Prologue

"Ready my knights for battle. They will ride with their king once more.

I have lived through others for far too long. Lancelot carried my glory , and Guenevere, my guilt . Mordred bears my sins. My knights have fought my causes.

Now, my brother, I shall be... king."

It was the perfect night for smuggling.

Rain, wind and cold. What began as a mid-afternoon drizzle had grown into a torrent by early evening. The onslaught of elements pushed every tourist, executive, and panhandler off the streets of the Central Business District, into the shelter of houses and bars. Not even the police were watching tonight, focused instead on a multi-car collision that had bottled up traffic on the freeway.

Meanwhile, a tall man in a black trenchcoat walked along the empty sidewalk, completely unnoticed.

He hunched his shoulders against the rain, musing to himself that few tools could be quite as useful to a criminal as a summer storm. Rain fell in drenching sheets, pounding furiously on rooftops, overflowing the gutters, and splashing heavily onto the cracked pavement. The man bowed his head low into his collar, avoiding the glow of streetlights and neon store signs as he moved on westward.

Once, as he rounded a dimly lit corner, a woman stepped out of a clothing store directly into his path, nearly colliding with him. The man slipped around her smoothly, keeping his head lowered. She never even noticed he was there.

He continued on without looking up. After walking five more blocks, he ducked into the side entrance of a tall, steel-framed building and let the door slam closed behind him. Just as he'd hoped, not a single person had seen him go by.

That was good, he thought. That would do just fine.

Seventy stories overhead, Kevin Needry sat alone in his office, waiting. He had chosen the place and time for this meeting, a privilege which he took as a significant vote of confidence. He'd made sure everything was in order, planned it all out weeks in advance.

In truth, his dealer didn't want to be bothered seeking out a location on his own. He'd forfeited that honor willingly. But Needry didn't know that, and no one was going to tell him.

By 8:00 p.m. the entire building was almost empty. It was a Tuesday, and everyone but the journalists on the twentieth floor had left hours ago. Outside, the storm redoubled its efforts.

Needry sat behind a black marble desk, fighting the urge to glance at his watch for the tenth time in as many minutes. He wondered if he looked as anxious as he felt. Leaning back in his chair, he tried to arrange himself into an authoritative posture, with hands steepled in front of him and one leg crossed over his knee in a figure-four shape. He wore his suit unbuttoned, and he'd taken off his tie. The goal was an outward aspect both casual and businesslike, appropriate for the situation.

He waited, trying not to fidget.

This was only the third time he'd arranged to buy a black-market artifact, though probably not the last. Both times before he'd met with the same dealer, an older man with a mustache and short gray hair. Needry found the man obnoxious and lurid to the point of reproach, but he didn't want to hire anyone else to bring in his merchandise. Needry liked to keep things consistent when it came to illegal transactions. Better for business that way.

Unfortunately, consistency turned out to be too much to hope for. Tonight, someone new was coming up to the office. Needry had been assured that this new man had a sound reputation, that he would deliver the goods on time, and in person, as promised. They said he was a professional. Discrete, and reliable.

High praise, for a convict.

At 8:05 the door to his office opened. Needry raised his chin, squinting, as a tall man in a black coat poked his head into the room, looking around. Spying Needry, the man smiled.

He came in, but left the door open. Without saying a word, the man walked casually toward the desk, pulled off his dripping trench coat and dropped it over the back of a chair. Needry stared at him.

Sam smiled back.

He stood in place with arms relaxed at his sides. He didn't say anything. Didn't need to. He'd made sure to dress the part for this meeting, and as planned, his clothes were making the first impression.

The ensemble consisted of a safari-style shirt, cargo pants, a dark leather satchel, dusty work boots and three days of deliberately unshaven stubble on his cheeks. To cap off the effect, he'd even thought to stop the elevator five floors down, so that he could hike up the stairs and cultivate a layer of sweat on his brow and collarbone. All he needed now was a bullwhip and a brown fedora, and he would be the spitting image of every aspiring treasure hunter's personal fantasy.

Fortune and glory, et cetera, et cetera.

Truth be told, Sam felt like a complete moron in the getup. But he knew clients like Needry had certain...expectations. A dealer had to dress the part, safari shirt and all, or risk being pegged as a fraud. For some men, it wasn't enough just to buy contraband. They wanted the whole damn experience, and what kind of experience would it be if the actors walked on stage without their costumes?

So that morning Sam had taken himself to the thrift store and bought a pair of khaki - lord almighty, khaki - cargo pants, complete with side pockets and rear button flaps. He'd actually stolen the shirt, or rather, borrowed it, from his brother's closet. Where on earth Nathan had bought the thing, Sam didn't really care to know.

In any case, his costume was having the desired effect; Needry eyed him from head to toe, and hadn't yet spoken a word since he'd walked in. Sam expected that reaction, but after a while, he started to feel a bit uncomfortable. He knew clothing made the man, but he also didn't relish being ogled like a fish in a tank.

After a long minute, Needry finished looking him over and sat forward in his chair. He blinked several times as if to moisten his eyes.

"Did you bring it?" Needry said.

Straight to business? No mundane small talk or petty quips to warm up the engines? Sam didn't mind. He wanted to get this deal over with, and he was more than happy to cut to the chase. Still, a simple "hello" to start things off wouldn't hurt.

Managing to hide his annoyance, Sam inclined his head a fraction to the side as he reached into his bag. He took out a small plywood box and set it on the desk. It was roughly six inches long, unmarked and deliberately ordinary, like something a person might buy at a craft store to keep crayons in. Needry's eyes fixed upon it with sudden interest the moment it appeared.

Needry glanced up at Sam, and then back to the box. "That's it?"

"See for yourself."

Needry's jaw muscles twitched, but he hesitated only a moment. Reaching out, he set his fingertips on the lid of the box, arching his hand like a claw, and dragged the container slowly across the desk to him.

He opened the lid and carefully pushed aside the straw packing. Resting inside was a dark figurine made of black stone, carved into the crude shape of a tall man. The face was long, adorned with an elaborate beard, pointed nose and a thick black uni-brow. But the eyes were the main attraction. Unusually large and round, the lidless eyes gazed forward with wide, perfectly black pupils, giving the statue a perpetual look of shock. It was as if the sculptor had tried to capture the expression of a man the moment after he'd been kicked between the legs.

Honestly, Sam found the figure disturbing, and he couldn't imagine why anyone would want it. Then again, some people just had weird taste. Once, he'd heard about a man who boasted a collection of burnt food, which he charged people admission to see. Apparently, there really was a market for anything.

Needry stared at the statue for a moment, and then reverently lifted it out of the box with both hands. He held it up in the light, muttering something indistinct under his breath. Sam thought he looked almost like a catholic priest holding up the Eucharist at Sunday mass, and tried not to laugh.

Needry ignored him. He continued to gawk at the figure for a full minute, turning it over several times, inspecting every inch. "It's in remarkable condition," he said at last. "Where in the world did you come by something like this?"

That was a stupid question. Was it supposed to be an insult?

Sam couldn't remember exactly where he'd pinched the statue, but it hadn't just fallen out of the sky into his lap. Instead of the real answer, he settled for a vague deflection. "Oh, I just stumbled on it somewhere when I was traveling," he said. "You know how it is."

"Yes," Needry said, grinning. "You never know what you'll find out there." He was well-traveled himself, or liked to think so. He allowed himself four vacations a year, most of them to Europe. Recently he had even reached a first-name basis with his travel agent.

"It's Egyptian, isn't it?"

"Mesopotamian," Sam corrected. "Fun Fact: it's actually a representation of a temple priest. The eyes are meant to be symbolic of omniscience. That's why they're so big and...unsettling."

"Fascinating." Needry looked down at the figure's face, as if to meet its unswerving gaze. After a moment he sighed, and then carefully set the statue down on his desk. He reached for his breast pocket. "I'll just need to verify..."

Sam had expected this. He wasn't insulted, and he wasn't worried; the statue was actually genuine, though he doubted this buyer could spot a fraud in any case. He took the question as a sign that Needry was feeling comfortable, maybe even excited. That was good.

Sam hoped wouldn't need to push too hard to make this sale. Right now, the buyer was in love with that odd little statue. At this moment, Needry was probably envisioning the spot where he'd put it, right next to his golf trophies on the mantel, or maybe on a shelf in his pool room. But just like a bad relationship, the initial thrill was already starting to fade. He'd start thinking about the money. He'd start thinking the merchandise was worth less than the price he'd agreed to pay for it. Too much thinking was bad.

Time to move things along.

"Go ahead," Sam said.

Needry gave a cursory smile as he removed a jeweler's lens from his breast pocket. Sam almost snorted when he saw it, but stopped himself. He noticed right away that the lens was unmarked and polished to a shine. Brand new. Needry had probably bought it just for this meeting. Sam wondered if the grubby little man even knew which end to put over his eye, or if he'd needed to look that information up online.

Needry was trying to send a message by bringing out that lens, trying to establish superiority. Sam decided it was time to send a message of his own. While Needry set to examining the figure in earnest, Sam took out a cigarette and clamped it between his lips. He took his time, reveling in the fact that his buyer wasn't paying him the slightest bit of attention.

He flicked his lighter open and at the sound Needry looked up. His face twisted with disgust as Sam lighted his cigarette, and took a long, contented drag.

This was a calculated risk. Needry was known to detest the smell of nicotine, and smoking in his presence was bound to have an effect on him. Sam could see the situation going one of two ways: either the stench would make the man so uncomfortable that he would rush through the negotiations and buy the figurine at full price, or he would call the whole thing off and throw Sam out of his office on the spot.

In any case, the time for dawdling was over.

Sam put his lighter away and hoped his luck would hold.

Needry stared at him. He opened his mouth, but then stopped, and slowly shut it again without speaking.

"So?" Sam said. "What do you think? Looks good, right?"

"I..." he trailed off, watching Sam exhale a cloud of smoke from between his teeth. He swallowed, composing himself. "The condition is excellent. But..."

"But?"

"It's just...Usually, artifacts this old suffer a bit more...damage. I'm sure you know what I mean. These sorts of sculptures are rarely intact."

Sam shrugged. "I mean, if you want it damaged, I can do that for you. No extra charge." He laughed, but Needry didn't even smile.

"What I mean is, I would need more time to examine it before I make a decision."

"I see," Sam said. "Look, I appreciate you trying to be nice. But we're both grown-ups here. Just say it. You think I brought you a fake."

"Well..."

"I get it. I'm not your usual man, but come on. Look at that thing. Does it really look fake to you?"

Needry stared down at the figure in his hands, not meeting Sam's eyes. "I can't say. I would need more time to look it over," he repeated.

Nodding, Sam pursed his lips so that his cigarette pointed up toward the ceiling at a dramatic angle. He took a deep breath in, and then out before he spoke again.

"Well. Time is something we all want more of, isn't it?"

Needry didn't say anything. He licked his lips while he contemplated his options.

Time for another prod. Sam leaned over the desk, and reaching out his hand, gently took the figure from Needry's grasp. Surprisingly, he gave it up without resistance.

"Unfortunately," Sam said, "You're not the only person to express interest in this...exquisite item. Being that you're a friend of a friend, I took pains to come to you first. But if you're having second thoughts..."

"I didn't say that."

Sam pinched his cigarette between thumb and forefinger and then exhaled, enjoying the grimace on Needry's face as the scent engulfed him.

For a moment they stayed that way, silently regarding each other. The thought passed through Sam's mind that he might have gone too far, that he was about to be turned down flat after all his trouble. He doubted it. Needry was eyeing the black figurine as if he was hoping it would come to life and spring back into his hands.

"I'll give you half now," he said finally, "and half after I authenticate it."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Full price, up front. This isn't a flea market, you know."

Another long stretch of silence. Sam looked down at the statue thoughtfully, staring into it's huge, unnerving eyes.

At last Needry sighed. He turned away toward the other side of his desk and flipped open the leather case on his cell phone. He tapped at the screen, bringing it to life, and then quietly touched a few keys. He pressed his lips together as he worked, frowning. When he was done he closed the phone case and looked up.

Three seconds later Sam's own phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, reading a notification that said forty thousand dollars had just transferred into his bank account. Sender anonymous.

Usually, this was the part of the deal Sam liked best. The moment when money changed hands, or specifically, the moment when money left someone else's hands into his own. But somehow there was no kick this time. He almost felt disappointed.

Gone were the days of trading merchandise for bags of cash or gold. It was simpler this way. Safer.

Still...

Sam smiled and dropped the phone back into his pocket. With his other hand, he placed the figurine on the desk and then twisted it around to face its new owner.

"Congratulations," he said. "I'm sure it'll look fantastic on the mantelpiece."

Notes: So this is an updated version of the proglogue, not a new chapter. I promise not to fiddle with it anymore after this, both for your sanity and mine.

Hope you are enjoying the story so far! Don't forget to kindly leave a comment if you like what you see. Or leave a comment if you don't. Anything is appreciated.

See you next time!