Sustenance by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro Read Free Book Online Page A

had come looking for him, with good or ill intentions, and most of those instances had been disruptive in one way or another. “Unless it is as you say, and he is some manner of operative and has a specific assignment to fulfill, which is another matter entirely.” He thought briefly of the early part of the century when he himself was given a clandestine mission by Czar Nicholas of Russia; in spite of his best efforts, the assignment had failed.
    “He may have questions about your time in America,” Rogers warned.
    “Why?” As he asked, a number of troublesome possibilities rose in his mind, and recollections of Srau, of Rhea, of Gennaro Emerenzio, of Colombius of Malta, of—he made himself stop; he gave his attention to Rogers.
    “He may want to discover your vulnerabilities,” Rogers said.
    “That could be a problem for Rowena; I’ll book a phone-call with the exchange, and let her know, so she can decide how to proceed,” Szent-Germain said, casting his thoughts back to his pleasant reunion with the artist in San Francisco shortly before the outbreak of World War II, and more than twenty-five years after their first affaire in Amsterdam in the years before World War II.
    “Among others,” Rogers said. “Oscar King should be told as well, for the Pietragnellis as well as the properties in San Francisco. We don’t know who is keeping an eye on any of them, and that is worrisome. Possibly sending letters from a name unknown, so that there will be no alerts among the watchers, to protect your associates and other Americans who have dealings with you.”
    “You’re right; and perhaps letters to the Canadian branches of Eclipse as well,” Szent-Germain said thoughtfully. “They’re bound to feel the pressure from the United States. It’s a shame that it should come to this, whatever this may be.”
    “It is,” Rogers said, his austere features revealing little of his thoughts.
    Szent-Germain stared into the distance for a long moment, then said in English, “There’s no use to borrow trouble. I’d best find out what the man wants.”
    Rogers nodded. “It is unfortunate,” he said in Italian, then went on in English, “He may have questions about the current state of Eclipse Publishing, and little more than that.”
    “He may, but neither you nor I believes that,” said Szent-Germain in a tone that revealed his doubt; he went on in Byzantine Greek. “Have you ordered Arrigo to prepare some hors d’oeuvres for this William C. Bereston? Or perhaps breakfast would be more appropriate, hearty enough to assure him of his welcome, but not too overwhelming. Best set up the morning room for our discussion: there’s bound to be one, by the sound of it.” They were halfway down the stairs, on the broad landing that looked down on the loggia, and the canal beyond. The floor was inlaid marble in a complex pattern of Baroque swirls, and the walls glowed with gold-leaf murals of Venezian history.
    “No reason to keep it secret,” Rogers said in English. “It is taken care of. I have Arrigo readying something suitable, and sent Ettore to open a bottle of Burgundy from your larger French vineyard.” He smiled briefly.
    “I needn’t have asked; accept my apologies,” said Szent-Germain, slipping his ring of keys into an inner pocket of his jacket. “Is there any reason to think that Mister Bereston will refuse our hospitality?”
    “He may refuse the wine.” Rogers took a moment to consider this. “You know how Americans are about abstaining while working.”
    “None better,” Szent-Germain said in English, and resumed his descent. “Geyserville showed us what Prohibition had done to those making beer and wine and stronger liquors, and many of the citizens approved the idea if not the reality.”
    “And that is seen in more than what had become of the wineries,” said Rogers. “Shall I have a fire lit in the morning room? There’s one already laid.”
    “If you would. It’s going to be