down on her couch without saying a word. Val sat next to me.
The old lady stood in her bathrobe, her arms crossed. After a long moment of silence, she cleared her throat and asked, “Are we playing charades?”
“Good idea,” I said. I held up three fingers.
“Three words,” Val said.
I nodded and held up a single finger.
“First word,” Madame Flora said.
I nodded and pointed at her.
“Flora,” Val said.
I nodded and held up two fingers.
“Second word,” Madame Flora said.
I pointed at her again.
“Drabarni,” Val said.
I nodded and held up three fingers.
“Let’s cut this short,” Val said. “Third word is 1946. As in your journal from 1946, found in Hermann Goering’s soul line collection.”
Madame Flora sucked in a big gulp of air. She dropped her hands to her sides. “Archibald snuck you a copy, didn’t he?”
I touched my nose. “Bingo. And it’s a good thing, too, since you burned the original.”
“How do you know that?”
I smiled. “We also thought we should get to the journal before Archie returned it. We watched you destroy it.”
She closed her eyes. “And now you’ve figured out my code?” She opened them and stared at me.
I nodded. “Mostly Romany in a Glagolitic script.”
She seemed to collapse into a chair across from the couch. “How much of it did you understand?” She bit her lip.
“We’ve decoded half of it,” I said. “Right now we have a wounded brave knight and a captain in love with a confused princess.”
Madame Flora sighed. “Scott, you mustn’t tell Archibald you can read it.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“You will cause irreparable damage for all of us.” Madame Flora sat forward on her seat, her hands gripping the ends of her bathrobe. “You mustn’t tell him.”
I looked at Val. “What do you think?”
“I think she owes us the rest of the story before we can agree to that,” Val said.
“Me too.” I pointed at Madame Flora. “Translate your fairy tale into fact, and we’ll reserve judgment until you’re done.”
Madame Flora’s gaze swung from Val to me. She nodded, and said, “Once you hear me out, I’m sure you’ll understand.”
twenty-three
October 1946
Nuremberg, Occupied Germany
Baba had given it to Flora last week, the night she completed calculating Goering’s soul identity. “Write it down,” she said, pressing the leather-bound journal into her hands.
“Write what, Baba?” she asked.
“Everything that happens to you from this day forward.” Baba handed her a fountain pen. “Today marks the first day of our new life. You must record all that happens.” She grabbed Flora’s shoulders and stared fiercely into her eyes. “You must form new dreams.”
So Flora took the journal, and she wrote about the disastrous negotiations with the Nazi underground.
The overseer knocked on the door just as she finished, and Flora glared at him. “Get out of my room,” she said. She moved to her bed and hugged her pillow to her chest.
Archibald Morgan shook his finger at her. “You put my mission in jeopardy, yet you dare talk to me like this?”
“It was your fault—not mine. It didn’t have to happen that way, and you know it.”
“I know it?” His hands clenched into fists. “What do you think I could have done?”
“Turned the gold over to the authorities,” she yelled. “We both know it’s stolen.”
His chin dropped toward his chest. “Knowing is not enough,” he said softly. “I told you I needed proof.”
“And James and I got you that proof.” She spat that out. “We almost died on Saturday—but that’s not good enough for you, is it?”
He shook his head. “I have only your word and four scraps of burnt paper. James is barely coherent—he remembers nothing. And the only thing I saw in that clearing was a burnt-down barn.”
She turned away from him. They had been so close.
Flora had been mentally punishing herself ever since that hellish trip back from the
The old lady stood in her bathrobe, her arms crossed. After a long moment of silence, she cleared her throat and asked, “Are we playing charades?”
“Good idea,” I said. I held up three fingers.
“Three words,” Val said.
I nodded and held up a single finger.
“First word,” Madame Flora said.
I nodded and pointed at her.
“Flora,” Val said.
I nodded and held up two fingers.
“Second word,” Madame Flora said.
I pointed at her again.
“Drabarni,” Val said.
I nodded and held up three fingers.
“Let’s cut this short,” Val said. “Third word is 1946. As in your journal from 1946, found in Hermann Goering’s soul line collection.”
Madame Flora sucked in a big gulp of air. She dropped her hands to her sides. “Archibald snuck you a copy, didn’t he?”
I touched my nose. “Bingo. And it’s a good thing, too, since you burned the original.”
“How do you know that?”
I smiled. “We also thought we should get to the journal before Archie returned it. We watched you destroy it.”
She closed her eyes. “And now you’ve figured out my code?” She opened them and stared at me.
I nodded. “Mostly Romany in a Glagolitic script.”
She seemed to collapse into a chair across from the couch. “How much of it did you understand?” She bit her lip.
“We’ve decoded half of it,” I said. “Right now we have a wounded brave knight and a captain in love with a confused princess.”
Madame Flora sighed. “Scott, you mustn’t tell Archibald you can read it.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“You will cause irreparable damage for all of us.” Madame Flora sat forward on her seat, her hands gripping the ends of her bathrobe. “You mustn’t tell him.”
I looked at Val. “What do you think?”
“I think she owes us the rest of the story before we can agree to that,” Val said.
“Me too.” I pointed at Madame Flora. “Translate your fairy tale into fact, and we’ll reserve judgment until you’re done.”
Madame Flora’s gaze swung from Val to me. She nodded, and said, “Once you hear me out, I’m sure you’ll understand.”
twenty-three
October 1946
Nuremberg, Occupied Germany
Baba had given it to Flora last week, the night she completed calculating Goering’s soul identity. “Write it down,” she said, pressing the leather-bound journal into her hands.
“Write what, Baba?” she asked.
“Everything that happens to you from this day forward.” Baba handed her a fountain pen. “Today marks the first day of our new life. You must record all that happens.” She grabbed Flora’s shoulders and stared fiercely into her eyes. “You must form new dreams.”
So Flora took the journal, and she wrote about the disastrous negotiations with the Nazi underground.
The overseer knocked on the door just as she finished, and Flora glared at him. “Get out of my room,” she said. She moved to her bed and hugged her pillow to her chest.
Archibald Morgan shook his finger at her. “You put my mission in jeopardy, yet you dare talk to me like this?”
“It was your fault—not mine. It didn’t have to happen that way, and you know it.”
“I know it?” His hands clenched into fists. “What do you think I could have done?”
“Turned the gold over to the authorities,” she yelled. “We both know it’s stolen.”
His chin dropped toward his chest. “Knowing is not enough,” he said softly. “I told you I needed proof.”
“And James and I got you that proof.” She spat that out. “We almost died on Saturday—but that’s not good enough for you, is it?”
He shook his head. “I have only your word and four scraps of burnt paper. James is barely coherent—he remembers nothing. And the only thing I saw in that clearing was a burnt-down barn.”
She turned away from him. They had been so close.
Flora had been mentally punishing herself ever since that hellish trip back from the
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