Last of the Immortals (The Jessica Keller Chronicles Book 3) by Blaze Ward Page A

?”
    He studied her for a jarred moment, sure that no part of his disguise had given him away. And yet…
    She smiled at his quiet confusion.
    “Books are a small family,” she continued merrily. “There are only so many bibliophiles around, and all of them are regulars in my shop. Ergo, traveler from off–world.”
    Sykes smiled back. Of course, a careful observer would take note of such things. And the signs had all been correct, according to Imperial Intelligence.
    He flexed his hands to relax and looked carefully at the woman.
    “I was hoping you might have something about the ancient Greeks of the Homeworld. Specifically, I am interested in the woman Clytemnestra. Would you have a modern translation of the Oresteia ?”
    For a moment, her eyes got hooded and reserved, although the smile never wavered.
    Probably the last person she had expected to have walk into her shop this morning. Better and better.
    “If I don’t…” she said carefully. She casually moved sideways a step, closer to the counter. To an average person, it probably would have looked normal as her hand disappeared from sight. “…I’m sure I can locate something. What language would you be looking for?”
    Sykes was sure her hand had just caressed something interesting. Whether it was an alarm button or a weapon remained to be seen.
    Seven major trade tongues had been dominant, before the fall of humanity. Ballard was primarily bi–lingual in English and Kiswahili, a result of the refounding, even though Bulgarian was generally dominant in the Republic of Aquitaine and the Fribourg Empire .
    Sykes relaxed another notch. She knew the code sequence necessary for identifying complete strangers that needed to be friends.
    “I had my heart set on Kiswahili,” he replied, volleying the identification set back to her. “And I will be in town for some time, so it is not an emergency.”
    He watched her hand emerge from under the counter again. If this was a trap, she might just shoot him right here and his mission would be over.
    Instead, the hand was empty. She smiled lightly.
    “If you would like to wait, I can make some tea,” she replied, finally completing contact, “or you can leave your contact information and I will call when I know more.”
    Sykes pulled a calling card from an inside pocket and crossed the distance to stand before the counter. He quickly pulled a pen from a jar and scrawled a note on the back.
    “I’m staying at the Stellar Dolphin,” he said, all business now, “although I have not checked in yet. Please feel free to contact me there at any time when you have news.”
    She picked up the card and read it carefully, front and back.
    “Very good, Mr. Sykes,” she replied. “I’m sure I will be able to help you.”
    “Thank you,” he said, turning and exiting the shop quickly.
    He spent the next hour wandering the Kasbah, shopping randomly and buying occasional trinkets he would take with him or leave behind, depending on how the next few weeks went. It was important to be invisible by being exactly what he seemed, a semi–wealthy tourist on a tame little adventure.
    Nothing to arouse suspicion.
    Ξ
    The hotel staff was as obsequious and fawning as the hotel’s reputation promised. Not for him to be in a youth hostel on this mission. No, wealthy enough to stay well and be treated right, not so wealthy as to be memorable.
    Always in character.
    The concierge approached diffidently as Sykes stood in the Grand Foyer and marveled at the lustrous marble walls and floors, covered with mosaics and tapestries celebrating the oceans of Ballard .
    “Mr. Sykes?” the man asked.
    He turned and smiled vacuously. “Yes?”
    The concierge handed him a small envelope that appeared to have been hand–made from a very heavy linen paper.
    “A Miss Krystiana Lemieux left you a message that she had found your book and would you be available to discuss it over dinner, sir?”
    “Very good,” Sykes said, slipping the envelope