Elias moved his hand up and down. “My dear. Don’t speak bad things into existence before I even have an introduction to the man.”
“Ha.”
“I ask Wester Ross for an introduction. Then I meet Mr. Leighton. Depending on the outcome, we think about how to proceed. That is the plan.”
Nassim hissed. “I bet he will say he had a license. License, what license—give a filthy official enough baksheesh and you have a license; it doesn’t give the Englishman the right to take these and put them into this stinky museum.”
“We shall see about that.”
“What’s there to see? They are ours, enough!”
“The ownership of an item after three thousand years isn’t always clear,” Elias pointed out. “Everyone involved in commissioning, making, and purchasing it, is dead. My sponsors merely own the land where these were taken.”
Nassim stared at him for a long moment. “Fine,” he finally said. “You want to say these things.”
“It is what they will say.”
“But what is very clear is that these”—Nassim glared at the bulls—“are neither Ottoman, nor English. Also, don’t pretend you haven’t done it before.”
“Have done what before?”
Nassim’s voice dropped low. “Smuggled such things.”
Elias turned his walking stick back and forth between his fingers. Here, they would probably call his odd jobs smuggling. Personally, he would call it assisting with repatriation when required. His missions tended to come about spontaneously, when he was approached by people who knew he was fluent in the languages of the thieves and educated in their customs. Often enough, his negotiation skills in combination with sponsor money saw pieces returned. In the cases where money didn’t talk, well, perhaps he might have shared the floor plan of a mansion or a warehouse and marked locations of artifacts with an X. He might have deliberately ignored it when his cargo ship carried something other than textile products back east in the darkness of the hull. But he never took payment; he dealt in favors and he gained trust—essential for strong relations between men of business. The family who sponsored the bull mission were merchants, on the cusp of entering a joint venture with him, so if they wanted artifacts from Sidon returned to Sidon and asked him for help, he was at their service. His ambition in life was to build his own business stronghold and reduce reliance on the family enterprise before he turned thirty, and if he were a proper smuggler, who would trust him?
He studied the nearest bull, who returned his scrutiny with the patient expression of those who had watched the rise and fall of various empires.
“He’s laughing at us,” Elias said, “isn’t he.”
“He is,” Nassim confirmed, and dutifully unleashed a stream of insults at the bull that involved his cock, cocks in general, and all of the bull’s dearest relatives.
Elias put a hand to his forehead, his thumb against his temple.
“Listen here,” Nassim said. “I’m by your side. Whatever your plan. Just, a plan would be helpful?”
“Any plan,” Elias said, “would have to involve the local networks. I’m not well enough connected here yet for a major operation.”
Nassim’s expression turned brooding.
“I shall see if anyone in France would fit,” Elias said.
“Yes. And people here at the docks will know.”
“They ought to be higher up in society,” Elias replied.
Nassim’s face brightened at that. A grin split his face. “Of course. That’s why you did it. And I doubted you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Come on. The lady,” Nassim said, his grin widening. “It did surprise me.”
Her bespectacled face flashed before Elias’s eyes. “Nassim.”
“You are seducing her,” Nassim said; the appreciative look in his eyes said You fox!
“Seducing?” Elias drawled.
“It’s destiny,” Nassim mimicked with a dainty wave of his hand. “It struck me as odd, you trying to flirt with her; she seems very stiff, very English.”
“She’s Scottish,” Elias said in a flat tone.
“Well, it’s the same,” said Nassim with some impatience. “But she seems unused to flirtation, so I reckon you’ll win her favor easily . . .”
“Stop insinuating that she would be free with her favors,” Elias said a little too quietly, and whatever Nassim saw in his face made him go still.