There were lots of history books. In fact, they seemed to dominate her collection. There were also many art books, of the big and expensive variety, and I leafed through a few of these. I usually do my best real thinking when I’m thinking about something else.
I wondered at the sources of Flora’s obvious wealth. If we were related, did that mean that perhaps I enjoyed somewhat of opulence, also? I thought about my economic and social status, my profession, my origins. I had the feeling that I’d never worried much about money, and that there’d always been enough or ways of getting it, to keep me satisfied. Did I own a big house like this? I couldn’t remember.
What did I do?
I sat behind her desk and examined my mind for any special caches of knowledge I might possess. It is difficult to examine yourself this way, as a stranger. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t come up with anything. What’s yours is yours and a part of you and it just seems to belong there, inside. That’s all.
A doctor? That came to mind as I was viewing some of Da Vinci’s anatomical drawings. Almost by reflex, in my mind, I had begun going through the steps of various surgical operations. I realized then that I had operated on people in the past.
But that wasn’t it. While I realized that I had a medical background, I knew that it was a part of something else. I knew, somehow, that I was not a practicing surgeon. What then? What else was involved?
Something caught my eve.
Seated there at the desk, I commanded a view of the far wall. on which, among other things, hung an antique cavalry saber, which I had overlooked the first time around the room. I rose and crossed over to it, took it down from its pegs.
In my mind, I tsked at the shape it was in. I wanted an oily rag and a whetstone, to make it the way it should he once again. I knew something about antique arms, edged weapons in particular.
The saber felt light and useful in my hand, and I felt capable with it. I struck an en garde. I parried and cut a few times. Yes. I could use the thing.
So what sort of background was that? I looked around for new memory joggers.
Nothing else occurred to me, so I replaced the blade and returned to the desk. Sitting there, I decided to go through the thing.
I started with the middle one and worked my way up the left side and down the right, drawer by drawer.
Stationery, envelopes, postage stamps, paper clips, pencil stubs, rubber bands—all the usual items.
I had pulled each drawer all the way out though, and held it in my lap as I’d inspected its contents. It wasn’t just an idea. It was part of some sort of training I’d once received, which told me I should inspect the sides and bottoms as well.
One thing almost slipped by me, but caught my attention at the last instant: the back of the lower right-hand drawer did not rise as high as the backs of the other drawers.
This indicated something. and when I knelt and looked inside the drawer space I saw a little box-like affair fixed to the upper side.
It was a small drawer itself, way in the back, and it was locked.
It took me about a minute of fooling around with paper clips, safety pins, and finally a metal shoehorn I’d seen in another drawer. The shoehorn did the trick.
The drawer contained a packet of playing cards.
And the packet bore a device which caused me to stiffen where I knelt, perspiration suddenly wetting my brow and my breath coming rapidly.
It bore a white unicorn on a grass field, rampant, facing to the dexter.
And I knew that device and it hurt me that I could not name it.
I opened the packet and extracted the cards. They were on the order of tarots, with their wands, pentacles, cups, and swords, but the Greater Trumps were quite different.
I replaced both drawers, being careful not to lock the smaller one, before I continued my inspection.