ceremonies, and were usually only around a foot or two tall. You can find them made in limestone, clay . . .”
“This one was bronze,” I said, showing him the scribbling on my notebook.
Papy thought for a bit. “Something like that would be a major object. Museum quality. I haven’t come across anything like it in my own dealings, but between the world wars there were entire collections of museum-quality objects coming out of the Middle East and being sold on the art market—under quite iffy circumstances. The unacknowledged fact was that they were the product of plundered graves.
“I don’t know if any of these collections involved revenant artifacts . . . if they did, the revenant collectors would have made sure all mention of them were taken out of the public records. But the first place I would start looking is in the auction records from those years.”
“Do you have any?” I asked.
Papy turned and walked to his bookcase, running his finger along the spines of some old books, and then pointed to one. “Let’s see, here is 1918.” He moved down two shelves and stopped at another book. “And here is 1939.”
My jaw dropped open. The section he was pointing to comprised about fifty books. “Are those records by any chance on the internet?”
Papy gave an amused smile and shook his head. “Tell you what. I’ll take the ones in German and leave you the catalogs in English and French.”
We worked all morning and into the afternoon. After a few hours Papy had interrupted my work saying, “You realize, princesse, that we are just working on a hunch. We might not even find anything.”
“I know, Papy,” I had replied. “And you don’t need to help me if it takes a long time.”
Papy said, “N’importe quoi,” a phrase that means, “Don’t be silly.” And though he got up to make some phone calls and show one lone client around the gallery, he spent the rest of the day working side by side with me.
We checked in with Mamie at one, and Georgia arrived a half hour later carrying a picnic basket with lunch for the three of us. Hanging her coat on the outstretched arm of a marble nymph, she sat down and pulled over a volume, flipping through the pages until she reached an illustration. Angling it away from Papy, she held up a page showing a nude statue of Perseus holding Medusa’s head.
I lifted my eyebrows, waiting.
“Nice package,” she commented matter-of-factly, and then flipped to the front of the book with a faux-studious air. I tried to hide my laughter from Papy, who was looking at us quizzically.
“So, what are we looking for?” my sister asked with a straight face, and once I explained, she got straight to work.
From time to time, one of us would find something. An unspecified Byzantine collection of bronze objects. An ancient incense burner. Papy would have a look, and then shake his head, saying that he knew that collection or that piece, and it couldn’t be associated with our thymiaterion.
But a couple of hours later, when I found “Ten Important Etruscan Objects, unearthed in Turkey,” Papy sat up and studied the entry more carefully.
“‘Includes bronze temple objects: statues and incense burners, engraved with unidentified mystical symbols,’” he read. “‘Several items of massive size. Part of a hoard discovered outside Istanbul. See also lots forty-five and forty-six.’” He read the descriptions of the other two lots, and then checked the back of the book for the insertion that listed the successful bidders.
“I think you’ve found something here, Kate,” he said, glancing up from the book. I tried not to get too excited, but my blood felt like it was buzzing through my veins when I saw Papy’s face light up.
“This is a major collection that I have never heard of. And probably for a very good reason: Once it was bought, it must have been hidden away. Also, the buyer is only listed as ‘an anonymous New York collector,’ so it could possibly refer to one of our secret collectors of revenant subject matter.”
He sat thinking for a moment, and then closing the book he rose to his feet. “It’s worth following up on. I know only one New York collector of antiquities living at that time to whom this might refer. His son took over his collection and has long been one of my clients in Manhattan. Besides collecting antiquities, he has me contact him when I have anything even remotely referring to revenant lore. ‘G. J. Caesar’ is what he calls himself, which is obviously an alias.”
“Why?” asked Georgia.
Papy looked at her. “I would assume that the G. J. stands for Gaius Julius . . . Caesar, as in the Roman general and statesman.”
“I knew that,” Georgia said lightly.
Papy shook his head. “I don’t even have a phone number. A couple of decades ago, I used to send descriptions and photos of the objects that might interest him to a post office box. Now, of course, he has email. But I doubt he would answer me if I inquired about an object already in his collection. Our contact has been limited to buying and selling.”
“Well, where do you ship his purchases to?” I asked. “If we have a mailing address, we could probably look up his phone number. That is, if he is even listed.” Hope was filling me like helium. I felt buoyant. Like I was ready to go to New York and track the guy down myself. So far this was just a lead, but it was the only one we had.
“He has his own shippers pick up the objects,” Papy said. “I’m afraid this is going to be a bit of a dead end, unless I do something I’ve been putting off for the last couple of days.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“I’ll need to meet Monsieur Grimod,” Papy said. “And if things are as urgent as you say, I should go ahead and do it now.”
“Well, Kate and I better go with you!” Georgia said quickly. She snapped her book shut, jumped to her feet, and began putting on her coat, throwing me a look that said she had been waiting all day for a reason to visit La Maison.
I already had my coat on and was halfway to the door. “I’ll call to let them know we’re coming,” I said, pulling my phone out of my bag. As I began dialing, it rang.
“You were about to call?” Jules said from the other end of the line.
“How did you know . . . ?” I began.
“Vince is here with me, in full fortune-teller mode,” he responded. “And, yes, you can come over. I’ll let JB know you’re on your way.”
TWENTY-ONE
FOR TWO SECONDS AFTER JB OPENED THE FRONT door, it looked like we might not make it over the threshold. I’d never seen my grandfather uncomfortable in a social situation, but Papy’s jaw was clenched so tightly that I was surprised he was able to wrench it open again to say, “Bonsoir.” But he finally managed to speak, and the two men tipped their heads to acknowledge each other before giving a formal handshake.
“Kate. Georgia,” Jean-Baptiste greeted us and, then stepping out of the way, said, “Please, Monsieur Mercier, come in.” He gestured toward the staircase. “We might as well proceed directly to the library.”
“They look like they should be going to a steeplechase or a musty old man’s club instead of to a library to discuss the re-embodiment of my immortal boyfriend,” I whispered to Georgia as we followed them into the foyer.
“Maybe that’s what old guys discuss in their leather chairs while puffing their cigars,” she responded with a grin. “And here we were imagining it was the stock market or property prices.”
The sitting room door opened and Arthur stepped into the foyer. “Bonjour, Georgia,” he said, striding eagerly toward us. He took her hand and was about to lift it to his lips before remembering which century he was in and opting for cheek-kisses instead. “How are you?”
Georgia lifted her face up for inspection. “Better, wouldn’t you say?” she asked.
“Yes. You look . . .” He was going to say “beautiful.” I could tell. But he stopped himself and said, “Much improved. I’m glad you’re healing.”
Georgia smiled flirtatiously at him and said, “That sure was sweet of you to call to check up on me this morning and leave me those messages. I’m sorry I couldn’t phone you back. I’m really trying to take it easy. To recover my health, you see.”
“Of course!” Arthur exclaimed, jamming his shoulder-length hair self-consciously behind his ears. I noticed that he hadn’t shaved, and that he was wearing black jeans and a T-shirt instead of his regular button-down and suit pants. I had to smile. Arthur was making an effort for my sister.
“I didn’t expect you to phone me back,” he said. “I was just checking in, you know. But why don’t you come back to the kitchen with me and I’ll get you something to drink. Did you have lunch? Are you hungry?”
As they walked through the door to the hallway, Georgia threw me a backward glance, wagging her eyebrows in victory before turning back to him. I could barely restrain myself from cracking up. Georgia was the queen of games. And she was obviously playing this one very carefully.
Mon ange, came a voice in my head.
“I was wondering where you were,” I said, following Papy and Jean-Baptiste up the double staircase.
I can tell you’ve discovered something—your cheeks have gone all rosy. Which, I must say, suits you, mon amour. Would it be out of place for me to tell you how utterly ravishing that makes you look?
I touched my fingertips to my cheeks and felt them flush even redder. “Yes, that is completely off-topic,” I chided jokingly, but his compliment made me feel radiant. As usual.
What did you find? he asked, amused.
“Some old auction catalogue with a sale that might have contained our thymiaterion.”
Well, that’s more than Gaspard and Bran got. They couldn’t find anything resembling the object itself, and extended the search to anything else that might bear the symbols referred to in the story. Ones that would explain how a re-embodiment is performed.
“Did they have any luck?”
None.
I walked into the library to see my grandfather shaking hands with Gaspard and then with Bran. The four men assembled around a table, and Jean-Baptiste held out a chair for me.
Papy began by placing the auction catalogue on the table. He told them that if the thymiaterion wasn’t already in a museum or other major public collection—which it couldn’t be, because he would already be familiar with it—then it must be in a private collection. He explained about the flow of Middle Eastern antiquities into the antiques market between the wars, and his theory that the piece was moved from Turkey to a European or American collection during this period.
He tapped the book with his index finger. “I own all of the records from the major auction houses during that time, and in one of them Kate found a sale that might refer to the object we seek.”
He said we! I thought, marveling once again that my grandfather was joining forces with revenants—for me.
Papy opened the catalogue and showed them the reference, then flipped back to the buyer list. “If a purchase of this nature was made for a museum or a major collector, the name would be listed. Instead, this important collection went to an anonymous buyer.”
He turned to JB. “I am guessing that this library contains several books that were purchased from me.”
“You would be guessing correctly,” Jean-Baptiste confirmed, just the slightest flicker of discomfort crossing his face as he revealed yet another of his secrets to an outsider.
“Then perhaps you know who the other members of this worldwide confederation of secretive revenant-themed buyers would be.”
“I would certainly know some of them,” Jean-Baptiste affirmed.
“Well, there are only a handful of important antiquity collectors based in New York. And only one of those who I know to contact if I find a revenant-related object. I feel that the buyer who bought this auction lot might have been the father of a longtime client of mine based in the city.”
Jean-Baptiste watched him, waiting.
“But I have no way of communicating with this collector, who goes by the pseudonym ‘G. J. Caesar’ except by email. And I doubt he would respond to a request from me concerning something already extant in his collection.”
As soon as Papy said the name, a shadow fell across Jean-Baptiste’s features, and I could tell that he was steeling himself for something unpleasant. Gaspard must have felt it too, because he made a kind of hiccupping noise and then began fiddling with some papers.
Papy continued, undaunted, “That alias seems to ring a bell with you. I had hoped you would carry out the commission and ask if the piece is in his collection. He would surely be more open to sharing information with you than he would with me.”
“YOU SAY IT WAS A GIANT THYMIATERION,” PAPY confirmed. “Ancient Greek?” He flipped through an auction catalogue as he launched questions at me. We were ensconced in the back room of his gallery, sitting between life-sized statues of gods and warriors.
“No, Bran said the bardia came from Italy,” I replied, checking my notes.
“Ah, Etruscan then,” Papy said, replacing the catalogue and pulling out another.
“Yes, that’s what he said—Etruscan,” I confirmed. “When Constantinople was under siege, they snuck their treasury out, hid it, and it was later plundered.”
“I wonder what exactly they mean by ‘giant,’” Papy said, opening a two-page spread of ancient objects for me to see. “This is an example of an ancient Etruscan thymiaterion.” He pointed to a picture of a red clay chalice. Its stem was shaped to look like a man who was holding the cup’s bowl on his head.
“They were used to burn incense during religious ceremonies, and were usually only around a foot or two tall. You can find them made in limestone, clay . . .”
“This one was bronze,” I said, showing him the scribbling on my notebook.
Papy thought for a bit. “Something like that would be a major object. Museum quality. I haven’t come across anything like it in my own dealings, but between the world wars there were entire collections of museum-quality objects coming out of the Middle East and being sold on the art market—under quite iffy circumstances. The unacknowledged fact was that they were the product of plundered graves.
“I don’t know if any of these collections involved revenant artifacts . . . if they did, the revenant collectors would have made sure all mention of them were taken out of the public records. But the first place I would start looking is in the auction records from those years.”
“Do you have any?” I asked.
Papy turned and walked to his bookcase, running his finger along the spines of some old books, and then pointed to one. “Let’s see, here is 1918.” He moved down two shelves and stopped at another book. “And here is 1939.”
My jaw dropped open. The section he was pointing to comprised about fifty books. “Are those records by any chance on the internet?”
Papy gave an amused smile and shook his head. “Tell you what. I’ll take the ones in German and leave you the catalogs in English and French.”
We worked all morning and into the afternoon. After a few hours Papy had interrupted my work saying, “You realize, princesse, that we are just working on a hunch. We might not even find anything.”
“I know, Papy,” I had replied. “And you don’t need to help me if it takes a long time.”
Papy said, “N’importe quoi,” a phrase that means, “Don’t be silly.” And though he got up to make some phone calls and show one lone client around the gallery, he spent the rest of the day working side by side with me.
We checked in with Mamie at one, and Georgia arrived a half hour later carrying a picnic basket with lunch for the three of us. Hanging her coat on the outstretched arm of a marble nymph, she sat down and pulled over a volume, flipping through the pages until she reached an illustration. Angling it away from Papy, she held up a page showing a nude statue of Perseus holding Medusa’s head.
I lifted my eyebrows, waiting.
“Nice package,” she commented matter-of-factly, and then flipped to the front of the book with a faux-studious air. I tried to hide my laughter from Papy, who was looking at us quizzically.
“So, what are we looking for?” my sister asked with a straight face, and once I explained, she got straight to work.
From time to time, one of us would find something. An unspecified Byzantine collection of bronze objects. An ancient incense burner. Papy would have a look, and then shake his head, saying that he knew that collection or that piece, and it couldn’t be associated with our thymiaterion.
But a couple of hours later, when I found “Ten Important Etruscan Objects, unearthed in Turkey,” Papy sat up and studied the entry more carefully.
“‘Includes bronze temple objects: statues and incense burners, engraved with unidentified mystical symbols,’” he read. “‘Several items of massive size. Part of a hoard discovered outside Istanbul. See also lots forty-five and forty-six.’” He read the descriptions of the other two lots, and then checked the back of the book for the insertion that listed the successful bidders.
“I think you’ve found something here, Kate,” he said, glancing up from the book. I tried not to get too excited, but my blood felt like it was buzzing through my veins when I saw Papy’s face light up.
“This is a major collection that I have never heard of. And probably for a very good reason: Once it was bought, it must have been hidden away. Also, the buyer is only listed as ‘an anonymous New York collector,’ so it could possibly refer to one of our secret collectors of revenant subject matter.”
He sat thinking for a moment, and then closing the book he rose to his feet. “It’s worth following up on. I know only one New York collector of antiquities living at that time to whom this might refer. His son took over his collection and has long been one of my clients in Manhattan. Besides collecting antiquities, he has me contact him when I have anything even remotely referring to revenant lore. ‘G. J. Caesar’ is what he calls himself, which is obviously an alias.”
“Why?” asked Georgia.
Papy looked at her. “I would assume that the G. J. stands for Gaius Julius . . . Caesar, as in the Roman general and statesman.”
“I knew that,” Georgia said lightly.
Papy shook his head. “I don’t even have a phone number. A couple of decades ago, I used to send descriptions and photos of the objects that might interest him to a post office box. Now, of course, he has email. But I doubt he would answer me if I inquired about an object already in his collection. Our contact has been limited to buying and selling.”
“Well, where do you ship his purchases to?” I asked. “If we have a mailing address, we could probably look up his phone number. That is, if he is even listed.” Hope was filling me like helium. I felt buoyant. Like I was ready to go to New York and track the guy down myself. So far this was just a lead, but it was the only one we had.
“He has his own shippers pick up the objects,” Papy said. “I’m afraid this is going to be a bit of a dead end, unless I do something I’ve been putting off for the last couple of days.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“I’ll need to meet Monsieur Grimod,” Papy said. “And if things are as urgent as you say, I should go ahead and do it now.”
“Well, Kate and I better go with you!” Georgia said quickly. She snapped her book shut, jumped to her feet, and began putting on her coat, throwing me a look that said she had been waiting all day for a reason to visit La Maison.
I already had my coat on and was halfway to the door. “I’ll call to let them know we’re coming,” I said, pulling my phone out of my bag. As I began dialing, it rang.
“You were about to call?” Jules said from the other end of the line.
“How did you know . . . ?” I began.
“Vince is here with me, in full fortune-teller mode,” he responded. “And, yes, you can come over. I’ll let JB know you’re on your way.”
TWENTY-ONE
FOR TWO SECONDS AFTER JB OPENED THE FRONT door, it looked like we might not make it over the threshold. I’d never seen my grandfather uncomfortable in a social situation, but Papy’s jaw was clenched so tightly that I was surprised he was able to wrench it open again to say, “Bonsoir.” But he finally managed to speak, and the two men tipped their heads to acknowledge each other before giving a formal handshake.
“Kate. Georgia,” Jean-Baptiste greeted us and, then stepping out of the way, said, “Please, Monsieur Mercier, come in.” He gestured toward the staircase. “We might as well proceed directly to the library.”
“They look like they should be going to a steeplechase or a musty old man’s club instead of to a library to discuss the re-embodiment of my immortal boyfriend,” I whispered to Georgia as we followed them into the foyer.
“Maybe that’s what old guys discuss in their leather chairs while puffing their cigars,” she responded with a grin. “And here we were imagining it was the stock market or property prices.”
The sitting room door opened and Arthur stepped into the foyer. “Bonjour, Georgia,” he said, striding eagerly toward us. He took her hand and was about to lift it to his lips before remembering which century he was in and opting for cheek-kisses instead. “How are you?”
Georgia lifted her face up for inspection. “Better, wouldn’t you say?” she asked.
“Yes. You look . . .” He was going to say “beautiful.” I could tell. But he stopped himself and said, “Much improved. I’m glad you’re healing.”
Georgia smiled flirtatiously at him and said, “That sure was sweet of you to call to check up on me this morning and leave me those messages. I’m sorry I couldn’t phone you back. I’m really trying to take it easy. To recover my health, you see.”
“Of course!” Arthur exclaimed, jamming his shoulder-length hair self-consciously behind his ears. I noticed that he hadn’t shaved, and that he was wearing black jeans and a T-shirt instead of his regular button-down and suit pants. I had to smile. Arthur was making an effort for my sister.
“I didn’t expect you to phone me back,” he said. “I was just checking in, you know. But why don’t you come back to the kitchen with me and I’ll get you something to drink. Did you have lunch? Are you hungry?”
As they walked through the door to the hallway, Georgia threw me a backward glance, wagging her eyebrows in victory before turning back to him. I could barely restrain myself from cracking up. Georgia was the queen of games. And she was obviously playing this one very carefully.
Mon ange, came a voice in my head.
“I was wondering where you were,” I said, following Papy and Jean-Baptiste up the double staircase.
I can tell you’ve discovered something—your cheeks have gone all rosy. Which, I must say, suits you, mon amour. Would it be out of place for me to tell you how utterly ravishing that makes you look?
I touched my fingertips to my cheeks and felt them flush even redder. “Yes, that is completely off-topic,” I chided jokingly, but his compliment made me feel radiant. As usual.
What did you find? he asked, amused.
“Some old auction catalogue with a sale that might have contained our thymiaterion.”
Well, that’s more than Gaspard and Bran got. They couldn’t find anything resembling the object itself, and extended the search to anything else that might bear the symbols referred to in the story. Ones that would explain how a re-embodiment is performed.
“Did they have any luck?”
None.
I walked into the library to see my grandfather shaking hands with Gaspard and then with Bran. The four men assembled around a table, and Jean-Baptiste held out a chair for me.
Papy began by placing the auction catalogue on the table. He told them that if the thymiaterion wasn’t already in a museum or other major public collection—which it couldn’t be, because he would already be familiar with it—then it must be in a private collection. He explained about the flow of Middle Eastern antiquities into the antiques market between the wars, and his theory that the piece was moved from Turkey to a European or American collection during this period.
He tapped the book with his index finger. “I own all of the records from the major auction houses during that time, and in one of them Kate found a sale that might refer to the object we seek.”
He said we! I thought, marveling once again that my grandfather was joining forces with revenants—for me.
Papy opened the catalogue and showed them the reference, then flipped back to the buyer list. “If a purchase of this nature was made for a museum or a major collector, the name would be listed. Instead, this important collection went to an anonymous buyer.”
He turned to JB. “I am guessing that this library contains several books that were purchased from me.”
“You would be guessing correctly,” Jean-Baptiste confirmed, just the slightest flicker of discomfort crossing his face as he revealed yet another of his secrets to an outsider.
“Then perhaps you know who the other members of this worldwide confederation of secretive revenant-themed buyers would be.”
“I would certainly know some of them,” Jean-Baptiste affirmed.
“Well, there are only a handful of important antiquity collectors based in New York. And only one of those who I know to contact if I find a revenant-related object. I feel that the buyer who bought this auction lot might have been the father of a longtime client of mine based in the city.”
Jean-Baptiste watched him, waiting.
“But I have no way of communicating with this collector, who goes by the pseudonym ‘G. J. Caesar’ except by email. And I doubt he would respond to a request from me concerning something already extant in his collection.”
As soon as Papy said the name, a shadow fell across Jean-Baptiste’s features, and I could tell that he was steeling himself for something unpleasant. Gaspard must have felt it too, because he made a kind of hiccupping noise and then began fiddling with some papers.
Papy continued, undaunted, “That alias seems to ring a bell with you. I had hoped you would carry out the commission and ask if the piece is in his collection. He would surely be more open to sharing information with you than he would with me.”
