I wasn't sure, but it racked my mind as I walked. Of course, Syeira being suspicious of me was something that I could have expected. After all, I walked away unscathed while her son had supposedly perished. Looking back, I should have at least given myself some superficial cuts or something to show that I'd been hit by something, but I thought my story of ducking bullets had been enough. I wasn't going to shoot myself in the arm just for a cover story. Still, I winced as my shirt rubbed over the still tender flesh of the scars on my back, and chuckled. Perhaps not totally unscathed, but the fresh X-shaped scars proved who I was now.
Finding a little cafe, I took a seat, careful in leaning back. My scars were tender, but once I found a stable position, they tended not to pain me too much. I'd be able to go back to exercising soon, which I hoped for. Of course, in the week after the memorial service, Jordan and I made love many times, which is a workout in and of itself, but I wanted to get back into real shape to prove to myself and to the whole world that just because one of the Hardy brothers was now no longer around, the world's antiquities and fine art still wasn’t safe. It was a given that the target would be easier and less ambitious than the Quran that had been Felix's downfall, but there had to be something that would attract the right sorts of attention. Now was my time to shine.
The waitress, a pretty little thing with a tiny waist that looked just about large enough to not get blown away in a stiff breeze, came over and took my order, an espresso and croissant. While I waited for my order, I took out my iPhone and opened the web browser, looking for new displays of items that I personally liked to steal. It was Felix and Father who liked fine art, I was more into the antiquities area. What good is having the Mona Lisa, anyway? It's just a painting on a wall. And I had plenty of pictures on the wall to look at.
Not that I'd turn down stealing fine art, of course. If the prize was good enough, I'd go after nearly anything I thought I could pull off. I knew that Charani wanted me to retire from being a thief, and thought that my taking the position of King would have made me too busy, but I was still a young man, not ready to settle down. Three or four more years, the right heists, and then I'd be ready to start a family with Jordan. We weren’t exactly taking precautions against having a baby, but we weren’t trying either. And if fate moved differently for me, so be it.
I saw what I wanted, grinning at the irony of my find. We had met Jordan due to swords, after all, in trying to steal some of the finest samurai swords ever let out of Japan. I sold out my brother over a Quran that came from the Islamic Caliphate of a thousand years ago. That my first solo heist would be of weaponry and have Islamic connections as well would only be a beautiful sense of completion.
The Museum of Marrakech is one of many within the Moroccan city, one of the places I loved to visit in the world. After all, much of the population speaks French due to the former colonial status of Morocco, and the weather is perfect for my Romani genes. My skin loves the warm sun, soaking it up and giving me what I thought was a perfect light brown coloring that accentuated my body and eyes.
To top it off, the museum is beautiful, a true reflection of Moroccan and Arabic culture. In the spring, just before the summer weather hits and things go to hell tourist-wise, the museum was planning an exhibition of ancient weaponry and armor, ranging from the few remnants that had been dug up of old Carthage through the Crusades and all the way until the end of the Ottoman Empire.
“Perfect,” I whispered to myself, tabbing the page to research more deeply later. My waitress brought me my order and tried to flirt a little bit, but I dismissed her out of hand. Jordan's distrust troubled me, but there was no way I could ever be tempted by another woman. I may be a thief and a backstabber, but I’m not a cheater.
The espresso was dark and rich, just like I enjoyed it, and the croissant was the epitome of French pastry, flaky, buttery, and so tasty that I had to resist the urge to order another. Taking a deep breath, I resolved to take the time during my training and preparations for the Marrakesh job to make sure that I fixed whatever the separation was between Jordan and I. I did love her, and she was going to be my wife. There would be no way I could leave her unhappy.
Perhaps the solution was in Syeira. Felix's mother, she'd been a princess who'd found herself the main advisor to the next King, but was now suddenly nothing compared to her sister. My mother was finally in the position she deserved to be in her whole life, and it had to eat Syeira up inside. Of course, she had no position in which to attack me, and she loved her sister enough to not try and corrupt their relationship. But corrupting Jordan? That I could see.