***
Father Alexis placed a small bowl of ratatouille in front of me, compliments of the rectory kitchen. I smiled and thanked him, and then removed the blonde wig that had miraculously remained on my head for this long. He watched with amusement as I laid the false hair aside and began eating my meal.
“I presume you’re an SOE agent?”
I nodded. “I’m trying to find a factory where chemical weapons are being stored. The ones they use for The Plague. I’m hoping it could lead me to the laboratory where it’s being developed.”
“There are at least twelve in this region.”
“Is there anything you’ve heard recently? Any information you’ve received from the Maquis?”
I continued eating as I watched him rise from his seat and head over to his workstation. We sat in a hidden room within the rectory, behind a set of wooden panels in the dining room. Father Alexis’ secret room held a stash of food and medical supplies, maps, icons, a Bible, and, of course, his radio set which he used nightly to broadcast.
He went rummaging through a drawer and pulled out a notebook, which he then opened. He ran his finger down one of its pages, and his gaze went back and forth between the page and his set of icons hanging on the opposite wall. As I finished off the last of my meal, I continued observing him, realizing that whatever information he kept was coded, and his icons were his ciphers. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was a codemaster, just by looking at the elaborate system he used. I then turned my thoughts toward the last broadcast he did as “Mathieu Perrine.”
“You know that broadcast you did, the one where you spoke of Angela Wyatt at the end?”
“Yes, I do.” He returned and sat across from me with the notebook closed, though his index finger kept place.
“Her real name was Stella...she was my friend.”
“You have my condolences. Her sacrifice will not be forgotten.”
My eyes burned. “I appreciate that.”
He reopened the notebook and showed me the code he deciphered. He picked it up from one of England’s BBC broadcasts. The translated message indicated that Vélizy-Villacoublay was an area of great interest to the Allied forces.
“A factory is there.” He ripped out the sheet of paper and folded it, no doubt saving it for a fire.
“I don’t want to impose further, but is there anyone willing to take me near there? They could drop me off outside Vélizy.” The town stood south of Paris, and it would be a strenuous bike ride, provided I was even lent one to use.
“Are you sure you don’t want to rest? And don’t forget that it’s past curfew.”
I bit my tongue in order not to curse in front of him. “Then I’ll go as early as I can in the morning. Would someone take me?”
“Bernard is a Maquisard who lives just beyond the city here. I can give you directions to his house, and a codeword so that he’ll know I sent you.”
I couldn’t help but eye him with admiration. “Now I can see why those people came here for refuge.” I rubbed my eyes and thought of how perfectly I would fit in with the people sleeping in the pews. No one looked as disheveled and exhausted as I did.
“And I can see why it’s important to never lose faith, and to keep fighting.” He gave me a silent blessing. “I don’t know you, not even your true name, but I pray you remain safe and complete your task. If you ever need anything, you know where to find me. Now, I believe it’s time for my broadcast.”
“I can’t believe you’re Mathieu Perrine.” I shook my head as I said this. I had always imagined a burly man at a radio set, with a thick mustache and somber face.
He went to his workstation and turned on his radio. “What were you expecting?”
“I expected something else.” I watched him turn a knob on the radio set and adjust the frequency to get his transmitter ready.
“Last year the SS came into town, and according to them they wanted to let us know that our country had given up, that it failed us. A young man who spoke up said that he did not give up—and they shot him. The next day, to ensure no one else spoke out, they lined up five youths in front of the church and asked me to choose two of the five to go free...”
I could see the pain still in his eyes. “What did you do?”
“That was the problem. I did nothing. How do you judge who deserves to live or die? They were all murdered, and I walked away feeling helpless. I couldn’t look anyone in the eye after that. Then I built this room as an act of defiance; I planned to hide people from the Nazis, like the Resistance fighters.”
“But you ended up broadcasting?”
He smiled in response and spoke into the receiver, his voice an octave lower than usual. “Good evening, fellow Maquisards, Allies, and all who love justice and freedom. As we begin, let us remember the value of faith,”—he turned to look at me—“and that it is not just about preaching it, but also living it...”
I worded a silent “thank you” to him and slipped out. I didn’t fancy the idea of sleeping on a hard wooden pew, but there were a lot worse places I could be tonight. I came back into the church and took a pew close to the sanctuary, next to an old woman. She reminded me of the witch from the Wizard of Oz, sans the green skin. However, she had a friendly smile and offered to share her blanket with me, so I warmed up to her quickly.
I thought about Rénee, and how she would start to worry about me. She didn’t have a phone, so I couldn’t make a call to let her know I was fine. I would see her again within a day or two. At the very least, I would find a way to get a message to her.
As I sat there with the old lady’s head on my shoulder, I smiled at the little girl and her mother who I had helped earlier. They were settling in a few rows ahead, it made me wonder where they came from and if they could ever go back. The SS might’ve thought that as long as they bombed people’s houses and slaughtered innocents in the streets, that no one would fight back, but I still had some fight in me—and I was going to take it straight to the Nazis and their weapons factory.
The Tower's Alchemist (The Gray Tower Trilogy, #1) Page 13
