by Ann Benson
She moaned and swooned, and he flattered even more, and they carried on for some time in this giddy fashion, leading Alejandro to wonder where this talent for flirtation had hidden all his life, and why it came so fluently at this particular time. Maybe it is just the absence of such pleasure from my life, for so very long.
And it did bring him pleasure, for the countess was a beautiful and clever woman, obviously much in need of a man’s attention. He liked her, enjoyed her wit, admired her intelligence.
And so he felt ashamed to be using her so. But use her he must. “I have a strong desire,” he said longingly.
“Oh, tell me, what is this desire, and if it is in my power, I shall move heaven and earth to see it done.”
“Happily, no such force shall be needed, for I only wish to see you in the light of day, in a garden, where your beauty can be surrounded by like beauty, God’s other handiwork.”
It was not precisely as Chaucer had instructed him, but the result seemed adequate. “A rendezvous!” she breathed. “Oh, what a marvelous idea. But how shall we accomplish this, with de Chauliac so jealous of your time … It shall be no difficulty for me to get free, for the king allows me to travel about Paris at will, provided I am properly chaperoned. He knows I will not abandon my children. And my guards seem to know how to keep their distance. But yours …”
He smiled. “… may have their ears against the door, to spy on us,” he reminded her.
She giggled, then said in a lower voice, “I forgot!”
“I think we should leave it to Chaucer to make the necessary arrangements,” Alejandro whispered. “He is completely loyal to you, lady, never doubt it.”
“I have not yet. I see no reason to begin.”
Marie opened the door of Marcel’s house to the spare young lad in page’s attire, who smiled boyishly at her and said, “Bonjour, ma jolie.”
Not Miss, or Woman, but my pretty. She smiled coquettishly and returned his greeting. “Et à vous, jeune homme.”
“I would speak with you for a moment.”
“Oui? Pourquoi?”
“Because it pleases me to look on your lovely face, and while I am speaking you will not go away, so I may continue to gaze on it. And may I also say, I am enticed by the sweetness of your voice.”
She laughed. “And you shall hear more of it, when I call out for the person you really wish to see.”
“Ah, then, I am caught. And I thought this dalliance to be proceeding so well. I am rejected, again. May I then speak with Monsieur Jacques, s’il vous plaît?” He nodded in the direction of the salon, where the pitch and tone of the voices was distinctly uncivilized. “That is, if he can be torn away.”
Kate had warned her of the name. “Entrez,” she said, “and wait here. They are arguing their detestable politics in there, and I daresay he will be glad of the interruption. I shall fetch him.” He had charmed her so that she forgot to inquire his name.
And as he waited alone in the small vestibule, Kate came up from the cellar kitchen to make her way up the stairs. She glanced at him, but seeing nothing recognizable in his face, passed by. But when she heard a quiet expression of astonishment, she turned and looked back. “Are you unwell, sir?”
“No, mademoiselle, just a bit taken aback.”
“And why, might I inquire?”
“Because, although I am surely crazed to think it, you bear an uncanny resemblance to my patron, the lord Lionel. Why, you might be the prince’s sister, so strong is the likeness.”
She took a step backward as shock filled her face, which Chaucer misinterpreted as offense. He quickly added, “Though you are a far sight more beautiful than he. On you, it is comely; on him, well …”
She grabbed hold of the railing at the foot of the stairs to steady herself as Karle came out of the salon. When the Frenchman saw her unsteadiness, he rushed forward to support her.
“Kate!” he said. “What ails you?”
She took a deep breath before stammering, “Nothing, it is just … uh, this young gentleman has … mistaken me for someone else.”
“Forgive me,” Chaucer said in alarm, “it was just something I noticed as you passed, an uncanny similarity … of course it cannot be true, for my lord’s sisters are all in England presently, and you are too young to be any of them, in any case.”
Karle gave him a withering stare and the boy stopped speaking. “Dear Kate, let me help you. This is the youth Chaucer I told you about, come from the countess Elizabeth.” He put an arm fully around the girl and held her up.
“Yes,” Chaucer said, “and I beg to be excused. I did not mean to upset the … uh, your … uh …”
“My wife,” he said, pulling her closer to him.
Kate’s head whipped around in surprise.
“Ah! Your wife, stupid me … I am doubly ashamed.” Then with a curious grin he whispered, “Your uncle failed to mention that you were married, in fact he seems to think that you are not.”
“Well, here, young man, stands the proof.” He looked nervously back over his shoulder toward the salon. “I may have neglected to mention it to Marcel.”
“I fail to understand such neglect, sir. One would think you would want to keep the eyes of other gentlemen off a gem such as this wife of yours. You, good sir, are amply blessed.”
“I am,” Karle agreed. He turned to Kate with a smile. “Perhaps you will go upstairs, chérie, while Chaucer and I conduct our business.”
“No, cheéri,” she countered, “I cannot bear to be apart from you! And I require your support yet to recover from this … shocking misidentification. So please, go on with your business, but ignore me. I shall be but a mouse. But wait—here is a better idea! Shall we all go upstairs together, where I can recover, and we can have a bit of privacy?”
It was agreed. Karle supported her as they climbed up the steep, narrow stairs to the tiny chamber. Chaucer followed.
Once inside, Karle closed the door. “Now, tell me of the plan.”
“I am given to understand that the physician wishes for you to ‘abduct’ him, although since he will be a rather willing hostage I hardly see where it can be called an abduction. But I suppose if that is what he wishes de Chauliac to think, we can make it appear to be so. He wants you to disguise yourself somehow, but not so as to alarm the guards, or they will take too much notice of you.”
He described the route that would be taken from de Chauliac’s house to the manse where Lionel and Elizabeth resided, at the pleasure of the king, against his own safe return from Windsor. “The guards have grown complacent to this route. We take it often, for the physician and the countess have heightened their little romance to include almost daily assignations. When we round the corner I will fall back between Alejandro and the guards, and you will grab the reins of his horse and whisk him off. He will then proceed to the garden where the lady will be waiting for him.”
“At what hour shall this all take place?” Karle asked.
“Precisely at the highest of the sun.”
“And that is all? There is nothing more to this plan?”
“Should there be? Of course, the ending. How could I forget! I sometimes forget to finish things. It is a habit I must shed, and soon. Later he will return to de Chauliac’s with stories of having been abducted and robbed of his goods, of being dazed in a gutter and awakening to strange surroundings, but that seems too obvious to require mention. He will make up a tale about the kindness of strangers who aided him in his hour of need, and de Chauliac will be none the wiser. Meanwhile, he and the countess will have enjoyed each other for a time, however tragically brief, without the watchful eyes of de Chauliac or Prince Lionel. I do not know who will be the more jealous.”
But Kate and Karle knew beyond doubt which of those two about-to-be-cuckolded men would be the more angry by the time the day was through. It would be de Chauliac, by far.
“I have decided that it is not wise to further annoy Navarre by asking for a change in the site for the battl
e,” Karle told le Provoste. “We have reviewed the maps again, and have decided that Compiègne will do. You need not contact him again.”
Marcel set down his quill. “This is wise, Karle—I am very glad you have come to this decision. I have been avoiding that unsavory correspondence all day because I know not how to make it seem palatable to Navarre.”
“Nothing will ever seem palatable to Navarre, save his own ends and pleasures.”
“Nevertheless, it is a great relief to me that I am no longer required to be the deliverer of a message he might deem counter to his interests.”
“So then my reasons for staying in Paris have run out.”
“I suppose they have.”
Karle took a long breath. “Then we will depart in the morning and make our way north. I will begin to gather my army. When we are assembled and prepared, we will inform Navarre.”
Marcel stood. “You will not regret the alliance. Now, Godspeed, Karle, to you and those who may join you. You do the work that other men are afraid to do for themselves, yet cherish anyway.”
They joined in a rough embrace and patted each other’s back as if they were true uncle and nephew. “Now,” Marcel said, “one last toast, and then I suspect you shall want to retire early. You’ve a long day ahead of you, I fear.”
“Many long days, it would seem.”
Marcel raised his goblet. “To Jacques Bonhomme. May his spirit rise.”
They lay on the straw mat in the tiny chamber, knowing it might be the last of their nights of comfort, understanding that when Alejandro rejoined them things might be very different. They clung to each other in the fierce desperation of uncertainty, and spoke sweetnesses into each other’s ears. “You called me wife,” Kate whispered.
“I mean to call you that many more times,” Karle said. “As soon as the chance presents itself, we shall speak to a priest.”
“Husband,” she murmured. “It is a handsome word.”
He kissed her first on each eye, then on the tip of her nose, then softly and deeply on the lips. “One hopes your père will think it seems so, as well.”
It seemed to Alejandro that the obnoxious little Flamel could stay away for only a day or two, because here he was, just two nights since his last invasion, disrupting the work he claimed to need done so speedily.
“Not even the second section complete!”
“I am proceeding apace, Flamel. Do you think this sort of work can be rushed? It takes time and care, and you must be more patient.”
“Ah,” the little man said, smacking himself punitively on the forehead, “you will think me unlearned for not realizing this. I do, I do! It is simply that I have made my prayers, and God has accepted me for the work of creation, or so I am given to understand, and I am anxious to be about the work of knowing His secrets.”
Alejandro set down his quill and gave him a mildly surprised look. “God has already made His sign to you?”
Flamel clasped his hands together and looked heavenward. “He has, may all the saints be blessed.”
“You must be an exceptionally pious man for Him to have responded so quickly.”
“He must believe me so, I suppose. I do admit, it was far quicker than I could possibly have hoped for.”
“And might I know the nature of this sign?”
“Of course. I see no reason to hide it. It was a vision that came to me in a dream. It was terrible at first, but then I understood that God meant to impress me with its magnitude, so I paid strict attention. It started in a dungeon of some sort, a deep and airless place with very little light, and I was frightened to the very depths of my soul to be there. The only way in or out was a small door, and though I pleaded with my keepers to be released, they ignored me until one day the door opened, and I was brought forward into the light again, and my eyes could barely see from having lived so long in darkness. But God provided something for me to see, something wonderfully bright: a circle of light, redhot and glowing, and as it advanced toward me it burst into the most beautiful flames …”
Alejandro did not listen to the rest of the alchemist’s dream. Whatever was left to be told could only be the insignificant recollections of the one meant to deliver the sign. For in his heart of hearts, the physician knew that the sign was meant for him and him alone, and that it was time to leave Paris.
24
“I’ve never been upstairs in your house before.”
“Not for lack of trying on my part.”
Tom’s flirtatious humor gave Janie the comforting sense that some small thing in the world was still the same. She followed with uncharacteristic meekness as he carried her bag down the long carpeted hallway of his second floor. He opened the door to his guest room and brought the bag inside, then set it on the bed, bellhop-style, and extended his hand as if for a tip.
She tried to laugh, but it came out sounding forced and insincere, and quickly melted into tears. Tom came up to her and put one arm around her shoulders, attempting to soothe her with reassurances that he knew would ring more pretty than true in her ears.
She sniffed ungracefully and said, “Why has my life turned to such a pile of shit all of a sudden?”
“Look,” he said, “I know this may not be entirely comforting, but it could’ve been worse. Your valuables were out, at least, and you can rebuild, probably for less money—there are plenty of builders out there looking for work. I took your insurance policy out of the safe last night and went over it. You’re covered for—”
“I know, I’m covered for everything. Which is good, because what I have left is either in your safe or right here in this bag.” She put her hand down on the suitcase. “It’s not just that … it’s … oh …”
“What?” he asked gently.
She heaved a long sigh in and out, and after a few determined breaths, she seemed to recover a bit of resolve. “Never mind. I’m through with moaning for the day. Maybe for my life. I’ve got work to do.” She lowered her gaze and said, “I never should have gone to Iceland.”
Tom said nothing. They were both quiet for a few moments. Then Janie looked up at him with weary eyes. “I just want to thank you, Tom, so much … this is one of those times when I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“It’s all right,” he said, smiling. “I don’t mind at all. I’m just afraid I’ll get used to the company, though, and then what?”
“Look, if this doesn’t feel right to you, I can stay with Michael and Caroline.”
“No. Really. I was kidding. This will be much easier for you.”
“You’re right. Thank you. I hope someday I’ll be able to do something this nice for you.”
Tom was silent. He hoped the same.
“Look, there’s just one more thing,” Janie said. “Kristina was coming to my house for—I guess you’d call them ‘meetings.’ That’s obviously not possible anymore. I need someplace where I can meet with her.”
“She can come here, of course.”
“I was thinking of your office, actually.”
He seemed to stiffen when she said that. “Here would be better.”
“You’re sure? Tom, they burned my house down … where would we go if they burn yours down too?”
The “we” sounded musical and sweet to him, but he didn’t comment on her use of it. “I don’t know,” he said. “Some tropical island, maybe. Barring that, some Utopian paradise. But we’d figure it out.”
Chet cornered Janie when he saw her emerge from the elevator. It was as if he had been waiting for her, ready to pounce.
“Was that your house that got burned? I heard about it on the news. What happened, do they know?”
Not Welcome back, not Are you okay? not We’re so sorry, take a few days off if you need them, but Give me the juicy details.
“Kerosene happened, or something like that. Everything’s gone.”
“Ooh. That’s bad,” the Monkey Man said.
And Janie thought she saw a momentary blanching, just the slight
est little reaction to her revelation that the fire had been set. But he recovered quickly enough to make her think that it might have been her imagination, which was still in overdrive.
“My brother-in-law’s a contractor,” he said. “I’ll tell him to give you a call.”
Oy, she thought with annoyance. Brother-in-law contractors. Soon a flock of them would be swooping over the charred remains of her house like crows over carrion. “Do that, Chet. But tell him to wait a couple of weeks.”
“You’re not gonna hire someone right away, are you?”
“Not in the next few days, no. I have a lot of things to take care of first.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you do. It’s a good thing you’re back. There’s some catching up to do here too.”
“Right,” she said. She stepped around him and pointed toward her office. “I guess I’ll get right to it, then.”
One of Kristina’s e-mails was on her office computer, reply-ready. After she answered all of her job-related correspondence, Janie sent her a quick note.
I’m back. Oh, boy am I back. We need to meet.
Half an hour later came the reply. Hot dogs. After work.
“I feel like I’ve been gone forever,” Janie told the girl as she sat down next to her on the bench. “It’s only been three days, but my God, what a mess I came back to.”
Kristina held out the leather case that Virtual Memorial lived in. Janie accepted it happily and opened it up. “Hello, baby,” she cooed. “Mommy’s home.”
“Dr. Crowe,” Kristina said.
Janie looked up.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“As all right as I can be under the circumstances, yes. Why?” She glanced down at herself, then looked back up again. “Am I oozing something?”
“No, but you’re talking to a computer.”
“A familiar computer, one of the few familiar things in my life right now. I feel like I just got my dog back from the vet.” She closed the case. “I’ll feed you later,” she whispered. Then she turned back to Kristina. “So,” she said in a voice full of anticipation, “tell me what happened while I was gone.”
