The French soldiers quickly freed the trapped team members, who gratefully accepted the food and water provided.
They took a break for a few precious minutes. Martin had two burning questions for Ravid. “Where have you been? And how on earth did you persuade the French to send their royal guardsmen to help us?”
Ravid smiled. “It’s a long story.”
ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-SEVEN
Six Weeks Earlier
Palais du Louvre, Paris, France, morning, Saturday May 15 1610
The Palais du Louvre was in total uproar when Ravid arrived for his prearranged meeting with Bishop de Richelieu. The palace, seat of the French government and residence of the late King Henri IV, swarmed with guardsmen, court officials and functionaries, though few seemed to know exactly what they should be doing.
Ravid waited patiently until the bishop’s right hand man, the Capuchin friar Father Joseph, arrived. The priest guided Ravid to Bishop de Richelieu, who now occupied temporary rooms in the royal palace in the immediate aftermath of the king’s assassination. The Bishop nodded politely at Ravid as he was settled in the sumptuous visitor’s chair alongside de Richelieu’s desk.
“Thank you, Joseph, that will be all,” the bishop announced.
If the bishop’s closest aide had been surprised by being dismissed from a meeting that he might normally have been expected to attend, that fact was not evident in the manner in which the friar responded. “Yes, of course, Your Eminence,” Joseph replied, bowing low and then removing himself discreetly from the bishop’s office.
Ravid waited until the friar had closed the door firmly behind himself. Then he stood, crossed to where de Richelieu stood and hugged the bishop warmly. “Armand,” said Ravid, “I am so sorry that the prophecy came true and that we were unable to prevent it. My heart goes out to you and your country in these troubled times.”
“Thank you, Ravid, I deeply appreciate all your efforts,” said de Richelieu. “I too am deeply saddened—but at least we quickly caught the killer.”
“And he is?” asked Ravid, surprised by the news.
“François Ravaillac, a known fanatic,” replied de Richelieu, sitting down at his desk and indicating that Ravid should likewise sit. “One of the King’s guardsmen, Medoro, recognized the vermin. We were able to catch him on a coach heading out of Paris.”
The Bishop smiled grimly. “We’re interrogating him now, so we should have a confession soon. There was one odd curiosity, though—the coach on which Ravaillac was travelling actually left Paris at midday, several hours before the king was assassinated. We don’t yet know how Ravaillac managed to catch up and get onto that coach mid-journey, but rest assured, we’ll find out.”
Ravid was also puzzled, especially since both Elias and Lochloinn had also previously reported that they had watched Ravaillac leave Paris on that same midday coach, well before the assassination was carried out. There are other powers at work here, he reminded himself. Aloud, he asked, “Have you arrested anyone else?”
“Two others of significance,” said de Richelieu. “We arrested the two drivers whose carriages blocked the road at the critical moment. When we searched their carriages, we found these.” He indicated two solid gold goblets and a pair of solid gold water jugs, lying on his desk. “This gold is worth a fortune. They were obviously bribed. At any moment, I should receive a report from the interrogators on exactly who bribed them. It could not have been François Ravaillac—he was only a handyman and did not have that sort of money.”
Ravid might have spoken up then, since he knew that Ravaillac had been staying at the home of Charlotte du Tillet, mistress of the Duke of Épernon. But what could I say? That the killer could be in the pay of the Duke? Or perhaps that he might have stolen the gold items from his hostess?
Before Ravid could voice any suspicions, there was a gentle knock on the door. “Come,” said thebBishop, and Father Joseph entered apologetically. “Sorry to disturb you, Your Grace, but the report you have been waiting for has arrived.”
“And what does it say, Joseph?” asked de Richelieu. The friar glanced across at Ravid, obviously concerned that an unknown visitor would hear the report, but the bishop waved away any concerns. “He needs to hear this as well, Joseph. Go ahead.”
Unconvinced, but deeming it unwise to question the bishop’s instructions, the friar began reading the report aloud. “One of the drivers is still denying everything but the other has confessed. He admits that a stranger gave him the gold. In return, he was required to block the roadway when signaled to do so. He swears on the life of his mother that he had no idea why he was being asked to block the road and with his dying breath he cursed the man who bribed him in order to kill the king.”
De Richelieu leaned forward over his desk. “Did the driver describe the stranger?”
“Yes of course,” said Father Joseph, “otherwise he would not have been allowed to die. The man we seek is of average height, with short blond hair and, probably, blue eyes. He had a curved scar that stretched from one of his ears to below his chin. He was dressed all in black, with fancy boots and, to quote the driver, ‘didn’t look as if he had done a day’s honest work in his life.’”
“So,” said de Richelieu heavily, “not the assassin Ravaillac, then?”
“No, Your Grace,” agreed the friar. “It would appear that we have a conspiracy on our hands.”
De Richelieu pondered for a moment and then stood up. “We need to find this man, fast, before he has a chance to escape. Put the word out, Joseph. Get this description to every church within a day’s riding distance from Paris. Let each priest tomorrow describe this conspirator to their congregation and ask their help to find him.”
The friar scrambled out the door to put the bishop’s instruction into action. De Richelieu turned to Ravid. “We will see into which rat’s nest this man has burrowed. And then you and your Outcast Angels will track him down for me and bring him back to Paris where he will answer for his crimes.”
ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-EIGHT
Palais du Louvre, Paris, France, afternoon, Sunday May 16 1610
Reports started flooding into the Palais du Louvre almost immediately after the earliest Sunday morning services. Parisians were outraged over the death of their king and eager to do whatever they could to assist with the hunt for his killers.
Naturally, there were plenty of false reports—in such incendiary times, plenty of people were willing to imagine the worst about their neighbors and acquaintances—but gradually the true picture began to emerge.
“The scarred one was seen walking briskly away from the Les Halles region shortly after the assassination, in the company of another unidentified suspect,” reported Father Joseph to the bishop.
“A number of people saw the pair as they walked across the city. They met with a third man in a clearing on the outskirts of Paris, joining him in a carriage marked with the seal of the Kingdom of Naples. Then the carriage was last seen heading off towards the road that leads from Paris to Lyon.”
“And from Lyon,” said Ravid, “they will easily be able to slip through the mountains to the Italian peninsula.”
“Ravid?” asked de Richelieu expectantly.
“On it,” responded Ravid, rushing out of the Bishop’s office.
ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-NINE
Near Mont Cenis, late afternoon, Saturday May 22 1610
Ravid had spent several long days and nights flying over carriages traveling towards the Italian peninsula before he finally caught up with the carriage that might be the one he sought. This carriage was slowly climbing up towards Mont Cenis and the mountain traverse between France and Italy. The carriage was marked, as several Parisians had reported, with the seal of the Kingdom of Naples. But is this the one? Does it carry the man with the scarred face?
There was no easy way to tell, at least not from the height at which Ravid was obliged to fly during daylight hours. The spyglass he carried, a gift from a grateful Galileo, was h
elpful but not perfect.
Ravid had a difficult choice to make. Do I keep pace with this carriage until after dark, until I can fly much lower and get a closer look? Or should I fly further along the road and keep searching?
In the end, Ravid based his decision on time and distance calculations. I doubt that a horse-drawn carriage could have traveled any further from Paris than this, in the week that’s gone by since the king’s assassination.
In order to be certain, Ravid opted to investigate more closely. Despite the risk that he might be seen in the late afternoon sun, Ravid flew down as close as he dared to the carriage. He aimed to get near enough to catch at least some view of the passengers through the carriage windows, all the while trying to avoid being seen by the driver.
Ravid was in luck, for once. Through the left-hand window, he could see that the carriage contained two people, strangely unmoving despite the bumpy progress of the coach along the rugged mountain track. A second glimpse revealed that one of the passengers had a curved scar. That’s him. Now what?
Ravid flew sharply upwards to resume his position far above. He kept pace with the carriage as it struggled through the mountainous terrain.
As the afternoon faded into dusk, Ravid pondered how best to stop the carriage. The driver must surely be part of the conspiracy. How can I force him to stop if he’s determined to carry on?
Ravid needn’t have worried. As the carriage reached a particularly steep section of track, it slowed and came to a halt of its own accord. The driver stepped down from the carriage and peered cautiously over one side of the track, a sheer cliff where the ground fell away steeply to a valley far below. He’s up to something, Ravid decided. The Outcast Angel carefully spiraled down to observe more closely.
The driver seemed in no hurry. He fed and watered the horses, taking a break. It became apparent that he was waiting until the twilight lengthened into night. Only when the last rays of the setting sun began to disappear behind the mountain did the driver make his move.
First, he looked up and down the track to ensure that there were no other coaches in sight. Then, as Ravid watched in horror, the driver reached inside the carriage and led one of the passengers to the edge of the ravine.
Wings beating frantically, Ravid managed to get into position halfway down the mountain slopes, just in time to witness the driver pushing his unresisting victim over into the void.
ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY
Near Mont Cenis, night, Saturday May 22 1610
It was a moonless night, which meant that what happened next would have been impossible for anyone but Ravid.
In total darkness and in eerie silence, the body plunged into the depths. Because of his enhanced senses however, Ravid was able to see as clearly as if it was broad daylight. He judged that he only had split seconds to act. He dove frantically, trying to intercept the body before it hit the rocks below.
Flying as if his life depended on it, Ravid managed to catch the falling body before it touched the ground. This is so strange, he’s still alive but he’s not moving, Ravid told himself as he lowered the victim onto a flat strip of land on one side of the ravine. He checked the man’s face. Scar, yes, it’s the man I’m after.
Once he had landed safely, Ravid tossed some rocks into the ravine. They made a satisfying clatter on the way down. If that driver is still waiting by the roadside, that should satisfy him that his victim is dead.
Ravid crouched down in the darkness, next to the man he had rescued, waiting. At least I don’t have to tell him to be quiet, he told himself. He inspected the young man who was now in his care. I don’t think I would have wished to know you. Even without the scar, your face looks distinctly unfriendly.
Ravid remained hidden until he heard the driver urge the horses to get moving again, followed by a clattering of hooves and creaking of wheels as the carriage drove off towards Naples.
“Now let’s get you back to Paris,” Ravid told his unresponsive companion. “Let’s see if we can shake that spell and find out what we need to know about your part in the assassination.”
Ravid gathered the young man in his arms and launched himself back into the night sky.
ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-ONE
Paris, France, morning, Tuesday May 25 1610
Ravid and his motionless guest were settled in a room at Le Meunier Heureux, an inn on the outskirts of Paris that regularly played host to the Outcast Angels. The inn featured an interior courtyard, blocked off from prying eyes, where angels could land and take off without being seen. The proprietor, needless to say, was a long-time supporter of the LOA.
Jesse kept up a running commentary with Ravid while examining the comatose prisoner.
Luca awoke with a gasp as soon as Ravid completed the recitation. The young student had no idea what was happening.
“Where am I? What is this place? You!” Luca addressed Ravid haughtily. “What am I doing here?”
Ravid stifled a smile. This could be fun. “And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”
“My name is Luca Raimondo Del Balzo Orsini, son and heir to Duke Orsini of Naples. But you shall call me ‘sir’ and answer my questions and bring me food and water, right now. Then I may choose to spare you the punishment that your impertinence would otherwise deserve.”
“Well, young sir,” he said to Luca, “as to exactly where you are, you are in Paris.” Luca jumped with fright at that news, but Ravid wasn’t finished.
“As to what this place is, you might call it Purgatory.” Again, Luca jumped fearfully.
“And the reason that you would call this place Purgatory,” said Ravid, “is that it is a waystation, between what we may choose to call Heaven and what you would most assuredly consider to be Hell. Because over there—” Ravid pointed in the direction of the city center. “—sits the Palais du Louvre, where the authorities are extremely eager to ‘talk’ to you about the role you played in the foul murder of their king.”
Luca was on his feet in a moment, frantically denying everything, but Ravid waved away his protestations and insisted that Luca sit down. Because the instruction was supported by Ravid resting one hand on the sword in his belt, the unarmed Luca reluctantly acquiesced.
“And as to your third question,” continued Ravid, “regarding what you are doing here. You are choosing.”
“Choosing? Choosing what?” demanded Luca.
“Choosing your future, of course,” said Ravid. “You may choose Hell, in which case we will take you to the Palais du Louvre, where the king’s interrogators will quickly establish your guilt and determine whether your death will be very slow and very painful, or very, very slow and extremely painful. Or—” Ravid paused dramatically.
“Or what?” Luca asked, terrified.
“Or you could answer my questions, right here, right now, and then be taken to a place where you can serve out your life in peace.”
Even Jesse struggled to keep up with the flow of information that Luca poured out in his eagerness to escape Parisian justice.
After Luca had babbled on for several hours, Ravid and Jesse emerged with a basic if slanted understanding of the Academy, the Council of Four and the combined forces awaiting them in Naples.
They had also established that Father Carracci was the man behind the assassination plot.
ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-TWO
Palais du Louvre, Paris, France, afternoon, Tuesday May 25 1610
De Richelieu was furious. “A Dominican priest?” The bishop spent the next few minutes denouncing the failings of the Dominican order in general, and the shortcomings of that priest in particular, before turning to the very practical matter of what to do about him.
“And what happened to your informant, the conspirator?”
“We sentenced him to death, Your Grace,” said Ravid.
“Very good, very good. Will it be a public execution? We can put the word out through the congregations this Sunday.”
“Ah, no, Your Grace,” said Ravid. “We have chosen to make Luca die very slowly. It will take a while.”
The conversation between de Richelieu and Ravid now turned to the issues that had emerged from the interrogation of Luca. “It’s not only the priest, of course, or even the Academy,” said Ravid. “Now that we know who we’re really up against—this so-called ‘Council of Four,’ including the Brotherhood of Judas and New Phoenicia, and possibly some Darke Warriors—our small team will be greatly outnumbered by the forces gathered against us in Naples.”
Academy of Secrets: From the Outcast Angels Christian Fantasy & Science Fiction series Page 35
