by David Mellon
Through the grimy windscreen Adi saw a mountain ridge etched against the night sky, like a row of teeth, with one great fang rising in the center.
Adi knew where they were heading.
Chapter 34
After pulling the truck off the road, the men, with Adi in tow, marched a quarter-mile through forest and fields. Not a word from the men, other than Freddie and Nantes quarreling in harsh whispers at the back of the line.
Their breath visible in the cold, they watched from the dark woods as a guard made his rounds before the massive walls of La Maison Chinois. Though she had never seen the royal estate from this direction, there was no doubt where they were.
They watched the guard in his tall boots and grim black uniform pass before the huge stone wall. The only guards Adi remembered seeing were ones with big colorful feathered hats that stood by the front door sometimes. The guard passed by.
“We’ve got an hour,” whispered Freddie.
• • •
Adi looked up through the ornate ironwork of the gate into the garden. The only sound was the splash of water from the fountains. A half moon, rising up over the trees, made shadow shapes of the acres of sculptures and topiary.
It was just as she remembered it.
Almost.
“What are you waiting for?” Nantes hissed to Freddie. “Get on with it then. Show him.”
The men turned and stared at Adi. Ferret snickered. She could make out his rotted teeth in the moonlight.
Freddie stood next to her, head pressed up against the bars of the gate. He put an arm around her neck, staring at the landscape, like they had all the time in the world.
“Nice, ain’t it?” he said. “Used to be somebody’s castle. Which I guess explains—this.” He slapped a hand against the massive stone wall. “Secure gates on the front and on the north side. The back side’s right up against the mountain. And this wall, twenty-five, thirty feet high, around the rest of it. Which,” he glanced over to Nantes, “some people think you can throw a rope over.”
Adi looked up. It seemed to go up forever.
“Anyway, there’s no unguarded entrance, ’cept for this.” He nodded to the garden gate.
Adi pulled at the heavy iron bars. Rusted and ivy covered. Solid as a rock and cold as ice.
“It’s fastened from the inside,” he said. “But only with a sliding bolt. Nantes’s brother was a footman in the house, before the duchess had him hanged. It opens. Or so he told Nantes.”
“And he better not be making it up,” Joe said under his breath.
Adi looked over at Freddie, puzzled.
“What’s this got to do with you?” he said with a grin. “Step this way, little buddy.”
He took Adi by her coat sleeve and pulled her through the circle of men, down a couple of meters to the right. Adi winced and rubbed her shoulder with her hand. It ached with a dull throb. If she hadn’t seen the point on the spike, she would think it was still deep in her arm.
At the base of the wall, amidst the weeds, Adi saw water pouring from a mossy drainpipe into a shallow ditch; a runoff for one of the fountains, maybe. It was no more than eighteen or twenty inches wide. She stared at the pouring water for a few seconds.
Oh, no!
Adi took a step back, shaking her head, adamantly.
“I told you he wasn’t going to like it,” said Joe, looking down at the pipe. “I sure as hell wouldn’t want to go up in there.”
“Now, now,” said Freddie. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as it . . . looks. Anyway. He’s going. Nobody else here fittin’ in that thing.”
• • •
Freezing water filled her pants legs as she lowered herself down onto her knees in the ditch.
Thibodaux held on to her overcoat. There wasn’t much point in keeping it on. It might be warmer, but it would weigh her down and broaden her shoulders. And she’d definitely want something dry to put on when this was over. Assuming, of course . . .
“Hurry up,” hissed Nantes. “We’re running out of time.”
Adi took a last glance at the pistol barrels pointed at her, and slid into the pipe on her stomach, gasping as the runoff soaked the front of her shirt and vest.
“Hold it,” said Joe. He slipped something into her back pants pocket. “This might come in handy.” She had no time to wonder what it might be before a couple of the men grabbed her boots and gave her a shove. After that she was on her own.
The slippery algae from the runoff made it easier to slide herself forward up the slight incline, but when her boots hit it, she got no traction at all. The trick was to push against the dry sides of the pipe, though that was easier said than done. After a couple of minutes, the muscles in her legs were screaming. She had to stop till the burning let up.
A gun barrel tapped impatiently at the bottom of the pipe. She continued.
• • •
It was pitch black, not the slightest difference if her eyes were open or shut. She began to panic, her imagination running away. Strange scraping sounds. Creeping just behind her. What was that? Something slithering up the pipe? Touching her leg? Her face. Spider’s silk over her eyes. The occupant skittering across her scalp! Was it going down her shirt collar!? She shook her head, couldn’t reach back. The pipe was growing narrower. She was sure of it! She would be stuck, unable to go back?! She was lying in her coffin!
Stop, stop, stop!
She lay still. Took a breath. Another.
Just a bug, dammit. Just a pipe. You’ve been in worse than this.
She imagined Doc and Gershom there. They’d laugh. Gershom would say something funny in Yiddish.
More tapping from the bottom of the pipe.
Yes, yes. She took a deep breath. I’m going.
• • •
It was hard to tell how long it took, maybe twenty minutes. Maybe twice that. The tapping and hissing from below faded away into the sound of water splashing ahead. She’d lost all her body heat and was shaking uncontrollably.
Water fell across her hands and arms as her fingers touched a wall—a ninety-degree turn upward in the pipe. She tilted her head as best she could and peered up into the splash of frigid water. Three feet above, there was a flicker of cold moonlight.
For a few dreadful seconds, it seemed she wouldn’t be able to bend enough to make the turn. Her damaged shoulder seized as she scraped against the stone; she wriggled upward. The overflow from the fountain poured down on her like icicles. She made it up onto her knees.
Oh, dear Lord! There was an ornate metal lattice between her and freedom. Clutching at the solid metal, she looked out, the moon reflecting off the surface of the water. She was going to freeze to death right here!
Then it came to her. What have I got in my pocket?
Squeezing her arm behind she carefully pulled the thing out. A screwdriver with a black wooden handle.
At least someone had been thinking about what might be at the end of the pipe.
It wasn’t the perfect tool. The screw-heads were on the other side of the grate. But it was something. Something to get leverage with. Her fingers ached so much from the cold, she could hardly grip the thing. Commanding her hand to obey, she jammed the head into a sliver of an opening and leaned hard into it.
The screwdriver snapped.
With a splash and a clink, the metal shaft fell into the dark water. Merde!
But—another tiny noise. One of the screws plopped into the water in the fountain. She’d bent the grille. Was it enough? She wrapped her fist around the wooden handle and began hammering away.
• • •
The third screw broke, the grate twisted aside—and she dropped forward into the water. It closed over her, sucking the air from her lungs. Shaking and sputtering, she climbed up over the side of the fountain.
For all the time it took, she was not nearly as far up from the garden gate as she would have imagined. She could see gun barrels—one of them, the Russian’s rifle—pointing at her through the bar
s. It would be ill-advised to make that kind of noise with the guards this close, but she didn’t put it past them.
Didn’t matter. She was going to freeze to death in these wet clothes. Wiping the water off her hair and face, she scrambled down to the gate. She had to get that coat on.
“Good work, son,” whispered Freddie. “Now one more thing.” He pointed his pistol in to the bolt on the side of the gate.
Adi dug around through the ivy till she found it. She would have to lift it up and then slide it free.
She wondered how long it had been since the brother had reputedly thrown this bolt. Couldn’t have been that recent from the look of it, if at all.
She took hold of the metal bar and yanked upwards.
Nothing. She tried again—the cold cut into her fingers like a blade.
“Monsieur,” growled Nantes. “If you do not open this gate, I will shoot you, and the crows will have your eyes for their breakfast.”
“That’s very colorful, Nantes,” said Freddie. “Now, shut up.
“What am I thinking?” muttered Freddie. He turned to Joe. “Oil can!”
“Right,” said Joe, digging around in his duffel bag for a moment. Out came a little gray can. Followed by a good-sized wooden mallet.
Adi applied the oil to the hinges and Joe handed in the hammer.
The Frenchmen with the black-rimmed glasses ran up. “Guard. About a minute.”
Even with a rag over it, the mallet was making more noise than they wanted.
Once, twice, three times.
“Come on, come on!” hissed Nantes.
With all her might . . . Adi threw the bolt.
Chapter 35
November 10, 1918
The thieves fell through the opening, Freddie shoving them to one side or another. He pushed the gate to. No time to slide the bolt.
Footsteps approached. They held their breath. The Frenchmen had their knives ready, the huge Russian, a cudgel in his hands. Adi was shaking so badly from the cold she was afraid the sound of her teeth chattering would give them away. Thibodaux reached over and took the mallet from her hand. The footfalls stopped outside the gate.
Freddie, barely hidden by the bars and the ivy, braced the portal and held a finger up to the big man with his hammer.
In the shadow of the alcove, the piss splashed onto Freddie’s boots. It seemed to take the guard forever to empty his bladder and nearly as long to get over the coughing fit that came after. The man was not well. Thibodaux lowered his mallet.
Done coughing, the guard buttoned his fly and with a groan continued on his rounds.
Adi reached up and pulled her coat off of Thibodaux’s shoulder. With aching gratitude she slipped into it.
Now what?
It was Saturday night, Sunday morning. She had only a little more than twenty-four hours left to get to the boys, before the stroke of six on Monday morning.
As far as she could make out, it wouldn’t take long to drive to the abbey from here, an hour or two, if the roads weren’t too bad. But without even a bicycle, it would be—she did a quick calculation—maybe a day and a half to walk. And that’s if she left now and didn’t stop. And didn’t sleep. Or eat. Not good enough.
But none of this mattered if she couldn’t get clear of these men.
Nantes was whispering instructions to Renard—a lanky man, missing a good piece of his bottom lip—and then to the others. Ferret looked over his shoulder at Adi and flashed a rotted smile.
Now that she had served her purpose, there was no telling what they might do. If it was up to Nantes, she’d be dead already, Adi was certain of that. She looked at the three Americans; she couldn’t help thinking that they were coming to the same conclusion about their odds. Joe raised an eyebrow to Freddie. Freddie considered the situation for a second, shook his head ruefully, and shut the gate behind them.
A hand landed on Adi’s shoulder.
“You looking a little cold, son,” said Thibodaux. “Why don’t we get in that house, where you can warm up some?” Joe took Adi by the other arm and they started walking her fast toward the house. Nantes looked over suspiciously.
“Well, come on,” Freddie said, with a grin. “We ain’t getting any younger standing here.” Nantes smiled coldly. A small gesture to his men. They slid knives back in their scabbards.
• • •
The shadow figures rushed across the lawn to the manor. For the first time, Adi got a clear view of the house. It was almost entirely dark. It was late, but she never remembered it looking so deserted. Where was everyone? It didn’t matter. There was no way to go now but through the house.
With the butt of his pistol, Renard smashed a window pane on the library door. Adi could have told them that it was never locked. Or at least never used to be. But she was done being helpful.
One of the Frenchmen took a stack of cloth sacks out of his bag and handed one to each man as he entered. As Adi stepped through, Nantes shook his head. “Not him.”
The men entered the library and headed down to the far end where the largest cabinets were. Nantes posted the Russian at the garden door and Ferret at the door leading to the hallway. They were sullen at not being allowed to loot, but knew better than to argue with Nantes.
She walked into the room, water still dripping from her onto the marble floor; her boots squeaked a little with each step. Clutching her coat tight around her, she wandered over to her favorite table, still in its place.
The silver inkwell was there, and the beautiful millefiori glass paperweight. A stack of books sat before her chair, as if she had only been gone for a moment.
This room, in this house, where she spent her last moments before the world changed. The lovely, odd family, so kind to her. Now here she was, returning in the company of thieves.
Golden rings, cameos and pearls, an ivory satyr, a twelfth-century Virgin and child—one after another they were dropped into sacks. Napoleon’s sword came off the wall in its scabbard and joined a violin and a pair of Turkish silver daggers. A ruby-studded crown, ancient coins, silver candlesticks, and golden goblets. Nantes’s brother had clearly scouted the place. They knew what they were doing.
In a fury, she watched as one of the men used his knife to hack an exquisite Spanish still-life from its frame.
Enough! This had to stop.
She looked over to Ferret standing between her and the hallway. He was muttering to himself, scraping under his fingernails with the point of his knife.
Where were the Americans? She scanned the dark room. There, near the big globe in the corner, huddled together in discourse. Freddie glanced over to her. She held his gaze for a few seconds and then she pointed to the garden doors.
He tilted his head, warily, and then whispered something to the other two. Adi picked up the paperweight from the table and headed for the hallway doors.
“Nantes,” whispered Ferret. The Frenchman looked up from his work.
“Bordel de merde!” he hissed. “Get him! Before he brings the guard down on us!” The Frenchmen dropped their sacks and pulled knives.
Adi threw her shoulder hard against a tall Louis XV secrétaire, a spherical brass astrolabe on top. Renard made a diving lunge, too late. The brass exploded on the floor like a crash of cymbals, pieces rolling and spinning everywhere.
Across the room, Joe sputtered, wide-eyed.
Freddie grabbed him and Thibodaux by the sleeves. “Time to go, boys!”
Thibodaux looked up from the statuette of a golden lion in his hand over to the other side of the room. “We can’t leave the little guy,” he said.
“He’s made his bed, pal. We’re getting, while the getting’s good.”
Watching as the Frenchies closed in on Adi across the room, the big man pulled back his arm and hurled the lion in a perfect arc. The crack of bone as it hit Ferret solid in the chest was followed by the sound of the lion clanging like a gunshot on the marble floor.
“We’re in it now,” said Joe.
He walked up to the Russian standing before the garden door, casually tossed his duffel bag to the man and then dropped him with a single blow to the head.
“Guess I wasn’t cut out to be a rich man,” he said, rubbing his hand, taking a last look at the room. He followed the other two out the door.
Adi saw her chance. Grabbing a cart bearing a silver tea service, she hurtled it across the floor at the men, the pieces chimed like bells as they hit the marble. Jumping over Ferret, whose hands still clutched his chest, she pulled the door open. But as she stepped through, she was grabbed by the arm. Renard lunged, his blade slicing through her overcoat—missing her ribs by a hairbreadth.
Adi spun around and caught the man hard in the nose with the millefiori paperweight in her fist. Down he went in front of the others. She slammed the heavy door shut in their faces. She could hear Nantes cursing as they fought to get the door open.
Down the corridor she flew, white curtains ghostly in the moonlight. Was there no one in the house?
She reached the grand staircase. If she could make it down, perhaps she could lose them in the servants’ quarters. But, too slow. Before she’d reached the first landing, the thieves had caught up with her.
Nantes spun her around and cuffed her hard across the face. “Let’s see how much noise you can make now?” he hissed. Hoisting her by the front of her coat, he put the point of his knife beneath her chin.
Vibrating like a hummingbird, a gunshot blew past Adi’s ear, caroming off the marble bannister. And another. The Frenchmen with the black glasses jerked and fell.
She looked over her shoulder. It wasn’t the thieves shooting, but the royal guard. She banged her knee into Nantes’s abdomen. Hitting the stairs, she dove for cover behind a statue along the curved railing.
Realizing their mistake too late, the thieves were caught between two groups of guards, above and below.
