George guffawed. “How could you possibly know that?”
Nogaret gestured to Flote. “Pierre questioned the guards at all the gates. It would be one thing if David were alone, but he is accompanied by three women, two men, and four children. No party that large left the city before we knew he was gone.”
George flung out a hand. “He could have floated downriver from the palace. He could have been out of the city like that.” He snapped his fingers.
“Only one small boat is moored near the palace, and it is still there.”
George threw up his hands. “So he had help!”
Philippe was relieved to hear the boat was where it was supposed to be. It was one piece of his escape plan he hadn’t entirely thought through. At the same time, George was right that its return—and David’s ability to remain free—meant he did have help. It had probably been ridiculous for any of them to have thought David wouldn’t. And yet, it was a bit chilling to think there were pieces in play Philippe did not know about.
Of course, there were things he hadn’t told David either, beyond the true fate of the castle workers.
“We began a house to house search of the city immediately after we realized he was missing.” Flote was undeterred. “Someone will have seen something. That was too many people too late at night, to hide forever. We think we may have found some link to him in a house on the riverfront on the left bank. The neighbors say it was occupied for several months and had many visitors, but was abandoned this morning.”
George scoffed. “It was a brothel.”
“They say no.”
George’s expression then turned to one of curiosity, and he said musingly, “It could have been a safe house.”
“A what?” Nogaret said.
Philippe didn’t know what a safe house was either, but maybe he could guess.
“Never mind.” George made a dismissive motion. “You took my weapons, and so far, I have received nothing for them.”
“I can get you money.” That was Nogaret, always spending. That said, the Avalonian weapons George had given them in exchange for Arthur were worth their weight in gold. Philippe had known he was foiling that deal when he’d released David and his family. But he was the King of France. It was his prerogative to break deals when it became necessary.
“I don’t want your money. Money cannot replace Arthur.” George snorted his derision. “Tell me you at least found the plane.”
Flote bobbed a nod. “It’s near Vincennes, on abbey grounds.”
Nogaret turned on his underling. “You didn’t tell me that!”
“It slipped my mind until now. I didn’t know you cared about its location.”
Nogaret slapped the back of his hand on Flote’s chest. “It flies, you idiot. Why wouldn’t I want to know?”
“It’s probably already gone,” George said in disgust, “with David and Arthur in it.”
“I was going to Vincennes tonight anyway to check in with the guards,” Nogaret said. “I want to know if the plane is still there. If it is, perhaps David hasn’t left yet.”
“Or perhaps he has another way out of France,” George said.
“Do you really want to take that chance?” Nogaret asked.
“No,” George said, somewhat grudgingly.
“Send word to me at Vincennes when you know more, and if I have news, I will reach you through one of the abbey lay workers, who is one of mine.” Without waiting for a reply, expecting his order to be obeyed, Nogaret left the room.
Philippe wanted to shout leave my family alone! But, of course, he couldn’t. He could only pray that David would get to them first.
Meanwhile, Flote was looking at George expectantly, which prompted George to scoff again. “I’ll meet you downstairs in a minute. Surely you can find something with which to occupy yourself while I gather my things?”
Flote looked grumpy, but he complied. Only then did Philippe realize the room was George’s personal chamber, rather than merely a private place to talk.
When they’d both gone, George remained standing in the center of the room, looking down at his feet and with a finger to his lips. Then, after a count of ten, he looked up and said, “Was that informative, Philippe?” He spun slowly on one heel. “I know about those passages, how you spy on your court through them. I haven’t found an entrance yet, but if you’re listening, you’d better be careful! It must have occurred to you that David could have used them to escape. I kept your little secret, God knows why, and now look what it cost me.”
Philippe was frozen in position, his eye to the hole. He didn’t dare move in case the slightest sound or motion gave him away.
Then George paused, and a look of pure astonishment crossed his face. “Wait a minute! Did you release him?” He laughed heartily. “My God, what if you did! Wait until I suggest it to Nogaret!” But then he sobered, and, like his astonishment, it was an instant transformation. “Does that mean you told David about our little deal and how even now Artois is attacking Angoulême with the weapons I gave you? Or are you playing both sides against the middle?” He was back to his thinking pose, which he held for longer this time.
When he looked up next, his expression was intent. “Maybe you’re not here. Be pretty great if I’m just talking to myself, and you’re tucked up safe in some latrine like last time.” Then he nodded. “But I have to assume David knows about me.” He paused. “And act accordingly.”
And with that, he threw a few things into a satchel, swung it over his shoulder, and strode from the room.
Philippe stepped back from the eyehole and popped in the cork. His entire body was shaking from a combination of rage and fear. He’d done his best to manipulate them all—David, Nogaret, George—but the problem lay in that none of them served Philippe himself or had his best interests at heart.
He took in a breath and squared his shoulders. He would have to take action himself before the situation spiraled completely out of control. But how? That answer he didn’t yet know.
Chapter Thirty-four
Day Two
Rachel
Rachel stood with her back pressed against the wall as two guards lifted the first of the dead and hauled him out of the cell, slung between them on hemp sacking. Samuel stood beside her, shoulder to shoulder like a real brother would, until the prison commander shouted in their direction.
“You two! What are you standing there for? Get to work!”
Instantly, they moved to the body of one of the young women who’d been gravely ill. Just like the supposed dead man the two guards had manhandled out of the cell and up the stairs a moment ago, the young woman wasn’t actually dead but sedated with poppy juice. She’d been suffering so much just since Rachel had been imprisoned with her, that Rachel was glad to know she was feeling no pain for the first time in days. Rachel had worked under all sorts of conditions since she’d come to Earth Two, but this was by far the worst. She’d known it would be. It didn’t really make her feel any better.
“You got her?” Samuel said softly.
“She weighs half of what I do,” Rachel said. “Tonight can’t come too soon for most of these people.”
The commander on duty who was faced with two dozen dead prisoners stood outside the doorway of the cell, looking fierce. His stance told Rachel he was angry and fearful that he’d be blamed. By rights, he should be, except for the fact that everyone had been dosed by Aaron instead.
Everyone, that is, but Marco Polo’s companion, who truly had died in the night. Rachel felt guilty about the way his genuine death had given credence to their deception.
On the way out the door, Samuel said to one of the guards. “Perhaps the men in the other cells could help?” He didn’t look up as he spoke, and his tone was low enough that it didn’t carry far.
He didn’t wait to see if the man responded, and anyway all their attention was focused on maneuvering the young woman up the stairs and into the prison courtyard without dropping or hurting her.
The first brea
th of fresh air hit Rachel like a rogue wave on a beach, and she almost staggered at the beauty of it. She took in a real, full breath for the first time since the night before and almost moaned.
She’d been in front, walking backwards up the stairs initially, and now they set the girl down so Rachel could adjust her hold. Then they were off again, heading towards the dead room, the door of which had been left open by the two guards who’d carried out the first body.
An hour earlier, Aaron had gone from one prisoner to another, giving them what he hoped was an appropriate dose of poppy juice. Aaron had even dosed himself, though lightly, just enough to relax him. As Rachel had watched him nervously, he’d laughed and said, “To tell you the truth, I could use the sleep.”
Once the poppy juice started to take effect, it had been Rachel’s job to get the ball rolling. She’d started screaming, “They’re dead! They’re all dead!” while Samuel banged on the bars of the prison with a metal dish left over from the day before that hadn’t been collected.
The walls were so thick their screaming couldn’t be heard beyond the prison keep, but the commotion caused unrest amongst the other prisoners, and they began shouting too.
“Plague! Plague!” Rachel kept up the screaming, now joined also by Venny and his companions, and Marco Polo, shouting alternatingly in French, Italian, Arabic, and Chinese.
Finally the guards had come, though apparently on their regular schedule since they brought buckets of slop they called food. At the sight of Samuel and Rachel surrounded by apparently dead cell mates, and then Paolo dead in the next cell, they ran for the exits, and it was only by shouting himself that the captain of the guard coerced them back inside.
Truthfully, if the guards had abandoned the prison entirely, fearful of the plague, that would have worked just as well for their plan.
Samuel and Rachel laid the girl they’d brought gently on the floor and headed back for a second body. As they crossed the courtyard, Rachel glanced towards the main gate, which itself was closed, but the postern gate had been opened to admit Darren and another man Rachel didn’t recognize, dressed as laborers and pushing a little wheeled cart with two casks of wine stacked onto it.
“They’re early,” she said.
“I suspect they know that,” Samuel said. “It is nice of them to show up when we’re outside.”
The captain of the guard came hurrying out of the prison, not carrying any bodies, Rachel noted sourly, though he was followed immediately by Venny and Matha, Rhys, Mathew, and a stranger, whom Rachel supposed had to be Marco Polo, carrying two bodies between the five of them. Marco Polo was revealed to be close in height to Rachel herself, who wasn’t particularly tall. He had blood in his curly hair from his beating, and he moved as if his torso ached. But his brown eyes showed intelligence and a hint of amusement. Of course, he’d survived twenty-four years along the Silk Road. A day or two in a French prison was probably a picnic to him.
“Careful with them,” Rachel said in an undertone as she passed Marco Polo. “That’s precious cargo.”
“So I’m beginning to understand.” Marco Polo spoke with something akin to a grin, quickly stifled before anybody noticed.
“What is this?” The captain of the guard was gesticulating to Darren, who stood in front of him with a sullen expression.
“I don’t know,” Darren said. “I was told to deliver wine to the prison, and so I have done.”
“Compliments of some rabbi.” Darren’s companion grunted as he adjusted one of the caskets on the cart. “Unless you want us to return it?”
The captain of the guard laughed out loud, though it wasn’t a very nice laugh, understanding that the wine was meant to be a bribe. “Take it to the barracks. We will drink to his health.” He laughed again.
Darren and his companion began pushing the cart across the courtyard, though their steps were slow, and they were making it look difficult. Their progress was so slow, in fact, that the captain swung around and shouted at Rachel and Samuel. “What are you standing there for? Help them!”
They hurried to Darren and put a shoulder to the cart. It began to move a little faster, though not much—in large part because Darren was pulling on it while everyone else was pushing.
“I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you.” Darren bent to Rachel’s ear.
“And I you.” Rachel was so relieved to see her husband whole and well she felt light-headed.
“The moment the sun sets, you need to get out of here.” Darren glanced at Rachel’s head. “I see you still have the lockpicks.”
She refrained from putting a hand to her hair, where the tools in question were still keeping her hair up. “The lock looks eminently manageable.”
“I thought this might help too.” Darren passed Samuel a six-inch knife in a sheath. “Just in case.”
At that point, they arrived at the barracks and separated, Darren and his helper to move the casks inside and Rachel and Samuel back to the prison. Though everyone would have preferred to talk longer, they couldn’t risk calling attention to themselves or, even more, risk the discovery of Samuel’s new knife.
It took several more trips to the courtyard to move all the bodies, after which one of the guards locked them back into their respective cells, still keeping Rachel and Samuel separate from the other prisoners, even though they were the only ones in their cell left ‘alive’.
The sun hadn’t yet set, so they had some light to see by, and as soon as the guard disappeared up the stairs, Rachel plucked the lockpicks from her hair and got to work. She spent half an hour unlocking and locking the door until she could do it in a matter of seconds with her eyes closed.
Marco Polo’s hands were wrapped around the bars of his door. “You’re taking me with you when you go, right?”
Having settled the door back into place one more time, Rachel grinned, even though the Italian couldn’t see it. “Have you ever considered writing a memoir? I think London would be a very good place from which to do it.”
Chapter Thirty-five
Day Two
Thomas
Thomas lifted one heavy boot and kicked in the door in front of him. Jehan, one of his Templar brothers, was beside him, and they were taking turns as they went down the street clearing the houses. Since these houses were to be sold to new owners, the proceeds going to the crown, Thomas saw no reason not to make the king pay for a new door first.
Besides, it gave credence to the fact that this was a raid rather than a hastily organized evacuation.
Thomas had never kicked down a door before, but after the last few houses, he thought he was getting the hang of it. Basically, for a locked door, it behooved one to aim for a place just below the latch. Sometimes the whole frame fell in, which was particularly fun, and that was the case this time, with his eighteenth door.
The Jewish weekly holy day began on Friday night at sunset, which had been roughly eight o’clock. More than an hour later, the last of the wagons laden with the few goods King Philippe was allowing them were trundling towards the Paris Temple. Five hundred people really wasn’t too great a number, not when they were spread about a whole quarter. Notre Dame Cathedral could hold that many, and it didn’t take an hour for it to empty after mass either.
Some Jews lived in other areas of the city, but since David had talked to the rabbis, they’d all come to these few streets. At first many, if not most, had refused to believe what was happening, but the weight of the rabbi conclave had persuaded the vast majority. A handful may have chosen to be left behind, but they weren’t on this street.
By now, it was mostly a matter of cleaning up, and the last five houses they’d entered had been empty. A few families had been asked to delay their departure, again to make the raid appear genuine. This was one of them, the substantial home of three generations of rabbis, one of them Jacob, the liaison (who wasn’t here since he was busy at the Paris Temple), his father, and his grandfather, Isaac.
Thomas and Jehan entered the hou
se, finding the family of eight calmly looking back at them from the center of the main room on the ground floor. Unlike Thomas, they didn’t seem to be questioning authority. Their rabbis had told them it was time to leave, to gather what belongings they could, and to come with the Templars who’d broken down their door. And so they had done.
“Are any of you good at screaming?” Thomas asked, once he’d introduced Jehan and himself to the family.
The father looked askance, but one of his daughters, who appeared to be about sixteen, nodded. “I can.”
At Thomas’s gesture, she opened her mouth and let loose the most blood-curdling sound Thomas had ever heard, and he’d been in battle.
Her brother, younger than her by a few years, laughed, and Thomas put a finger to his lips. “Don’t ruin the effect!”
Then the family followed them outside, Jehan in the lead and Thomas bringing up the rear, smashing a chair on his way out the door for good measure.
Outside, Templar sergeants were herding the last stragglers in the general direction of the Paris Temple. The moon would have been full if they could see it, but it was covered by thick clouds, and the only light in the whole district came from the torches the sergeants carried.
A wind had come up since he’d been inside the house, and Thomas felt the first drops of rain on his head. He stopped beside Jehan to watch the family join the moving group. Then, all of a sudden, a door across the street opened and a family ran out one at a time. The mother, clearly in a panic, screamed as she clutched a baby to her chest. “Fire!”
The entire population remaining on the street moved at once. The sergeants began hurrying everyone along at a run instead of a walk, and those who couldn’t run were urged into the back of one of the covered wagons. Only four knights, including Thomas and Jehan, had still been occupied knocking down doors, and all of them converged on the house.
Another brother met them in the doorway. The house itself was so narrow Thomas thought he might be able to stand in the center of a room and touch both walls. “Upstairs. A lantern fell over. Etienne is trying to put it out.”
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