Dragons on the Other Hand Read online

  “Still haven’t seen through that one? Women are such foolish creatures,” Mason said with disgust as he noted the easy intimacy I shared with his competition.

  I tightened my grip on Jake’s arm, but I knew it would do little good if Mason kept baiting the enforcer. Maybe that was what Mason was hoping for. If he succeeded in getting Jake to hit him, Jake would be charged with assault.

  Maybe Jake needed to leave. Even as I considered the idea, I knew Jake wouldn’t go. His protective instincts were too strong, and this man had caused me too much harm for him to ever willingly agree to leave me with him. Jason must have had similar thoughts, because he moved from my left side to Jake’s right.

  Jake glanced at his cousin, letting out an amused grunt of acceptance. “You really think I don’t see what he’s doing? I’m not an idiot.”

  Jason smiled. “No, you’re just a man who’s face-to-face with someone who intentionally placed the woman you care about in danger.”

  “Look, I didn’t expect it to go wrong, all right? I didn’t think Alfie would be in danger. Arthur was confident he knew what he was doing. He’d been planning it for years,” Mason explained, hands out in supplication.

  “Can we just get on with it?” I said impatiently. “What am I doing here, Mason?”

  His brown eyes took me in, as if assessing my readiness to hear whatever it was he had to tell me. I must have passed muster because he nodded.

  “I want your promise that, if what I tell you pans out, I get a finder’s fee of twenty percent,” he said.

  My brows furrowed in confusion. “Finder’s fee for what?”

  “Your ancestor’s lost fortune.”

  Chapter Five

  My mouth dropped open. I had to consciously close it. This was about that stupid legend? As if we didn’t have enough to contend with, now this con-artist was trying to get me to take part in a treasure hunt?

  “If you have something to tell us about the device Watkins used to locate the dragon, I’ll listen. Otherwise, I’m out of here.” I began to stand.

  “No, stop. Listen. I wasn’t trying to take the Book of Shadows that night. Well, that was what Arthur told me to tell you I was after. Actually, I wanted your great-great-grandfather’s journal. The one I took home to read. I got it, too. But it looks like I’m not going to be able to search for the treasure myself in the foreseeable future, so I’m willing to negotiate.”

  I studied his face, trying to work out what this man was after.

  “You got it?” Jake repeated, his tone dangerous.

  “Yes. But I won’t tell any of you where it is, or what I found in it, unless you agree to my finder’s fee.” He spoke arrogantly this time, meeting Jake’s gaze with a challenge, much as he’d done so many times in the past.

  “It’s a legend, a story, Mason. Generations of my family have searched for that fortune and got nowhere. If my ancestor mentioned it in his journal, it only serves to highlight how useless any search in the present would be. He, and every member of the family who has read the journal since then, has looked for the treasure, believe me.”

  “Unless you know what I know, of course every hunt would have yielded nothing,” he scoffed.

  I didn’t believe a word he said, but I hadn’t checked on my ancestor’s journal since... well, since we’d all become obsessed with the Logos. As far as I knew the journal was still sitting on the bookshelf back at home. But what if it wasn’t? If Mason had put it somewhere else, I wanted it back. If all it cost me was a promise to give him a finder’s fee for a non-existent treasure, then I’d happily agree.

  “Ten percent,” I negotiated. “That treasure is said to be worth several million pounds. Ten percent would be a nice nest egg for when you get out of prison.”

  “I want to use it to get a better barrister. With my plea bargain and a good barrister, I should get out of this in less than a year.”

  “Not if I have anything to say about it,” Jake growled.

  “You don’t, so stay out of it. You haven’t married her yet, so this has nothing to do with you.”

  I saw Jason grab Jake’s shoulder to forcibly keep him in place.

  “Take it or leave it,” I said to Mason, wanting this farce to be over.

  For a moment more, Mason considered.

  Finally, he nodded. “I put the journal in a zip-lock plastic bag and dropped it out the window before you found me. It’s in behind the rose bushes close to the wall of the house.”

  “I’m curious,” Jason interrupted, his brows knitting. “If you’ve read what was in the journal, why did you need it to find the treasure?”

  Mason huffed out a sigh. “I don’t. It was more a precaution. And to refresh my memory. At the time I read it, I wasn’t aware of the significance of what I was reading. The day Arthur told me to break into the house, I’d received information that reminded me of what I’d read. I needed to refresh my memory, and... and make sure Alfie couldn’t get to the journal if she decided to read it before I had a chance to get to the treasure.”

  I let out a disbelieving grunt. He knew as well as I did that the chances of me sitting down to read that journal, with its faded spidery writing, were minimal. If I’d even managed to survive the night with the dragon, that is.

  “What information?” Jason pushed.

  Mason looked annoyed at having the control wrested from him. He wanted to keep his audience waiting on his every word.

  “I have an RSS Feed set up for searches being undertaken for legendary artefacts. Excalibur, the Grail, the Fountain of Youth, that sort of thing.”

  Letting out a groan, I glared at the man. “You can’t be serious. I have better things to do with my time than listening to this drivel.”

  I stood up.

  “That’s rich coming from a woman who claims to see ghosts, and is trying to capture an invisible dragon.”

  That stilled me. He was right. I was being hypocritical. Who was I to say those legendary objects weren’t as real as my invisible dragon?

  Huffing out a sigh, I resumed my seat. “All right. Go on. I’m listening.”

  It was Jake’s turn to place a supportive hand on my arm.

  “There were secret occult societies throughout history, usually the domain of educated men. One such society was known to exist during Elizabeth the First’s reign. Sir Walter Raleigh was said to be a member. As Elizabeth’s funded explorations of the new worlds were undertaken, many learned men preferred to turn their attention to inner exploration. The Pope and Roman Catholicism had lost its hold on the minds of many of those men, and with renewed interest, they turned their attention back to the past.

  “The Philosopher’s Stone was said to turn base metals into gold. Of course, many considered it symbolic, the transmutation of the base elements within the human soul into something of greater value. But alchemists were obsessed with the material possibility ever since the Fourteenth Century when Nicolas Flamel declared he’d discovered the formula and had become a very wealthy man. The Philosopher’s Stone was said to be red in colour, but no one knows for certain if it was an actual stone, formula or liquid.”

  “All right, all right, enough of the history lesson,” Jake snapped impatiently.

  Mason sent him a scathing look, as if his low-brow inclinations were only to be expected. He went on leisurely.

  “What people don’t know, is that Flamel belonged to a secret society in Paris where copies of the formula were distributed after his death in the early Fifteenth Century. A century later, one copy of the formula made its way to England. It was mentioned in the journal of Samuel Ensby shortly after Elizabeth came to the throne.

  “Ensby was one of a group of noblemen interested in Celtic mythology and magic. In his journal he mentions a James Porter, an architect and builder, who was currently working on a hunting lodge in North Yorkshire. Porter was told to include a secret space in the foundations of the lodge where the Philosopher’s Stone could be hidden. Its location was to be known only to the highest-ranking members of the society.”

  “Why did they hide it and not use it?” Jason demanded, obviously fascinated, for all the long-windedness of the tale.

  “It was a test of purity. If you knew the location of something that could make you as wealthy as Croesus, not to mention immortal, and you didn’t act on it, then you were considered above the material concerns of the rest of humanity.” From Mason’s tone it was apparent what he thought of such an idea.

  “I assume you think this hunting lodge was the one on my land?” I spoke up, caught between fascination and dubiousness.

  “I do. If you consult your ancestor’s journal, you will see he mentions the treasure his father hid in the Tudor ruins. George Wimple was suffering early onset dementia and was institutionalised when he was fifty-eight. He died three years later, and his son, the writer of the journal, inherited everything.”

  I vaguely knew all this. Had Mummy told me, or was it Daphne? It didn’t matter. It was ancient history as far as I was concerned.

  “Your great-grandfather wrote that his father had been obsessed with tales of the Philosopher’s Stone. It was the rumour of it having been hidden in the foundations of the burnt-out Tudor hunting lodge that had him purchasing Ahman Hall in the first place.

  “It was said that if a person hid what was most precious to them next to the stone it would be multiplied tenfold. Of course, many of those who knew that legend believed it referred to esoteric wisdom not riches.

  “However, your crazy ancestor valued wealth above all things. Once he located the hiding place, he took all the wealth he could easily lay hands on and hid it with the Philosopher’s Stone. He refused to tell anyone where he’d put it, fearing they’d remove the gold and jewellery before the stone had a chance to multiply his wealth. He was institutionalised, and then died of a fever a few years later, leaving no one any the wiser as to the location of the stone and the treasure. All of that information you can verify by reading the journal.”

  Mason paused to gauge our reaction to his information. He might not have ever been a lecturer, but he enjoyed imparting knowledge. Maybe this aspect of his personality was what made me believe his ruse.

  “There’s too much conjecture in this story,” Jason said. “There were likely dozens of Elizabethan hunting lodges built in North Yorkshire by James Porter. Just because George Wimple believed Ahman Hall had been built beside the remains of the one in question, doesn’t make it so. Neither does a notation in a journal about the location of the Philosopher’s Stone make the stone a reality. And even if there was a formula, or stone, and it was buried in the foundations on Alfie’s property, that doesn’t mean George, in his madness, actually found it and buried his treasure with it. He could just as easily have hidden it with a lump of coal in the root cellar.”

  “That’s true,” Mason said smugly. “But in a recent estate sale of a descendant of one James Porter, Elizabethan architect and builder, many of the man’s plans and drawings have been discovered. That is what I discovered the morning I broke into Ahman Hall. One of the plans was reported to be of a hunting lodge on the outskirts of a small settlement called Wiggleswick.”

  “Did you see these plans?” Jason pressed.

  For the first time Mason lost a little of his smugness. “No. The site simply said they were all purchased by a dealer in London. My plan was to meet with the man and get access to the relevant plans.”

  I imagined that meant bribery or outright theft, if all else failed.

  “So, you expect me to go off on a treasure hunt when a dragon is running around the moors?” I managed to get out, amazed by the man’s gall.

  Mason shrugged. “You need the money, or you’ll be forced to sell your home. Dragon or no dragon, Her Majesties Revenue Department must be appeased. And to sweeten the pot, I’ll add this. If you get the plans, I’ll give you the location of another one of those gizmos Arthur Watkins was using to locate the dragon.”

  “We already know about the property in Shipley where he carried out the R and D for it,” Jason said through gritted teeth.

  “You might have the location where they built them, but it’s unlikely you’ll find any of the apparatus still there. Arthur was very careful about such things.”

  “So, let me get this straight. You expect us to track down a four-hundred-year-old architectural blueprint for a hunting lodge near Wiggleswick that was mentioned on some nutter’s website. You expect us to show you the plan before you’ll tell us the supposed location of another dragon-finding gadget? How do we even know you have that information?” Jake snarled incredulously.

  Mason huffed out an offended sigh. “Arthur’s son considered me a friend, one of the very few he had, for obvious reasons. And he liked to brag to his friends. A lot. Especially about how he outwitted his father on occasions. He had the second gizmo built behind his father’s back and sent a second team out to search for the dragon. When Arthur located the dragon first, William’s team abandoned the search. But I know where they kept the device.”

  I could see Jake was about to argue further, but I didn’t have time for it. Mason wanted a good barrister, and he’d hold the device over our heads until we met his demands.

  “All right. Give us the name of the dealer who purchased the maps, and we’ll see what we can do,” I said abruptly.

  Both Jason and Jake turned to look at me in astonishment.

  “He wants the best barrister money can buy; we need the device to find the dragon. I’m just twiddling my fingers right now. I can look into this. If your people find the device first, all well and good. If not, then...” I left the rest up in the air.

  Jason nodded reluctantly. “Good enough. But you’d better find the map fast, because this bastard will be moving to more permanent accommodation in a few days. And he’s not getting out on bail.”

  “I don’t want bail. I want protection until I can get as far away from Arthur’s long reach as I can.”

  “He’s dead. He can’t get to you now,” Jason grumbled.

  Mason gave a little laugh. “Shows how much you know about organized crime. Those who took part in the dragon hunt were only the occult element of his crew. There were others, as I’ve already told you, and they’ll want me silenced.”

  “Give me what you have so we can get out of here,” I interrupted impatiently.

  “The site said Ruddick and Rubens of Whitechapel bought the plans,” Mason answered promptly, looking excited and hopeful for the first time.

  I looked at Jake. “Will you come to London with me?”

  He was torn, I could tell. Continuing to read the Logos was his priority, but so was keeping me safe.

  “We can take a train to London from here. Be back by tomorrow morning,” he agreed reluctantly.

  My heart lifted. Then it fell. My pets. I couldn’t leave them alone and unfed for all that time.

  “I’ll get someone to go by your place and feed your animals. They can get out, right? If the food is put out for them at the back door, they’ll be all right,” Jason suggested.

  “Someone needs to let Aunt Daphne know what’s happening. Squib will go with us, I assume?” I looked at Jake.

  He shrugged. Squib was tethered to Jake in the same way Daphne was to Ahman Hall. Squib wouldn’t be pleased that we were keeping him from his lady love overnight.

  “I’ll get whoever feeds the animals to yell what’s happening in through the animal flap,” Jason offered.

  It was a plan.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” Mason said, rising from his place as if calling the meeting to an end.

  He was such an arrogant, entitled worm!

  Chapter Six

  Faster than I believed possible, Jake and I were on a train heading south to London. As we travelled, Jake used his bells and whistles iPhone to locate information on Ruddick and Rubens. He rang the office while we awaited our connection at York.

  “I’m told you recently purchased architectural designs drawn by Elizabethan architect James Porter,” Jake said to whoever picked up on the other end. “I represent a prominent businessman in Leeds who’s interested in one specific set of those blueprints. He’s prepared to pay well for them.”

  I couldn’t hear the reply on the other end because of the clatter of a train pulling into the beautifully designed Victorian station. The platforms were enclosed beneath an ornate glass and wrought-iron roof, which seemed to keep the noise trapped inside. I wondered at the engineering feat required to create what looked like a gigantic industrial version of my solar.

  Whatever the person said seemed to satisfy Jake, because he looked my way and nodded. A moment later, he repeated his inquiry yet again, before listening intently for a moment.

  “We’ll be arriving at Kings Cross Station at eight. I know that’s well after business hours, but we’re on a tight timeline... Yes... Good, we’ll meet you there.”

  The call ended, and Jake smiled grimly.

  “Supposedly, there is quite a bit of interest in these plans. But Ruddick is willing to show them to us this evening. Any bid we make for them will have to be run by the other interested buyers.”

  “But we need to take the blueprints back with us...” I bleated, already seeing this whole trip as a wasted exercise.

  And I didn’t have the kind of money such blueprints would likely cost.

  “No, we need to take copies of the plans back with us,” Jake contradicted.

  I stared at him for a moment, trying to take in his meaning. Would Ruddick let us make copies?

  Jake’s narrowed gaze told me what I didn’t really want to know. It didn’t matter if Ruddick would let us make copies or not. We would be making copies.

  “If it makes you feel any better, I’ll buy the blueprints. If there are a lot of treasure hunters out there looking for this Philosopher’s Stone, then we don’t want any of them getting their hands on the plans and tromping around your property.”

  “I haven’t got that sort of money...” I said, biting my bottom lip until it hurt.