First on My List

By T. N. Leonard

Vivian has returned to London, seeking information about her magic necklace. While she’s there, two prominent yet unconnected citizens are murdered. Agent Jack Durnham asks for her help on the cases, as she once moved in the same circle as one of the victims.
As a deputized agent with the International Police Commission, Vivian joins the hunt for the killers. The evidence suggests the murders were assassinations. The Commission uses all its resources to find and stop the suspects. It turns out, that’s not enough. They slip through an ambush and vanish.
There’s something strange about the killers and only Vivian knows it. One is fully her equal in almost every way. Vivian suspects magic is involved. If it is, she’s got two daunting tasks in front of her – bringing two assassins to justice and defeating an evil artifact. It seems both duties lie down the same road, but what if they don’t? When push comes to shove will she seek justice or becomes the destroyer? Which goal is first on her list?

• Language: English
• Publisher: T. N. Leonard
• Release date: Jun 14, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310595042

T. N. Leonard

I'm a computer programmer by day. Luckily I have my beautiful and supportive wife who encourages me to put words on the page during the evenings. My home life is quiet and dull by most standards, but I like it that way.I've been writing stories of all types all my life. Now that my two sons are older, I can devote more time to writing. I try to write the stories I'd like to read.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Vivian Hawthorn

Miss Hawthorn, the curator will see you now.

The secretary held the door as I stood and entered the office. She gave me a polite nod and let it close behind me.

The office was dark despite two huge windows on the back wall. Gaslights burned on the side walls, but the room had a shadowy feel. It felt like part of the museum’s collection.

Doctor Arthur Gerrald, curator of the museum, stood as I entered. He was in his late fifties, with thick salt and pepper hair. He extended his hand for me to shake. I was surprised by how short he was in person. We’d corresponded a few times, but this was our first meeting.

I gave him my gloved hand.

His grip was firm. Nice to finally meet you, Miss Hawthorn.

I dipped my head. Thank you for seeing me.

He let go and used his open hand to indicate the chairs in front of his desk. Please have a seat.

Thank you again. I took the chair on the left.

Dr. Gerrald struck a thoughtful pose and sat on the corner of his desk. I remember you had a gemstone you wanted some information about. I’d be happy to have a look, but I’m curious as to why you brought it here rather than to a gemologist?

I brought it here because I’m more interested in the stone’s history than I am about gemstones in general. I unclasped my necklace and handed it to him.

Well, let’s have a look, shall we? He pulled a jeweler’s loupe from his jacket pocket.

The necklace was a simple one - a round blue stone, about a half inch in diameter, on a silver chain. Dr. Gerrald took it from me.

He held the necklace by the chain and let the stone spin a couple of turns while he pressed the loupe into his left eye. It’s a sapphire, somewhere between two and three carats. Color is blue with medium to dark tone and moderately strong saturation. I see it’s been polished rather than cut. He held the stone up so the light from the window shone through it. There are a few minor flaws, less than one might expect from a stone this size. I suspect it’s been heat treated. He took the loupe from his eye and pointed to where the chain passed through the stone. Also, some buffoon has drilled a hole in it in order to hang it from a chain. That will significantly affect its value. How much, I cannot say.

Thank you. I leaned forward in my chair. But I wasn’t after an appraisal of the stone. I’m interested in its history. Can you tell me anything about it, such as where it came from and who might have used it?

He looked puzzled by the question. As to where it came from, the most likely answer is Ceylon. As to who might have worn it, let’s start by asking how it came to be in your possession.

I got it from my mother. When she passed away my father gave it to me. I don’t know where she got it.

Interesting. He looked back to the stone again, considering it. I have seen stones similar to this in a wide variety of jewelry. It isn’t common practice to polish gemstones these days. Nearly all are cut. Most of the pieces I’ve seen with this type of finish have been Roman. It is possible, though not likely – and by no means provable – that this stone might have been part of an earlier piece.

I shifted in my seat. I’d been through this conversation before in several museums around the world. My next question usually resulted in me sounding quite foolish. One curator had even laughed at me.

There was a lump in my throat. Have you ever heard of a stone like this with any...strange properties?

Strange properties? Like what?

Anything such as, I changed the tone of my voice so it sounded like I was making up the question as I went, and not referring to specific qualities I’d observed in the stone already, someone wearing it has accelerated healing, or maybe increased strength, or being able to run faster than normal?

Dr. Gerrald scoffed. There are any number of stories of magic stones. Many gems have been associated with general health or curing specific ailments. Of course, that’s all superstition.

Of course. I forced a sycophantic laugh. But have you heard stories about sapphires that might have been worn by soldiers in battle?

He lowered his hands and fixed on a point somewhere beyond the view outside the window. Not sapphires, no. In the Middle Ages many soldiers wore amethyst amulets to clear their minds and dispel fear. Rubies have been used as decoration on some armors and weapons. In ancient cultures, soldiers would rub hematite on their bodies to make themselves invincible. He held the necklace by the chain and allowed the stone to swing freely. Are you asking if this necklace is an ancient talisman once used by a soldier during battle?

Is it possible?

His derisive snort was one I’d heard several times before. It made my blood boil each time I did. It’s certainly possible, but extremely unlikely. A more reasonable explanation is that this is a polished sapphire on a silver chain.

He handed the necklace back to me.

Well. I took it back and stood. Thank you again for seeing me. I’m sorry to have wasted your time today.

Not at all. I was wondering when you would get around to visiting us. He gave me a broad smile.

By contrast, I felt my face fall. I beg your pardon?

I’ve heard from several fellow curators about a woman asking about an ancient magic stone. It seems you’ve been to at least five museums over the last nine months or so.

This is the eighth.

Well, I am honored that you eventually got around to inquiring here. I’m sorry I have nothing new to help you. Perhaps you could try the Museum of Cairo.

They sent me here.

Ah. Dr. Gerrald nodded approvingly. High praise indeed. In that case, if you haven’t tried the British Museum, you might go there. The director’s name is Sir William Galloway. He may be able to help you with this.

London.

That was a city I’d hoped to avoid. It had been almost a year since I’d run out on what was supposed to have been my wedding. Since then I’d been all over the world, seen some fantastic places, learned absolutely nothing about my mother’s necklace, and done everything in my power to avoid showing my face in London.

If you like, Dr. Gerrald stood and walked to the other side of his desk, I can draw up a letter that might help you get an interview with Galloway.

That won’t be necessary. I clasped the chain around my neck. Despite Dr. Gerrald passing me off as superstitious, I felt myself becoming energized and alert as the stone came to rest near my heart.

I wish you luck with your search, then.

Thank you again and have a pleasant day. I showed myself out and gently closed the door behind me.

The stone was nothing like what these experts believed. Twice I’d fallen asleep while wearing it. On the first occasion I'd dreamt of an ancient ceremony where a priest had given blessed stones to ancient warriors and affixed them to their armor. In that dream I had been one of the stones. In a broad, epic, and confusing dream I’d experienced several lifetimes, all of them previous owners of the stone. Many of the past lives I’d seen predated the Roman Empire. This stone was far older than that.

The second dream had been different. In this one, the priest who had blessed the stones originally spoke directly to me. He asked me to take up an ancient fight. He asked no less than for me to become a general in the war between Good and Evil.

If only that priest had given me his name, I might have been able to ask intelligent questions of these ‘experts.’

As I made my way through the waiting room and into the hallway I wondered where else I might try and where else I might go other than London. I’d been to many ancient cities already, working undercover as a newspaper travelogue reporter, and talking to learned people who were used to dealing with antiquities. In addition to museums, I’d been to over a dozen of the largest libraries in the world, scouring through dusty tomes for any hint or mention of a blessed or magic sapphire. No one had been able to tell me anything about the stone.

All anyone really knew about the stone was that it had probably been mined in Ceylon. That only told us where the rock had been formed. It said nothing about who had blessed it. In the years since it had been taken from the ground, it had made its way to London and eventually my mother’s jewelry chest. It was those intervening years I was curious about.

Ever since I’d become aware that the stone had a history, I’d known the best place to go for information on it was the British Museum. I’d hoped to find an alternative, but so far no one had been able to give me any answers. There was no other choice. I was going to have to go back to London.

Chapter 2

Wilton Crescent, London

The woman was standing alone in the corner of the dining room. She was in her early to mid-twenties, tall and slender. Her eyes were green with thin grey flakes. Her raven hair was pulled up and back in a dramatic bun, held in place by a bejeweled dragonfly pin. The violet dress she wore, while cut to a tasteful length, was tight in places and clung to regions of her body which one might not normally emphasize at a formal party. Her long string of pearls stood out against the dark fabric of the dress.

She looked around the room, making only brief eye contact with anyone. When a serving girl asked if she needed anything, she smiled politely and shook her head no. Clearly the dark haired woman was out of place at a party thrown for and by the upper crust of London society.

There were all sorts in attendance this evening. Doctors and artists, business tycoons and actors, lords and ladies had all turned out for this event. One stood apart from the others though. He was a distinguished looking man of at least fifty-five with greying hair and a formal bearing. He wore a long blue uniform and gold epaulets with fringe that covered his shoulders. His gold sash covered many, but not all of the silver medals on his chest.

He, too, was alone in this crowd, drifting from one small circle to another nursing a glass of scotch.

Many couples were dancing in the main ballroom. The string quartet was playing a variety of classical pieces as well as some of the modern music that had come in style. Each time they finished a song they would receive quiet and polite applause, bow to the guests, and launch into another piece.

The uniformed man made his obligatory circuit of the room, eventually taking a spot straddling the dining room and the ballroom. There was something particularly lonely about his expression, as if there had once been someone with whom he could attend these sorts of events. It was clear he was only here this evening out of some sense of obligation.

He took a sip of his drink and let his eye drift in no particular direction.

And so it was that he found the raven-haired woman walking in no particular direction past the dance floor. She paused for a moment, touched her left ear and began looking around at her feet frantically.

Curious, the uniformed man took a step toward her, his eyes scanning the floor as well, not even sure what it was he was seeking. As he moved closer, he could hear her increased breathing and was sure that this lady was in distress.

Seeing nothing near her feet or within a several foot radius around her, he was forced to ask. Excuse me, miss. Have you lost something?

She looked up at him, her eyes swollen like she might burst into tears at any second. Her voice had failed her or she couldn’t find the words. She could only point at her ears. Her right ear was adorned with a sparkling diamond stud earring, but her left was bare, with just an empty piercing.

Ah. The uniformed man raised his right index finger. Let me help you find it.

Oh, thank you. She had a hint of a French accent. I didn’t feel it come out.

The uniformed man leaned back and looked under a padded chair while the raven-haired woman ran her eyes across the dance floor looking for any sign of a diamond’s sparkle. Not finding it, he moved toward the folding doors that separated the ballroom from the dining room and she moved further along in the other direction. With no luck, they both stood looking across the wooden floor.

He set his glass on a tray as a server passed. Don’t worry. We shall find it. My wife had a set very much like that. I know how much she would have hated to lose it.

I can manage. She looked up at him, her voice still uneasy. You should probably get back to your wife before people start talking about that ‘other woman’ you were speaking to. My bad luck should not be yours.

My wife passed away nearly two years ago. He glanced around the room with a hint of disdain in his eyes. And let people talk. That’s all this lot does anyway.

I am sorry to hear that. Her eyes drifted across the awards and ribbons on his chest. I mean about your wife. I know that must be hard.

Indeed. Some of his bearing faded and his head drooped. When it did, he caught sight of something on the floor, bent down, and picked it up.

I believe this may belong to you. He handed her a small white stone.

Yes! A warm, brilliant smile formed on her lips. You found it!

She jumped forward and kissed him on the lips. After a mere second she pulled herself away. Her eyes were huge and she blushed a deep red.

I am sorry. She looked nervously from side to side. I didn’t mean to do that. I was just so happy to have gotten my grandmother’s earring back.

No need to apologize. He was blushing more than she. Though I would say for appearance sake we should at least be properly introduced. I am Vice-Admiral Gregory Forrester.

He extended his right hand.

My name is Mary Moreaux. She shook his hand. It is a pleasure to meet you, Vice-Admiral.

The pleasure is all mine. Forrester paused. And you may call me Greg.

Greg, then. Her lips stretched into a smile.

Are you here alone? Forrester’s eyes scanned the room. I cannot imagine how that could happen, but I don’t see any dashing young gentleman coming to rescue you from an old salt like me.

She shook her head. I am a guest, but I am here alone.

The men of this generation are a disgrace. Forrester scowled. A lady should never have to attend a party unescorted. If I were half my age I would redeem the honor of my gender and ask you to dance.

You were half your age once. She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling by gaslight. And someday I hope to be twice mine. Perhaps your younger self could dance with me and I could remember it fondly in my older days.

You will no doubt be married by then.

Then it will be our private, stolen moment.

Forrester turned and gazed at her, so beautiful and audacious. Even after his speech about the rampant lack of gallantry among the youth, he had fully intended to decline her invitation. But as her fingers touched his and pulled him toward the floor he found himself following.

She placed one hand on his shoulder and offered her other for him to hold. Forrester took it and tentatively placed his other hand high enough on her side as not to raise more than the most sensitive of eyebrows. Together they began to sway with the music.

Your wife, she began slowly, what happened...I mean if it’s alright to ask.

Forrester nodded. She had a heart attack.

I am very sorry. She went suddenly, then?

Yes. Standing in the hallway one minute and gone the next.

That is so sad. And you still so young and handsome.

You flatter me, miss.

Call me Mary.

That was her name as well.

She pulled back and looked deeply into his eyes - eyes that had seen so much death and destruction with dutiful calm and yet were made so sad by the thought of a single lost life. Maybe she sent me here tonight. To give you one last dance.

Then let us not waste it.

Chapter 3

Vivian Hawthorn

I hadn’t been optimistic about my meeting with the director of the British Museum. As such I was only slightly disappointed when this appointment went no better than any other. I thanked Sir William Galloway as I left his office and stepped back out into the short hallway that led to the exhibits.

There was a long marble bench against the wall and a man in a wrinkled tan suit was sitting on it. When he saw me, he straightened his spectacles, sprang to his feet, grabbed some books, clutched them to his chest, and came right at me with a puppy dog look on his face. Excuse me...are you the woman with the stone?

He was a young man, in his mid to late twenties, with disheveled blond hair, and thin glasses in round frames. He was tall, but not terribly big. Lanky was a good word for him. He had a bit of a baby face and being clean shaven didn’t help that.

His eyes turned straight up and he shuffled the books so they rested on one arm. With one awkward motion, he grabbed the felt cap from his head and caught his books before they fell.

I took one step to the side and looked him over. I do have a stone.

Great! He shifted the books so he could hold them with just his left hand. He thrust his right hand toward me. My name is Professor Timothy Richland. Very pleased to meet you.

Vivian Hawthorn. I reluctantly gave him my right hand.

His grip wasn’t firm, but his shake was energetic. I heard you were coming and I hoped to run into you. Is there any way I could see the stone?

Maybe. But I’ll need my hand back either way.

Huh? He looked down at our handshake which was still ongoing. Oh, sorry.

He let go of my glove and took a step back.

With my right thumb I reached under my collar and hooked the chain that held the sapphire. I pulled it to the side until the stone came out from under my blouse. Then I took the stone in my hand and held it out for him to see – at a distance.

His face lit up and he nearly gasped. Hooo, oh! It is just like the story says.

My eyes jumped to his. What story?

Oh, here...let me show you. He shifted his left arm and thumbed through one of the books. Loose papers were haphazardly shoved in among the pages. There’s a Sumerian text that talks about a group of people. The text calls them ‘the People of the Blue Stone.’ He stopped flipping pages and held the book open. I walked around so I could see the picture he was showing me.

It depicted a stone tablet with strange symbols carved into it. Clearly it was a language of some sort. The symbols were in lines and from time to time the symbols would repeat like letters on a printed page.

He began speaking excitedly again. This is a Sumerian history text that describes a time just after the Sumerians lost a war with the People of the Blue Stone. We have no record of the war or why it started or anything about it, just this mention of it being over.

Clearly, I wasn’t the only one who looked mad.

I am sorry, your name was...Richland?

Timothy Richland. Just call me Tim. He reached into his pocket and handed me a card.

Tim. I took the card. These People of the Blue Stone...they wore sapphires like this?

It looks like some might have. There is another tablet, he flipped the page again, which gives an account of a battle from the point of view of a Sumerian soldier. He makes mention of a perfectly round blue stone having been inserted into the enemy’s armor. That may be the origin of the name. We don’t know for sure. We don’t even know if they were a band of marauders or a rival tribe or even a nation unto themselves. The Sumerians referred to themselves as the Black-Headed People. The only mention we have of the People of the Blue Stone is in this text. It only tells us two things about them. The first being that they defeated the Sumerians in a war and that the soldiers fought with amazing strength.

He had my attention. Did the Sumerians think it was the stones that gave them their great strength?

I believe so. Tim straightened his spectacles. The text on the history tablet says that before the Sumerians retreated, they sacked a temple and took a tablet with two spells carved on it. He grinned a wide, goofy grin. This is where the story gets interesting.

Tim pulled one of the loose sheets of paper from the book and laid it out where I could see it. This was a picture of yet another stone tablet with various symbols carved into it. The symbols were different from the Sumerian text. Instead of the crude symbols from the other, this looked like letters and words, strangely similar to letters I recognized. The tablet was divided into two columns, with each side looking much like the other.

This was found at the same site as the historical text. Tim adjusted his hand to balance the books. It was in a small, thick-walled chamber along with several Sumerian prayers, copies of treaties, and a few items which appeared to have been plundered from other conquests.

What does it say?

Some of Tim’s energy faded. We have no idea. We don’t even know what language it is, though it appears to be a very advanced language for the time.

What exactly is it?

Nobody knows that, either. He shook his head. But I believe it’s the tablet with the two spells carved on it.

What are these spells?

The Sumerians believed they were the spells that gave the stones some kind of blessing from the gods. Without these spells, the People of the Blue Stone were unable to make more of the stones.

So someone would read these two spells and, Bob’s your uncle, you’ve got a stone that can make a man stronger than any other man?

The soldier’s account describes it as being fifty times stronger. Tim shrugged. Take that with a grain of salt. Historical embellishment, or maybe just an excuse for why his men lost the battle. As far as reading the two spells, I think there’s more to it than that.

He became animated again and tried to reposition the books so he could point to something on the picture.

He dropped his hat.

Why don’t we set those down? I helped him hold the books and pointed to the long bench.

Oh! Good idea. Tim took a step backward and set the books on the