by Lynda Hurst
Alarm arose in Jean’s eyes which was soon replaced by bone-chilling fear. “No, you wouldn’t! You promised that we would share in your triumph! Remember our bargain!”
“I remember our bargain perfectly. It is you who has failed to fulfill your end of it, and you must now pay for your mistake,” he said coldly. If Jean hoped to find a shred of mercy, there was none to be had in the icy depths of the Doctor’s eyes.
Jean froze at the sight of a quick flash of a small sliver of glinting metal, and just as quick it disappeared from sight. He barely saw the Doctor move, but when he tried to speak to protest his usefulness, he found he couldn’t. Trembling violently, he shakily made the effort to look down at his chest and was surprised to feel the sickly warm gush of liquid running down his front before he belatedly noticed that the liquid was his own blood. Reaching both hands towards his neck, as if to stem the flow, he found further evidence that his throat was now carved with its own gory, hideous smile, now grinning from ear to ear. He could only stare numbly at the author of the unwarranted atrocity, his lips and throat working to form a sound, a name, but his vocal cords had been severed too badly for him to try uttering even a whimper.
Once more that flash of silver appeared, only for it to deliver the final killing blow through the soft underside of his jaw and straight through into his brain.
12
After a busy morning of traipsing through the Parisian streets with Valerian accompanying her everywhere, Mary was quite done with the whole excursion. She positively begged to have at least something to fill her complaining belly, and without Valerian’s consent, she ducked into the nearest tavern, charmingly named the Cochon Volant, before he could stop her.
After their arrival at their hotel, another message from Bastien had been waiting for Valerian with more information concerning the Ark thief. Bastien’s men had trailed their thief as far as Paris but the trail had either grown cold, or the thief had remained in Paris. A female accomplice had also been speculated to have accompanied their thief, but it was unlikely that they would find the pair in such a large city. By then, the Ark might have already changed hands to someone they referred to as “The Doctor”.
Frustrated with the enormity of his task before he could venture home, Valerian had suggested to Mary that they spend their morning exploring among the shops after he posted a reply note to Bastien. While Mary had been busy selecting various herbs and spices from the apothecary, Valerian had paid a visit to his Parisian solicitor who oversaw his business dealings in Paris. Through his trusted business connections, he had hoped to discern who might have newly arrived in the city with whispers concerning possibly overthrowing the current Mont-Tremblant king. Gossip tended to run rampant among those who would benefit monetarily through supporting such a cause, and Valerian had hoped that there would at least be an inkling of such goings-on.
Later, when Mary had ducked into a dressmaker’s shop, claiming she wanted to see the latest fashion plates, Valerian had taken the opportunity to visit an old friend he had spied in the window of a ribbon shop. Not wanting Mary to know whom he was meeting, he had waited until she was safely inside the dress shop before he crossed the street to greet Madame Reveille.
Madame Reveille was the owner of one of the most successful Parisian bawdy houses and her friendship with Valerian was one that was longstanding and borne of mutual respect as business partners. With him being the silent partner for discretion, of course. Although she was much older, he fondly thought of her as a sister of sorts, especially with the way she cossetted and fussed at him.
Greeting her casually, she had acknowledged him with a small bow of her head. Since they were in public, they could do no more than observe the most civil of proprieties, and when he had been sure that no one could overhear, he had whispered to her, “If you are not otherwise occupied tonight, I must speak with you in private.”
From his no-nonsense tone, she gathered that he meant in the business sense, and she only said, “All right. Tonight at eight, then. Use the side entrance.”
He nodded perfunctorily and kissed her gloved hand before making his way back to Mary across the street. Upon reaching the dress shop, he had been surprised to see her standing outside, waiting for him. If there had been any indication that she had spotted him talking with a woman with whom he was familiar, she had given no sign. It had unsettled him a little to think that maybe she had seen him together with Madame Reveille and that it did little to affect her.
A part of him cared what Mary thought of him, and while there was no love between them, their betrothal gave them room to explore how far that care could extend to. Both of their fathers had planned their betrothal in a way that hadn’t allowed them the courtesy of discovering each other until after their passing, but Mary’s circumstances had pushed them together, and he couldn’t be more grateful. If he wanted Mary to at least show some sign of jealousy or displeasure at the sight of him with another woman, there would have to have been some kind of feelings existing on Mary’s part in the first place.
When he finally entered the tavern close behind Mary, he could see that the place was not the savoriest of establishments. In her haste to satisfy her angry belly, she must have failed to notice the rough crowd that filled the stools and tables inside. Stubborn as she was, she marched right up to the counter and called for the barkeeper to make their order. Seeing that a lady was present among them, the barkeeper and his patrons scowled at first, but when Valerian had laid down a generous donation for both their food and drink, the barkeeper stood a little straighter and hurried to cater to her whims.
Settling themselves at a table, Valerian looked about to observe the room. Without their usual trail of Bastien’s guards with them, Valerian was careful to keep everyone in the room in sight, his back never exposed to anyone. Recalling her earlier idea to visit the lesser known taverns, he decided that staying here could have its two-fold purpose: to feed themselves and to make their inquiries about the Ark thief in a discreet manner.
Mary beat him to the punch. “I thought we could try this place first to see what we can discover. And while we wait, I suppose I could stomach what passes for food here.”
“Yes, but let me choose the place next time,” he admonished. “It was never my intention to bring you to such a coarse place.”
“Oh, and there are other establishments that would better serve ladies and give us the information we seek?”
“Your cheek knows no bounds, my lady, and it was also never my plan to bring you with me when I started making my inquiries at such places.”
“Whyever not? It’s not as though I am going alone. You’re with me, so there is no question of me being unchaperoned.”
“That’s not the issue here. Your safety is paramount as I promised your mother it would be. I am not in the habit of putting those whom I am responsible for in harm’s way.”
“As I pointed out, you are with me so there should not be a problem.”
Exasperated at her own reasoning, he muttered, “And thus, my job is made that much harder when the potential for unnecessary danger is imminent in such a place as this.”
“That is not true. We are complete strangers to those here, and unless we do something to offend anyone here, we are not disturbing anyone.”
Grumbling under his breath, he was relieved when their food and drink arrived and was given a reprieve from further nonsense she might have uttered for the duration of their meal. Mary must have been ravenous if the speed at which her food had disappeared from her plate was any indication, and he admired that the woman managed to eat quite healthily, unlike most of the women in his acquaintance who ate like birds. He had polished off his own plate by the time Mary had wiped at her own lips with a napkin, probably the only napkin provided in an establishment such as this. On observing her daintily dabbing at her plump lower lip, he quickly looked away before he could dwell on the wonder of the softness of her tempting lips.
Before he could strike up a mild
conversation with her, a fight behind Mary had broken loose, further into the recesses of the tavern. Standing up to shield Mary if the fight should end up close, the two men who were pummeling each other with fists flying looked like they could slam into Mary any moment as they were bringing their fight dangerously close in her direction. And if it weren’t for his solid body protecting her from harm, it was more than likely that they could have caused damage to her person, and that he could not allow.
From the looks of things, the men had been playing cards at their table towards the rear of the tavern, and from the pile of money stacked on the table, there were substantial wagers that had been made. In French, the one man accused the other of cheating while attempting to reach for the cheater’s throat. The accused fired back in French, “You are a sore loser! I won fairly as I have clearly the better skill!”
The punching and the grappling grew in intensity as the pair made their way towards Mary and Valerian’s table. Mary watched in horrified fascination as the pair was almost upon them, and she braced herself for the eventual impact of the accused barreling into her.
As a trained military man, Valerian would never allow the fight to touch Mary, and since he was larger than either man, he had every confidence that he could pummel either man into a satisfying pulp.
Just as quickly as it started, Valerian ended it for them by planting a solid facer to the one man who had almost hit her, knocking the man out cold.
Mary gasped at the sight of the loser falling ungracefully at their feet, and she rushed to aid the fallen man. The other man, triumphant that the wrongdoer was justly punished, whirled back towards the table to join the rest of the players.
Glaring at Valerian for his ham-fisted ways of ending the fight, she blasted him with, “What did you do that for? That wasn’t very well done of you.”
In reply, he inelegantly shrugged and claimed, “The fight’s over now, isn’t it? And I should be receiving thanks for keeping you from receiving a nasty knock from their carelessness.”
He was right, but far be it from her to acknowledge his foresight. Instead, she shook her head in disgust and ignored him to turn her attention to the unconscious man. Ready to examine the man to see how she could help him, she reached for her ever-present satchel of supplies and remedies and prepared to properly look the man over.
A patron who had been trying to leave before the fight broke out hastily tried to make his exit now that the skirmish was over, but he failed to see Mary in her position on the floor. Subsequently, he tripped over Mary’s kneeling form, and he went sprawling just as Mary was knocked sideways and off of her perch on her heels.
Affronted, Mary popped her head up to regard the clumsy man, but his back was to her, and his hat rode low atop his head. Their collision had caused the man to drop several of his belongings as they were now strewn across the dirty tavern floor, and he hastily scrambled to retrieve them. The collision surprised her more than it injured her, just as it had caused her to lose her grip on her oilcloth-wrapped jars of remedies. Scanning the floor for it, she found it on the other side of the unconscious cheating card player and quickly snatched it up before she could chastise the other man for knocking her down. But the culprit had already finished collecting his items before Mary could chastise him for the slight.
The entire episode occurred within seconds, and it hadn’t given Valerian enough time to register what happened to bring Mary closer to the floor or to call the man out for knocking over a lady. All that was left to do was to assist Mary back onto her feet as she brushed out her now dirty skirts. “How rude,” Mary proclaimed after him, rubbing her sore hip. “That man was no gentleman; otherwise he would have apologized and helped me up.”
Valerian quirked both a brow and a corner of his mouth at her as he wryly told her, “Need I remind you that this establishment isn’t exactly teeming with gentlemen in every corner? If that’s what you wanted, you should have picked a different tavern instead of this one.”
“Hmph,” was her only reply, but she returned her attention to the man on the ground. Before she could retrieve her smelling salts wrapped within her oilcloth covering, the fallen man had attempted to sit up, groaning.
After some struggle, the hapless man finally was upright in a sitting position and dazedly asked, “What happened? The last thing I remember was a giant fist thumping me in the face.”
Looking up, the man spotted Valerian hovering above him and accused, “You! You hit me! I had no quarrel with you, and yet you go and do a thing like that!”
Ready to defend himself, Valerian was stopped from doing so by Mary’s intervention. She told the man, “Sir, your quarrel with your companion was frightfully close to our table, and it was only my fiancé’s attempt at protecting me. I am very sorry that you were hurt in the process, but I want to make sure you have not suffered anything more grievous. Are you hurt anywhere else?”
Surprised that a female of quality was asking after his welfare, the man seemed to do a quick self-inspection about his person, and he satisfactorily found nothing else injured. “Other than my temple which feels more bruised than hurt, I think everything’s in order,” he replied. Mary helped him to his feet by taking one arm, and Valerian rushed to assist with the other arm.
Valerian let the man go once he was back on his feet, but Mary held fast to the man’s arm and dragged him to a nearby lamp. Raising it to the man’s face, she stood close to inspect the man’s newly formed lump. Frowning, she said, “If you are at all feeling dizzy or your head pains you something fierce, you must tell me.”
“I can’t say that it hurts worse than the blow itself did. But what does it matter to you?”
“I’m a healer, and I would like to help if I may.”
“Ah, my sister is one as well. If need be, I can call on her if I’m feeling poorly.” Sheepishly, the man realized he had just been aided by a beautiful lady who was clearly of noble blood, and he shyly said, “My thanks for seeing after me, milady.”
“No thanks are needed, sir. I haven’t done much at all,” she said. “But I would like to make sure that you will be cared for once I leave.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about me, milady. The companion who tried to bash me into a pulp? He is married to my sister, so he will be seeing me home eventually.” Calling out good-naturedly across the room, “Isn’t that right, Michel?”
Michel called out in reply, “If we weren’t family, Andre, I would have already murdered you for your perfidious ways!”
Rolling his eyes at Mary behind Andre, Valerian gave a heaving sigh at the effrontery of the two uncouth men. Mary only scowled back at him in response.
Boldly walking up to Michel’s table where he was still playing cards, Mary asked, “Sir, would you be so kind as to make sure Andre is placed under your wife’s care? With the blow my fiancé had given him, I’m half afraid it might have scrambled his brains.”
Laughing boisterously with his fellow card players, Michel wiped at a tear that had been produced from so great a joke. “Oh? And what makes you think they weren’t scrambled before his hard head met your fiancé’s fist?”
Looking greatly offended, Andre rejoined, “At least I am doing better than that fellow over there in the corner.”
Mary, Valerian, and Michel turned towards the table Andre pointed out, and indeed there was a lone man who appeared to be sloppily passed out on the table top. His tankard was overturned and its contents dripping off of the table and onto his lap, and the man’s head was face down into his bowl of stew.
Mary cried, “That man could drown in his own stew!” And she quickly moved to help him.
But Valerian pulled her back. “Don’t,” he said.
“Why not? The poor fellow could suffocate! That’s a rather harsh punishment for being deep in one’s cups.”
Holding her arms tightly, he quietly said, “I don’t think he’s breathing at all.”
“What makes you say that?” she asked, but one glance at the man
told her that what Valerian said was true. The man was eerily still.
Michel and Andre, both curious now, stepped closer to the man’s table to get a better look. Andre had nudged the man’s shoulder in an attempt to rouse the man but turned pale in an instant. In a harsh whisper, he cried, “Mon Dieu,” and frantically crossed himself. Michel peered closer and did the same.
Puzzled, Mary asked, “Is he all right?” She pushed Andre aside to see for herself what the matter with the man was and sharply gasped at the unexpected sight. Shocked, she could only stare at the man’s now unseeing eyes staring back at her and the gaping wound at his neck that wept into the discolored bowl of stew.
13
Valerian caught Mary in his arms as she instinctively sought him to use him as a shield to hide from such a gruesome sight. Burying her face in the crook of his neck, she squeezed her eyes tightly against the grisly memory of the dead stranger, but those sightless eyes still haunted her even behind her closed lids.
