The move to London had gone without a hitch. Ian paid his staff well, and they were loyal and well trained.  By the time Ian, Betty Jo, Lev and Dia ported to the townhouse late in the afternoon, everything was ready.  Edwards, smiling showed Dia her new room, which looked out over the great swath of Green Park.  The room was airy and light.  Leaving her there to settle in he hurried off down the hallway to see to everything else.  Possibly to see if Withers had been at the brandy.  Dia heard Lev's voice down the hallway, laughing at something Edwards said to him.

An hour or so later she was walking down the wide main stairway when the doorbell rang. Withers tottered toward it.  She paused about halfway down, a half smile playing about her mouth, and was rewarded with the sound of deep male voice, as warm and embracing as homemade toffee.  She took two more steps downward, angling for a glimpse of the owner of the voice.

He was a young man, dark hair, intense blue eyes, with a smile to make any woman's knees go weak. And he aimed the smile at Dia when he spotted her on the stairs.

"This way, sir," Withers said as he showed the caller into the drawing room, and leaving him there as he tottered off to find Ian, muttering, "Bloody stairs, as he climbed painfully past Dia.

She grinned at him from the doorway.  "Hullo.  I assume you know you might be waiting a while.  Withers has had a very busy day today."

The young man grinned back. "Hullo. So will you keep me company whilst I wait?"

She laughed.  "That would depend on what keeping you company entails."

"What ho! A wit. Well, you could tell me all about yourself, how's that? Sinjin Steed, at your service. That's St John actually but pronounced weirdly by us Brits." He bowed to her.

"Badi'a Batal, but people mostly call me Dia," she said.  "A pleasure to meet you I'm sure.  And that being the case I'll spare you the boring recitation about me."

"My dear young lady, I sincerely doubt your little finger is boring. Badi'a. Badi'a. What a lovely name. What does it mean?"

She struggled to keep her mouth straight.  "It's an Arabic name.  It means unprecedented, unique, amazing.  Like that."

"Ah, then it is quite perfect for you. And here I am with such a pedestrian sort of name. Can't make a decent song lyric with Sinjin, can you?  So, are you staying here in London for awhile? Or is it just a quick visit?"

"I've some work I need to do here, so I expect to be here for a while at least.  But your name's not at all pedestrian.  I rather like it."

He leaned toward her and said, "Truth be told, I rather like it too. What sort of work do you do?  You are far too exotic to be something boring like a barrister or an accountant. Please tell me you aren't either. My father is a barrister and he is utterly maddening. He intones penal code at me whenever I visit. He's quite certain I'll be in the dock forthwith. I made the great mistake, you see, of deciding not to follow in his dusty footsteps."

"No, I'm neither a barrister or a solicitor.  I'm dry and moldy academic sort.  We're even more boring than accountants and legal types," she said.

He grinned. "Somehow I doubt that. I seriously doubt that. Do you know London well?"

"A bit, from previous visits, but not all that well," she said.  "I rarely have time when I'm here for sightseeing, you see.  A failure of scheduling I know, but what can I say when needs must."

"Well, you could take some time out of your schedule and let me show you something of London. I'd be delighted to do so. Covent Gardens, the Botanical Gardens, the Victoria and Albert, unless that is where you do your musty old academics, the Tate.  The Tate is my favorite place in all of London."

"The Tate sounds lovely," she said.  "But I'm a guest of my sister here, so I'm reluctant to say yes until I've spoken with her. I don't want to upset her plans."

The door to the hallway opened then and Lev sauntered in, and frowned at St John.

"Hullo. St John Steed." St John held out his hand.

"Lev Nazarov," Lev replied, shaking hands and still frowning.

"Well, Dia, I do hope you'll give it some serious thought. I'll be sure to leave my card. Give me a call if you'd like to see the Tate. Or somewhere else."

She accepted the the small rectangle of card stock.  "Thank you.  I certainly shall.  It was a pleasure meeting you," she said.  "I'm sure Ian will be along soon."

"He's waiting for you in his study," Lev announced. 

"Ah, well, there it is, then. It was delightful meeting you, Dia. I look forward to hearing from you."  Withers arrived then and showed St John out.

Lev frowned after him.

"You don't look any the worse for wear," Dia said with a smile.  "You've survived the move intact."

"What?" Lev said, seeming to drag his attention from the hallway. "Yes. You as well. Ian's asked me to provide you protection when you go out. So if you could give me your schedule, or at least an idea when you plan to go out, that would be most helpful."

"Oh," she said worrying her lip.  "But what about Betty Jo?"

"Ian's going to keep an eye on her. You seem to be attracting more attention and as I understand it you need to go to the libraries.  He's a spy, you know."

"I'm sorry?  He's a spy?" she said.

"He works for Blackheath. British equivalent to the Zoo. All that charm is just him at work."

"Ah, I see.  Thank you for telling me that," she said.  "As for my plans I shall be working at the museum mornings from about nine o'clock until two most days. I may need to take a short trip to the Sorbonne and possibly to Cambridge, but I won't know that for a week or so.  Regardless, I do not plan to stay overnight in either place if I have to visit them. I will need to use the Vatican collection at some point but I've no firm dates in mind.  That will be an overnight stay of several days to a week."

"Thank you for the clear and concise run-down. I'll coordinate it all with Ian and we'll make sure you stay safe."

"I'm grateful for his concern.  "I am aware that this is not a task to your liking and if there is anyway I might make it less unpleasant for you please tell me," she said.

He suddenly met her eyes, something he normally tended not to do. "Unpleasant?"

"Yes, unpleasant, as in not to your liking."

"I have no objection to seeing to your safety. So it is not at all unpleasant."

"Indeed.  Then I apologize for my mistake.  I had the impression that I -- grated shall I say? -- on you.  Doubtless my own ego issues," she said. 

He opened his mouth and then closed it abruptly. He studied her for a moment. "I owe you an apology if I've given you that impression. Granted, I don't understand you. And I find you difficult to read. I keep wondering whether you are on a mission from God or from Mom."

It was her turn to be startled.  "I'd like to think," she said slowly, "that I'm on a mission for neither.  It seems to me that it's mainly a matter of a duty I can't avoid."

"Ah. Even worse."

"Worse?  Because of it's potential for the martyr to shine forth?"

"And the ease of which duty tends to superseded conscience. At least it certainly did for me. I hope it won't for you. Perhaps you are stronger than I was."

"If one understands duty as another name for love then conscience is never subsumed to it."

He cocked his head and looked down at her. "I hope you are never disillusioned about that."

"Unlikely, but I'm sure you aren't interested in exchanging thoughts on the nature of real love.  Still," she said clasping her hands in front of her, "it doesn't answer the question of how I can make this task less difficult for you."

"React without thought when I give you an order. That would make my job easier. If I have to explain, well, time is lost and your life might be at risk. Obviously any orders would be limited strictly to issues regarding your safety."

"I shall certainly try."  She was about to turn away when she stopped and met his eyes again.  "I'm really not all that difficult to read.  It's just that I dislike cant."

"Cant in this instance meaning what exactly? Insincerity or something else?"

"Being manipulated, especially by duty, in the service of an agenda I can't discern," she said. 

"Ah, but you see, it is my experience that duty is nothing more than a way to manipulate in the service of an agenda that is obscured from all but a chosen few.  Choose to do something for your own sake, or because it is right, not because it is a duty thrust on you, or one you assume because it seems to be a 'duty.'  There is always an agenda. And almost always not yours."

"And we all have responsibilities, especially those we would prefer we didn't.  I am truly sorry  this is so difficult for you."

"It's not difficult in the least for me, Dia. Assassinating broken old men, that's hard."

 "But not guarding people you don't like or approve of?"

He shook his head. "I like you fine, and thinking you are naive hardly means I disapprove of you. I wish you well. I hope your quest goes well. And I'll guard you as diligently as I can to make sure you live to find your deepest desires."

"Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome," he said as he turned to leave the room