Raphael's Dragon

Chapter 13: The Puppetmaster

Ellington Mansion. Thursday, May 5, 2005.

"I'm glad I scheduled a do-over for Saturday morning," Neal said, sighing contentedly. He and Henry were sitting on the terrace. The morning was as beautiful as last Saturday. He had his Italian roast coffee in front of him. His one challenge of the day was to get dressed. That arduous task accomplished, he had nothing else on his schedule. Peter had already ordered him to stay at home for the rest of the week, and he wasn't about to argue.

Henry had come over for breakfast. He'd stopped on the way to pick up the almond croissants Neal loved and the chocolate donuts Henry craved.

"Wait till you see the terrace Eric has planned for me," Henry said. "The view can't compare but I'll have a fire pit and grill, hammocks, cable outlet, and a state-of-the-art sound system."

"I wish you'd let me give you that painting. Then I won't feel guilty about all the freeloading I plan to do at your place."

"Out of the question," Henry said firmly. "And I fully expect you to hang out there as much as you want. I did my part by picking a location so close to your office. As for the painting, I'd given Eric instructions to find something for that huge bare space in the living room. All I told him was to get something large that didn't make me puke. I had no idea he'd settle on one of yours."

Neal rolled his eyes. "Do you think I'm still knocked out from whatever they gave me in the hospital?"

Henry chuckled. "Just testing. I admit I picked out that painting. Given your opinion of my knowledge of art, you may not be pleased to hear it."

"You caught me," Neal said with a laugh. "What made you choose that piece?"

"I think it picked me. There's a vitality about it—a feeling of quicksilver, 'catch me if you can attitude.' Insolent and carefree. And then when I saw the title, I knew it was the one."

Henry couldn't have expressed better what Neal was aiming for. Had he been hiding a latent talent for art appreciation? "I'm glad you bought it. I hadn't intended to sell it. It's my personal favorite."

"Then you better visit it often. It gives me distinct pleasure at being your first buyer. I am the first, right?"

Neal shrugged. "The first one to buy a Neal Caffrey."

"Did you sell any as d'Artagnan?"

"No, that alias is known for other feats."

"As payment for my largesse"—Henry grinned as he said the word—"You like my French? How about filling me in on d'Artagnan's exploits?"

Neal obliged with a dramatic account of the Three Musketeers and the con they'd pulled on Fowler. "Peter only knows some of this," he cautioned at the end. "I've never told him about the roles Richard, Aidan, Travis, and Mozzie played although I'm sure he suspects much of it."

Henry nodded his understanding. "D'Artagnan's secret is safe with me. So when you were mumbling about Richelieu in the tunnels, you meant Fowler?"

"I guess. I can't remember." He drained his mug of coffee. Henry didn't know about the Braque and this wasn't the time to tell him. Neal remembered vaguely confusing Fowler with Richelieu and that he'd snatch the queen's diamond earrings along with the Braque. Then Klaus appeared out of nowhere, asking if he'd kept the painting safe.

"You want some more coffee?"

Neal grinned, glad for the change of topic. "Sure, Jeeves. I could get used to having a man-servant."

Henry stood up. "Don't get too spoiled. I'm meeting with Eric this afternoon to work on the office space. The advance Win-Win team is supposed to arrive in a few weeks and we'll have to hustle to have anything for them to sit on." Henry took Neal's mug and returned with a fresh one, while Neal basked his face in the sun like a lizard. His eyes had finally returned to normal although he was wearing sunglasses as a precaution.