I’m a snob, Simon thought ruefully. Likely if I’d ever actually met Joan or Gabriel, I’d have turned my nose up at them.
“Tell you what,” he said impulsively, “once you’re settled in, I’ll show you around. Anaya is absolutely right. It would be a shame if you missed out on such a spectacular city.”
Both Anaya and Victoria looked at him with surprise. He reddened. Ben saved him the effort of responding.
“Simon, that’d be awesome! There’s so much history here. Insider tips from the head of Abstergo’s Historical Research division would be very cool.” He smiled, and Simon felt ever worse about his dismissal of the boy. “Thanks!”
“You’re most welcome. But for now, I fear, duty calls.” He turned to Anaya. “Don’t you take off for the Great White North without saying good-bye.”
“Don’t worry, Ben needs at least a few more days before we give him his honorary White Hat.”
Simon insisted on paying, and left a generous tip, still wondering where Poole was. As he signed the credit card slip, his phone vibrated. He pulled it out and saw it was from Anaya.
Need 2 talk 2 u
Soon, Simon texted back. It was obvious that her impending departure was stirring up old feelings in both of them, and that really wasn’t a good thing.
As they headed to the lift, Victoria said, “I’m so sorry. I got Rikkin’s response just as I was heading up to Temp’s.”
He pushed the button with unnecessary vigor. “Doesn’t he want us to succeed? I mean, really, what’s he going to do, turn off the Animus at midnight on the dot?” Simon sighed. “We’ve got to tell him about the sword,” he stated, reaching for his phone.
Victoria laid a hand on his arm. “Let’s not push him right now. You still have a few more days. Maybe you’ll have something really specific to offer him. Besides,” she said, “he did yield on allowing us to have it.”
Simon nodded. He’d seen Piece of Eden 25 before, and at that time had felt no particular pull toward it. He wondered if he would feel any differently now.
Amanda Sekibo was waiting for them when the door opened. “There is a package for you, Professor. I was instructed not to touch it. It’s waiting for you inside on the display case.”
There was no secret handshake, or code word, or anything that Hollywood would salivate over between Templars. The only identifying item by which they would recognize one another was the pin, and there was an utterly innocuous replica of it available in the local gift shop. The trained eye could spot a real pin from its counterfeit, but generally one could never tell who was a Templar and who wasn’t at Abstergo unless one was specifically informed. Simon had no idea if Sekibo was, so simply nodded his thanks and went into the Animus Room.
It looked like a perfectly ordinary package, even wrapped in plain brown paper. Simon was disappointed; he felt nothing in its presence, and said as much to Victoria. She shook her head; she, too, was unaffected.
They took off the brown paper, revealing a meter-long, polished wood box. There were no markings on it, and it looked contemporary, though well made. They exchanged glances. Simon took a deep breath, flicked the latches, and eased the box open.
Piece of Eden 25 lay on a bed of crushed blue velvet. This sword was most definitely the one they had seen unearthed from behind the altar at Sainte-Catherine-de-Fierbois, but it seemed even more dead now than it had to Gabriel’s eyes when it was first unearthed. Simon took a breath, then reached into the box, grasped the hilt, and lifted it up.
“Anything?” Victoria asked.
“Nothing,” Simon replied, and realized that they were both whispering. He cleared his throat and spoke in a normal voice. “Definitely broken, then. Would you like to try?”
Victoria’s cheeks turned pink. Simon held the blade flat on his palms and extended it to her. Gingerly, she reached for the centuries-old weapon, curling her fingers around the hilt.
“Nothing,” she said. They both relaxed, although they were disappointed.
“Right,” Simon said, straightening. “We’ll see if there is anything special that Joan does to it that we can emulate.” He loosened his tie and took off his jacket, stepping onto the Animus platforms with familiarity. He fastened some of the belts himself while Victoria did up the others and settled the helmet on his blond head.
There’s a good chance she’ll be meeting with the Mentor soon, Victoria’s voice said.
“How very ‘Hero’s Journey’ of her,” he said. “By all means, let’s formally unhood him.”
22 MARCH, 1429
“You. King of England,” Joan snapped, her blue eyes ablaze and her body held taut and proud, “and you, Duke of Bedford, who call yourself Regent of the kingdom of France! You—William de la Pole, Count of Suffolk, and John, Lord Talbot; and you, Thomas, Lord Scales, surrender to the Maid who is sent here from God, the King of Heaven, the keys of all the good cities that you have taken and violated in France.”
Gabriel watched raptly as Joan proceeded to make demands of the king of England. “She has come here from God to restore the royal blood. She is ready to make peace, if you will deal rightly by her, acknowledge the wrong done France, and pay for what you have taken.”
She took a deep breath and continued, her voice low and rich with warning. “If this is not done… expect news of the Maid, who will go to see you shortly. King of England, if you do not do this, in whatever place I shall find your people in France, I will make them leave. And if they will not obey—”
Joan paused in mid-sentence, her eyes moving from Gabriel, to Alençon, to de Metz. She swallowed hard, and her voice trembled as she continued.
“I will have them all killed. I am sent here by God, the King of Heaven, to chase you out of France—every one of you! But if they will obey, I will be merciful. You will never hold the kingdom of France. If you will not believe this message from God through the Maid, then wherever we find you, we shall strike you there, and we will make an uproar greater than any made in France for a thousand years! And when the blows fall, then we shall see who has the better right from the King of Heaven. Give answer, if you wish to make peace in Orléans. And if indeed you do not, you will shortly remember it to your great sorrow.”
“By God and the angels,” exclaimed Alençon, leaping to his feet and applauding, “I’d surrender on the spot if I got this letter.”
Joan scowled at him. “Do not swear!” she rebuked. “And it is my deep prayer that the English feel as you do.”
Gabriel didn’t envy the young man who had been charged with taking Joan’s dictation. He had grown paler with every word that had escaped her lips, but Gabriel couldn’t stop grinning. If only Joan could have given this speech in person, with her eyes sapphire flames, every line of her body tense with her passion, and that light shining, shining so that all he wanted was to soar toward it as Icarus had soared to the sun. Why did so many stories warn of going into the light? Joan’s radiance was the most beautiful thing imaginable.
“My lady?” One of Madame Rabateau’s servants had opened the door to the small room where Joan—properly chaperoned by another young lady—had spoken her challenge to the English. “Madame wishes to know if you are done.”
Joan sighed. “Yes, for now,” she said. She went to the small desk where the scribe had taken down her words and smiled at him. “I must trust you to write exactly what have said.”
“I shall, Maid,” he promised.
“Here. My Shadow has been teaching me something.” She threw Gabriel a smile that warmed him more than the small fire, and proceeded to carefully write her name:JEHANNE.
“There!” she said. “Now the king shall know it is truly from me.”
“I think,” the duke said, catching de Metz’s eye, “that the squire and I shall retire. Our rough presences shall do nothing but distress the ladies, I fear. Gabriel will keep you company.”
Gabriel glared at them. He could have left, he knew; gone with them to a tavern, to drink or play dice. But he had no des
ire to leave Joan if he did not absolutely had to. As de Metz left, following Alençon, he mouthed, Good luck.
Rabateau’s house was so lavish, there was an entire room devoted to simply sitting and having conversations. Madame Rabateau awaited them there, presiding over what seemed to Gabriel an entire herd of young women, all of whom flocked around Joan like breathless, fluttering birds. His only consolation was that Joan, despite her obviously expensive feminine garb, looked, if possible, more miserable in their company than he did. Their eyes met, and in hers he saw hidden, barely suppressed mirth. When one of the girls paused in her chatter, Joan crossed her eyes and Gabriel almost choked on his wine as he struggled to keep from laughing.
It really wasn’t a funny situation. Joan had confided that the women were spies, keeping watch on her so she did not do anything scandalous. Madame Rabateau looked askance at Gabriel, who pretended to have swallowed wrong.
“Oh, the things these prelates ask of me!” Joan said, to draw attention back to herself and away from Gabriel. “One said to me, this or like enough: ‘You say your Voices tell you that God wishes to deliver the people of France from its suffering. If He wishes to do so, it is not necessary to have men-at-arms.’ And I said back to him, ‘It is simple. The men-at-arms will do battle, and God will give them victory.’ How is this difficult to understand?”
She shook her head. “He seemed a bit upset with me at that, because he then said, ‘God would not want us to believe in you unless something made us think we should. We need something else.’ And then… well, then, it was I who got a bit upset. I told him, ‘In God’s name, I did not come to Poitiers to produce signs! Lead me to Orléans, and I will show you the sign for which I was sent.”
None of them, least of all Gabriel, could tear their eyes from her now. As she spoke of Orléans, her radiance had returned. As God is my witness, I could do nothing but look upon her till the end of my days. I would need nothing else to keep me alive.
At that moment, though, Madame Rabateau gave a little gasp, leaped to her feet, and dropped a curtsey. Immediately the others followed suit, including Joan. Gabriel turned, bowing, although he did not know who had entered the room.
“So you are Joan, who calls herself the Maid,” said a warm, resonant woman’s voice. “I have been greatly looking forward to our meeting, child.”
“As have I,” said Joan. “The Duke of Alençon sings your praises, Your Majesty. You will soon know that my claim is a true one.”
Your Majesty! Gabriel felt almost dizzy. This had to be the Dauphin’s mother-in-law, Queen Yolande of Aragon, who had come to verify that Joan was indeed true to her word. A queen. He, the bastard, son of a farmer, stepson of a merchant, had now not only been in the presence of a yet-uncrowned king, but also a queen.
Slowly, he straightened and permitted himself to look upon her.
All the breath went out of him.
Queen Yolande was tall, lithe, and well formed, her figure not entirely hid by the wine-colored houppelande she wore. Her hair, though, was completely concealed by a horned headdress from which fell delicate veils. Her face was still beautiful, with a strength that the wrinkles around her gray-green eyes and her high, plucked-brow forehead did not diminish. But none of this was why Gabriel stared.
He was an utter fool.
He had been so smugly certain that he had figured out the identity of the Assassin Mentor. The human behind the “angelic” presence that had spoken to him, Joan, and Charles. But that role did not belong to Joan’s “noble duke.”
Yolande’s eyes flashed in her own recognition and she shook her head, almost imperceptibly. Gabriel needed no warning. He could not have uttered a coherent word at that moment if his life had depended upon it.
Well, well. An Assassin Mentor queen, came Victoria’s voice in Simon’s ear. I believe this may be a first.
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
Simon was thoroughly annoyed with himself. He’d been so certain the Mentor was Alençon that the thought it might be someone else had never crossed his mind. The queen turned her attention to the assembled women. No one, it seemed, had noticed the brief connection between the bastard boy and the mother-in-law of the Dauphin.
Yolande smiled warmly at Joan. “I can see why those who have met you are so taken with you,” she continued, as if nothing had happened, as if Gabriel’s entire world had not just been upended. Now that Gabriel knew who and what she was, he could see it in how she moved; smoothly, with a hint of strength and speed that could be called upon instantly if needed. Jean de Metz moved like that; he, Gabriel, was starting to learn how to do so.
Yolande cupped Joan’s chin in her hands, her eyes searching the younger woman’s. Joan did not look away. It was only then that Gabriel realized that, while he had recognized the “angel” immediately, Joan had not. The queen nodded.
“I have brought some of my ladies with me,” she said, indicating two other women who stood a few paces behind her, also clad in elaborate robes and headdresses. “Shall we retire to your room, Jeanne?”
“Please,” said Madame Rabateau, “if you will follow me, Your Majesty. Ladies, feel free to amuse yourselves until supper.”
“I, uh, will see where de Metz has taken himself,” Gabriel stammered. He dropped a bow to his hostess, sneaked a final look at the woman who was both queen and Assassin Mentor, and hastened out as quickly as he could without actually fleeing.
De Metz was waiting for him outside. “Ah,” he said. “I see you recognized her.”
“Why didn’t you tell—” De Metz hushed him, looking around, then took his arm and led him a bit away from the house.
“I had hoped you wouldn’t,” he said. “Did Jeanne?”
“No,” Gabriel said. “I can’t understand why.”
“Jeanne believes she saw an angel,” de Metz said. “You knew better. Even if Jeanne saw some similarity, she would give it no credence.”
It made sense, but it also left Gabriel sad. “I don’t like keeping things from her. It feels wrong.”
“There may be a time when Jeanne is ready to know, but that time is not now.”
Gabriel laughed weakly. “I thought the Mentor was the Duke of Alençon,” he said. “I was not expecting an old woman.”
“Alençon? No, he’s barely farther along than you are. As for ‘old woman,’ you had best not let her hear you say that!”
Gabriel thought about the dexterity and strength Yolande had displayed in the rafters above their heads that night, and had to agree.
“There’s so much more you need to learn about who we are, Gabriel,” de Metz continued. “Age, sex, race—we understand how unimportant they really are. But that’s enough for now. I spoke with her earlier, and she decided that if you recognized her, you’d have a chance to meet her.”
“But I did meet her,” Gabriel answered puzzled.
“You met Queen Yolande, the mother of King Charles’s wife,” de Metz said. “Tonight, you’ll be meeting the Mentor.”
De Metz’s face began to soften, the colors draining away from him as the lines that defined him turned into swirls of billowing gray. Once again, Simon was in the Memory Corridor. He forced himself to inhale, realizing that he had all but forgotten to breathe as the encounter had unfolded.
“You are not going to bring me out,” he said to Victoria.
Wouldn’t dream of it. Your stats are good—other than the normal spikes due to shock. To be honest, after that, I think my heart rate might be just as high.
This time, the mists took the shape of the interior of a small, clean room in what was doubtless an inn. There was the single bed the two men shared; Simon knew that it was only due to de Metz’s sway that the room wasn’t filled with several people. Travelers almost always shared rooms, beds, floors… any space they could, unless they had the coin or clout to purchase individual rooms.
De Metz stretched out on the bed, a cup in his hand. Gabriel paced in front of the fire. “Drink some wine, Gabriel,�
�� de Metz encouraged.
Gabriel simply shook his head. His hands were damfvfvGabriel gasped.
“—way,” de Metz finished.
The shutters were opened by an unseen hand. Cold night air blew into the room, and Gabriel shivered. Then a hooded figure appeared—upside down—and flipped quickly inside, closing the shutters. Even though Gabriel knew who to expect, he was still startled when the new arrival slid back the hood, revealing the face of the queen.
Gabriel stared to bow, then stopped himself, and looked helplessly at de Metz, who only laughed. The Mentor—Yolande—grinned back at him and sat down on the edge of the bed. De Metz poured her a cup of wine and she drank, grimacing.
“Such a sour face!” said de Metz.
“Such sour wine,” Yolande replied.
“Sorry, we don’t have your cellars.”
“Soon enough, you will.” Like Joan, Yolande wore men’s clothing: breeches, a tunic, a belt, boots, and the hood. Her hair, dark blond with threads of silver, was braided and had been slightly mussed by the hood. She peered at Gabriel, evaluating him. “You, my young fellow, are not something we planned on. But we are glad to have you with us nonetheless.”
“P-planned on?”
De Metz handed the bottle to Gabriel. “You might need this,” he said. Dazed, Gabriel took it and gulped down a swallow, letting himself sink down on a bench across from the bed.
“Tell me who you think I am,” the Mentor asked.
Gabriel was wary of a trap as he replied. “You’re Queen Yolande of Aragon. The Dauphin is your son-in-law. And you’re the Assassin Mentor. Which I understand makes you the highest-ranking Assassin.”
“Accurate, as far as it goes,” Yolande said. “I’m also the mother of René d’Anjou.” At Gabriel’s blank expression, she elaborated, “René’s father-in-law is the Duke of Lorraine.”
Gabriel’s eyes widened and he took another swig of the wine. It was helping. “Jeanne went to see the duke before de Baudricourt agreed to send her to Chinon,” he said. “She was… honestly, I’m told, rather rude to him. The duke, I mean. Even so, he approved of Jeanne.”
Assassin's Creed: Heresy Page 14
