Osman. In this very room. He did not survive his incarceration. He had sent his young son to safety in Canada and not given him the location. And so the Palm became lost."
Noelle twisted her head to look out the window, out to the sea. "If he couldn't have it, no one could, I guess."
"He did everything in his power to keep the jewel out of hands that would have turned the wealth to evil. The Palm would be priceless today."
"Well, that would have bought the Nazis a lot of tanks." Noelle laughed. "But it's not possible. Emeralds aren't worth that much. The largest one ever sold was only worth a couple million."
"Ah. The Palm is not an emerald, but a flawless green diamond of the purest color. It most likely came from the same mine as the famed Dresden Green, but the palm was twice the size. The color is a result of natural irradiation." Not many knew the jewel was, in fact, a diamond of the second rarest color. Why he chose to share this information with her, he did not fully understand. "And with the fame of the Palm, it would likely fetch a great deal more than the asking price at auction. Especially if it were found now after its long absence."
"That's so cool. But you wouldn't auction it."
In a heartbeat, he didn't tell her. To make up for my sins.
"I suppose the map is lost, too. I'd love to see it."
"No," he found himself saying. "I have the map, but it does not lead to the Palm. My great-grandfather created it to hide the jewel, not reveal it."
"What? I don't get it."
"The German commander, with a directive to find the Palm at all costs, spent the occupation interpreting a map that is full of obscure clues, and yet leads nowhere. I have the map, but it does not show the location of the Palm. My great-grandfather created it as an unsolvable puzzle. It led the Nazis around Askar on a fool's errand." As he told the tale, she watched him with all her attention. An intriguing habit. When he spoke to most people, he could tell their minds whirled through other spaces--what consequences his words held for them, possible responses, negotiating tactics--but Noelle simply listened. She even leaned toward him, unconsciously as far as he could tell, as if every word mattered to her.
She slumped in her seat on the window as she understood that the map was not some challenge to be solved.
"His revenge from beyond the grave," he concluded. An impractical sentiment. Impossible. Yet he enjoyed the idea of his ancestor reaching out from his own death to cause pain to the people who would have harmed Askar and its people.
"Oh." She scraped her toe against the tiles of the floor, an idle gesture. "I'd still like to see the map."
"Perhaps," he conceded.
A moment of silence hung over them. When had he last simply sat with another person in this manner? His life was filled with people, certainly. People who assisted him with his tasks, who presented him with problems. People who negotiated with him, or thanked him for his efforts on their behalf. But rarely did he enjoy quiet reflection or intriguing conversation with them.
And there was also the vanilla scent of her skin. The soft swish of her hair. The brush of her full breast against his arm as she turned toward him.
Noelle toed the floor again, her expensive sandal scraping the tile. "So he died here?"
He understood that she meant his great-grandfather. The one who had refused to make concessions to the Germans, and had paid for it with imprisonment and death.
There was no reason to tell her any more about his family history. And yet he did. "No." Walid indicated the empty air outside the window with a nod of his chin. A window large enough for a man to leap from. Or be pushed out of. "Out there."
Noelle's face tightened as she attempted to interpret what he was not saying, and then cleared as she understood.
"Yikes," she said. "That's grim. And you come up here for fun? The place where your great-grandfather died and your ancestor was imprisoned? I guess it's one way
Noelle twisted her head to look out the window, out to the sea. "If he couldn't have it, no one could, I guess."
"He did everything in his power to keep the jewel out of hands that would have turned the wealth to evil. The Palm would be priceless today."
"Well, that would have bought the Nazis a lot of tanks." Noelle laughed. "But it's not possible. Emeralds aren't worth that much. The largest one ever sold was only worth a couple million."
"Ah. The Palm is not an emerald, but a flawless green diamond of the purest color. It most likely came from the same mine as the famed Dresden Green, but the palm was twice the size. The color is a result of natural irradiation." Not many knew the jewel was, in fact, a diamond of the second rarest color. Why he chose to share this information with her, he did not fully understand. "And with the fame of the Palm, it would likely fetch a great deal more than the asking price at auction. Especially if it were found now after its long absence."
"That's so cool. But you wouldn't auction it."
In a heartbeat, he didn't tell her. To make up for my sins.
"I suppose the map is lost, too. I'd love to see it."
"No," he found himself saying. "I have the map, but it does not lead to the Palm. My great-grandfather created it to hide the jewel, not reveal it."
"What? I don't get it."
"The German commander, with a directive to find the Palm at all costs, spent the occupation interpreting a map that is full of obscure clues, and yet leads nowhere. I have the map, but it does not show the location of the Palm. My great-grandfather created it as an unsolvable puzzle. It led the Nazis around Askar on a fool's errand." As he told the tale, she watched him with all her attention. An intriguing habit. When he spoke to most people, he could tell their minds whirled through other spaces--what consequences his words held for them, possible responses, negotiating tactics--but Noelle simply listened. She even leaned toward him, unconsciously as far as he could tell, as if every word mattered to her.
She slumped in her seat on the window as she understood that the map was not some challenge to be solved.
"His revenge from beyond the grave," he concluded. An impractical sentiment. Impossible. Yet he enjoyed the idea of his ancestor reaching out from his own death to cause pain to the people who would have harmed Askar and its people.
"Oh." She scraped her toe against the tiles of the floor, an idle gesture. "I'd still like to see the map."
"Perhaps," he conceded.
A moment of silence hung over them. When had he last simply sat with another person in this manner? His life was filled with people, certainly. People who assisted him with his tasks, who presented him with problems. People who negotiated with him, or thanked him for his efforts on their behalf. But rarely did he enjoy quiet reflection or intriguing conversation with them.
And there was also the vanilla scent of her skin. The soft swish of her hair. The brush of her full breast against his arm as she turned toward him.
Noelle toed the floor again, her expensive sandal scraping the tile. "So he died here?"
He understood that she meant his great-grandfather. The one who had refused to make concessions to the Germans, and had paid for it with imprisonment and death.
There was no reason to tell her any more about his family history. And yet he did. "No." Walid indicated the empty air outside the window with a nod of his chin. A window large enough for a man to leap from. Or be pushed out of. "Out there."
Noelle's face tightened as she attempted to interpret what he was not saying, and then cleared as she understood.
"Yikes," she said. "That's grim. And you come up here for fun? The place where your great-grandfather died and your ancestor was imprisoned? I guess it's one way
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