TARN & BECK Read Online Free PDF

to the coin and writing. “You could try donating this coin to the museum if that might help ease your guilt.” She muttered.
    Tarn moodily stared off into space. “You can take it. It means nothing to me.”
    “Thanks. But the real problem here with this coin, of course, are the sigils printed on it.” Nutmeg remarked.
    Tarn looked up at her. “Aren’t they part of its design?”
    “Not originally. I think they were stamped on here by court magicians. Maybe working for the cult of the god of death, Towasa.”
    “Towasa?” Tarn asked, horrified.
    Nutmeg looked up at Tarn. “Yes, do you know about it?”
    Tarn sat there, panic mounting. “I know that Carroll had a really big belief in this Towasa crap. That there was magic that could prevent death. Eternal life and power.”
    Nutmeg whistled, shaking her head before going back to her work. “Magic can’t go that far. But it can still be dangerous. If these sigils do have magical properties, then the coin might be more valuable than its material wealth.”
    Tarn hesitated, thinking. “Should I draw a copy of one of the sigils? Maybe show it to a hedge witch to hear her opinion on its power?”
    Nutmeg waved at him. “Go for it. I’m not a magical expert and we probably need a second opinion here.”
    Tarn nodded and soon left, heading down the museum steps and crossing the street to search for a hedge wizard with a paper etching of a sigil in his pocket. The sun was starting to rise and he hoped that one of the local hedge wizards might already be accepting customers at this early morning hour.
    Meanwhile, the wizard watched Tarn’s departure, but didn’t follow after him as the coin he needed and wanted was still inside the museum. He could sense the magic wafting from it, the power drawing him in and calling to him from across the city after it was unearthed.
    It was how he had tracked Tarn down and followed him to this museum, and now he would get this coin and its companions back. The wizard signaled his cronies, a group of Carroll’s bandits, and they snuck out of the alleyway and across the street to the museum.
    Nutmeg was examining the coin once more when her office door burst open, causing her to stand up and set the coin aside. Facing the crowd of bandits and the wizard, she muttered, “Oh, hell.”
     
    A short while later, Tarn raced back to the museum, climbing the steps as the sun rose higher in the sky. He had seen a local hedge wizard, who identified the sort of magical spell associated with the sigil and it wasn’t anything good. Indeed, it promised long life to its bearer at the cost of his or her soul.
    Tarn wasn’t a superstitious man per se, but he had seen and experienced a lot in his time, and he knew that there was real magic out in the world. Perhaps the spell wasn’t effective and it was just a bunch of hokum, but he thought that he and Nutmeg should be careful.
    Tarn paused at the top of the steps, staring in horror at the broken, shattered front door of the museum. “Nutmeg!” He cried.
    It was just like Ralph all over again, and his parents a long time ago, why did he bring all of this trouble and tragedy down on those closest to him? He frantically stumbled through and over the smashed remains of the door and skidded through the museum lobby, praying that she would be all right. He ran toward Nutmeg’s office door, which was also busted open.
    The office was a wreck with papers, books, and equipment strewn everywhere and shattered glass from the broken magnifying glass and chemical beakers was also scattered across the floor. The desk and chair had also been knocked over and Nutmeg was lying on the floor, half sheltered by the fractured furniture.
    Tarn ran over and bent down by Nutmeg’s side to check if she was all right, his heart pounding in his chest. She had been roughed up, bruised and bleeding, but she was still alive and grimly trying to get up.
    “Oh, Nutmeg, what happened? Who did this?”
    Nutmeg looked up at