Rembrandt's Ghost by Paul Christopher

first Boer settlers were from Holland. He tapped some keys and glanced at his computer screen. “We here at the firm were surprised when we heard of this transaction, yes? Because, you see, the house has been owned by members of the Van Boegart family since it was built in 1685.”
    “I’m a member of the family,” said Billy. “Pieter Boegart is my cousin or something.”
    “Yes, or something, that is correct, Lord Pilgrim.”
    “Just Billy if you don’t mind, or Mr. Pilgrim if you like.”
    “Certainly, Lord Pilgrim.” The man turned to Finn. “Your relationship to
Meneer
Boegart, however, is less clear.”
    “Yes, it is.” She didn’t like the man’s officious and slightly condescending manner of speech. “But from what we understood from Sir James everything is in order, isn’t it?”
    “Yes, it appears to be,” the man murmured, checking his screen again.
    “So if that’s the case,” continued Finn, “why don’t we just get on with it unless you’ve got some objection… Guido?” She pronounced his name with a heavy Italian accent.
    The man reddened. “It is not pronounced that way. It is more the way you would pronounce ‘van Gogh,’ the artist.”
    “Van Hhok,”
Finn said with the proper guttural effect. It made it sound as though you were getting ready to spit on the sidewalk.
    “Yes,” the lawyer said primly.
    “Which would make your name
Hogweedo
, yes?” Billy added, overdoing it with an innocent smile.
    Derlagen reddened even more as he realized they were teasing him. “The pronouncing of my name is of no importance,” he said a little angrily.
    “That’s right. It’s not important at all, any more than my relationship to Pieter Boegart, so why don’t you just go and fetch whatever papers we have to sign and we’ll get out of your hair, okay?” Finn said.
    “Quite so,” said Derlagen. He got up from behind the desk and left the office.
    “Pinched,” said Billy. “I used to have professors at Oxford like that. Always with that pinched look one gets when one’s bowels aren’t moving as they should.”
    “In other words, he’s got a pickle up his ass,” said Finn.
    “Exactly,” said Billy.
    Derlagen returned with a file folder full of documents and a small leather-covered box. They signed the documents, which made them the only two stockholders of an already formed Dutch royalty conduit nonresident corporation called
Vleigende Draeack
LLC—the Flying Dragon Company. The only assets of Flying Dragon were the painting, which they had already received; the Amsterdam house on the
Herengracht
; a very elderly freighter due to be scrapped; and a tract of utterly unapproachable snake-infested jungle somewhere in the middle of an unnamed island in the Sulu Sea at approximately 7 degrees north by 118 degrees south. By signing the documents, Finn and Billy were legally agreeing to physically take possession of these assets within a limited period of time. Failure to do so would result in the forfeiture of all the assets, including those already taken into their possession.
    “So we have to actually go to this so-called snake-infested unapproachable tract of land on the unnamed island or we lose everything. Is that what you’re saying?” Finn asked.
    “Precisely,” said Derlagen, smiling for the first time. It was not a friendly smile.
    “Well,” said Billy airily, “I’m not doing anything else at the moment, Miss Ryan, how about you?”
    “I’m game if you are, Billy.”
    The lawyer’s lips pursed as though he’d just sucked a lemon. “As you wish,” he said.
    They signed. Derlagen went away again to get copies of the signed agreements and their stock certificates.
    “Can’t be very high up the food chain,” Finn commented. “He doesn’t even have a secretary.”
    “I’m feeling very much the CEO. Perhaps I’ll buy lunch,” said Billy.
    “We just had breakfast, and how come you’re the CEO?”
    “All right, you be the CEO, and I’ll be the