The Thirteenth Skull (Alfred Kropp #3)(28)

“Good,” Abby said crisply. She was all business now. “We’re at the edge of the security envelope.” She stood up, Ashley stood up, and then Nueve stood up. Mr. Needlemier and I didn’t stand up.

“Alfred,” Abby said.

“Alfred,” Ashley said.

“Alfred,” Nueve said.

“May I have a few moments alone with Alfred?” Mr. Needlemier asked.

Nueve was immediately suspicious. “For what purpose?”

“For the purpose of saying goodbye.”

Abby looked at her watch. “Five minutes.”

On their way out, I heard Nueve say to Abby, “Sentimentalist!” The door closed. Mr. Needlemier glanced through the window to make sure they weren’t trying to eavesdrop. I could have pointed out they probably had the room bugged. He scooted his chair close to mine.

“Alfred, are you sure about this?”

I nodded. “It’s messed up, Mr. Needlemier.”

“I can’t argue with that. You may call me cynical, Alfred, but money does have a way of fixing things. You understand you are walking away from close to half a billion dollars?”

“Ever since this thing started,” I said, feeling like I was going to cry. “Ever since I stole the Sword, people have been dying. A lot of people, most of them bad, I guess, but a lot of them good, including my uncle and my dad. It’s like a wheel, Mr. Needlemier, a big wheel of death that just keeps turning and I’m like the axle. A wheel can’t turn without its axle.”

He was nodding like he was following me, but I didn’t think he was. I went on. “Samuel won’t take OIPEP’s money, so I want you to make sure he has some of mine. The rest I want you to give away. Orphanages and places like that, although the only places I can think of like that are orphanages. You know what I mean; you’re the lawyer—check into it. I can’t help the dead, but I can the living.”

“Yes, well, Alfred . . . about that . . .”

“About what part of that?”

“The money. There’s been a development.”

“I hate it when you say that. What development?”

“All the money has been frozen.”

“Why?”

“By order of the court. You see, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about privately. There’s been a challenge to your father’s will.”

I was about to ask who when it hit me who.

“Jourdain Garmot,” I said.

“Why, yes. How did you know?”

“His dad used to be Mr. Samson’s heir. Mr. Samson had picked Mogart to take charge of Excalibur if something happened to him. Then he found out about me and cut Mogart out, which led Mogart to use me to steal the Sword and everything else.”

Mr. Needlemier was nodding. “Exactly. Now we can fight this, Alfred. Bernard’s will bequeathing everything to you postdates the will naming Mogart as the heir.”

“So Jourdain won’t get the money.”

“Not without committing a very serious crime,” Mr. Needlemier answered.

“I don’t think that would bother him,” I said. “You know what he does, Mr. Needlemier? He carries his father’s head around in a black leather satchel.”

“Dear God!”

“And that might not be the only one. I think he took my father’s head too. He’s totally whacked. He took his head and blew up his house and now I guess he’s after all the money. I think he wants to wipe everything to do with me off the face of the planet.”

I stood up.

“And the Skull. He wants that too, but I’m not sure what wiping me out has to do with that.”

“The Skull?”

“The Thirteenth Skull. Have you ever heard of it?”

He said, “Why in the world would I?”

“You worked for the head man, the captain of the Order of the Sacred Sword. Maybe it came up.”

He just stared at me with a blank expression. I was getting that look a lot lately.

“It must have something to do with the knights,” I went on. “How else would Jourdain know about it?”

“I don’t know anything about any skulls, Alfred.”

I nodded. “I didn’t think so. Well, it’s like Abby said, it doesn’t really matter now. Like Sofia.”

He was totally lost by this point. “Sofia? Who is Sofia?”

“A ghost from the past.” I took a deep breath. “This is it,” I said.

And he said, voice shaking, “Yes. It.”

I headed for the door.

“Oh! Alfred, I nearly forgot. There is one more thing.”

I turned and saw him standing there holding a black rapier.

“What should I do with this?”

It was Bennacio’s sword, the sword of the last knight to walk the earth. At a château in France, I had laid my hands on that same sword and sworn a vow to heaven. If I turned my back on it now, was I turning my back on something else, something that called me beloved?

“This isn’t running,” I choked out. “I’m not trying to save myself. That’s not what this is.”

“Alfred, I don’t understand. Are you saying you don’t want it?” He was talking about the sword.