“I’m aware of that.” He shelved the Agatha Christie novel. “I imagine, given that I was your patient, you had to tell him about my collapse.”
“I did.”
“Did you e-mail him? Text him? Send a singing telegram?”
“We met for dinner,” she said quietly.
“At Bella Cibo.”
“Yes.”
He folded his arms and leaned against the wall. “Why did you lie about that? People saw you there, Victoria.”
She looked completely flustered. “Like I told you, I’m not good at this, Simon. I’m used to observing, and helping people, and listening. I can spot liars, but I’m obviously a terrible one myself. When Anaya asked me about the restaurant, I just froze.”
Something inside Simon, something hard and angry and cold, released at that moment. He felt his chest ease, felt a warmth flowing through him that had nothing to do with the old radiator humming in the corner.
“I believe you,” he said quietly. Her eyes widened, and a smile softened her taut face.
“Thank you, Simon.”
They smiled stupidly at one another for a moment, then Simon reached for a musty copy of Murder Must Advertise. “Now. I recall he texted you back and not me, even though I’m the Inner Sanctum member and the one who had sent him the e-mail. He agreed to let us have the sword, but not extra time. Did he say why he was allowing us to keep it?”
“Perhaps he thought if you saw Joan do something specific with it, you could try to recreate the action. He was keen that you not continue past the moment where Joan loses the sword. He’s not interested in your approach, Simon. I’m so sorry. For what it’s worth, I think it’s a marvelous idea. Which is why I offered to keep working with you, despite Mr. Rikkin’s obvious desire that I don’t.”
Simon stared at her. “But… why? When you knew he didn’t want you to?”
“First of all, you’re the head of Historical Research,” she said. “No one—not even Alan Rikkin—has a better right than you do to find out anything you damn well choose about history. If he’s that concerned about something, he should talk to you about it himself. Secondly, he brought me on to monitor your mental health during the process. And my professional opinion is that you need closure. You need to say your good-byes—and witness Gabriel see his—in whatever way you see fit. If you don’t, I think it would be detrimental. And as far as I’m concerned, you still have time to do that.”
He looked around and pitched his voice low. “Alan Rikkin is a very powerful and very dangerous man.”
“I swore an oath to the Order, not to him,” she said, “and by hiring me to safeguard your mental health, I have the authority and the responsibility to do what is best for you. I won’t knowingly let any harm come to someone placed in my charge. And I don’t care who I have to stand up to in order to do so.”
Simon stared at her, dumbfounded. “I… you are a woman of great courage, Victoria Bibeau. I am honored to be your friend.”
Anaya was in the Accessories department of Marks & Spencer, the burner phone to her ear as she looked at gloves before heading home after work. She’d lost hers on the tube a week ago and her walk with Simon had reminded her to pick up a pair soon. “Simon, you colossal, gullible wazzock—”
“I believe her,” Simon’s voice said stubbornly. “She’s taking a great risk, Anaya, just like you are, and we could use your help.”
She couldn’t speak for a moment, just kept muttering variations on “idiot” until she had gotten herself calmed down. “So you not only trust her, you want me to get myself into trouble helping both of you?”
“Hear me out, then make up your own mind.” She listened over the next five minutes, the gloves completely forgotten as the story unfolded. By the time he was done, she herself believed Victoria Bibeau.
“So… you want me to hack into the Animus Room servers and find out what happened to the documentation that was supposed to go to Cryptology. And while I’m poking around in there, I’m to set up a way to monitor the new information you’re recording, in case someone other than me is also hacking into the Animus. And you want me to do all that without being caught. Is that all?”
“I’m sorry,” Simon said. “You’ve already done so much, it’s not right for me to ask you to put yourself even more at risk. If anything happens to me or Victoria, we’ll completely deny that you knew anything at all. I’ll keep you safe, Anaya. You know that.”
She wasn’t about to let him play the gallant. She’d started this whole mess, and now that Simon had found something that looked like it would be truly important—someone hacking into the bloody Animus—she had to offer what help she could.
“I do, Simon, but you wouldn’t be at risk yourself if I hadn’t said anything,” she said. “I’ll do it. I’m heading straight back to Abstergo.”
She glanced at the lines; the smart cashmere gloves would have to wait. She’d pick them up sometime in the next day or two.
If she lived long enough.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE
As Simon and Victoria reentered the Animus Room, they made idle chitchat about focusing on the Assassins of the period. Anyone listening would hear nothing but what appeared to be perfectly sound reasoning for continuing to explore Gabriel Laxart’s memories.
Simon wanted to know what the hell had happened to the Assassins’ interest in—and protection of—Joan. Was it really as simple as the fact that, since she no longer had the Sword of Eden, she was of no use to them? Or was it that since Charles wasn’t using her to advance their cause, turning to ineffectual diplomacy that appeared to only serve the Templars, they did not care about his erstwhile tool?
Simon was angry about a lot of things, and he wanted answers. I fear nothing, except treachery.
MONDAY, 21 SEPTEMBER, 1429
GIEN
The room was wood and stone, the chairs large and ornate, the plates upon which the king and his council had just dined made of silver. Autumnal sunlight slanted in through the windows, and no one was happy to be there.
Joan was still recovering from her crossbolt wound. The loss of her sword and the news that the king had called off the assault had sorely wounded her spirit as well. For the last several days she had rarely spoken, and then only with sharp words.
Alençon, too, was miserable and angry. He was such an even-tempered, even light-hearted, man that watching him brood and seethe was utterly strange to Gabriel. He himself was there, he knew, to “manage” Joan should she become further upset at whatever would happen after the lavish meal. The fifth person at the feast was Georges de La Trémoille, who could likely have eaten as much as Gabriel, Joan, and Alençon combined.
Charles sat at the head of the long table, and Gabriel could tell by his effusive attention to Joan that something very bad was to happen. Once the dishes had been cleared away by swift and silent servants, the large doors closed, and the group left alone, the king spoke.
“Jeanne,” Charles said, “we know you are disappointed that we called off the attack on Paris. And we fear we are about to disappoint you further. Please know that all we do, we do for France.”
He even looks like he believes this, Gabriel thought. It was hard, these days, to think about Charles with any kind of charity.
“Our army has performed courageously over the last few months. It liberated Orléans, cleared the Loire, and saw us into Reims to be anointed as king. And we are grateful.”
“But,” spat Joan. Her blue eyes were hard as stone.
“But,” the king continued affably, “we are pursuing a path of peace now, and we do not need a standing army of so many thousands of soldiers.” He looked at Alençon. “Nor do we need to trouble the duke with its leadership.”
“What?” Alençon shouted.
“The army is dissolved, and you are to return home to your lands and wife, Your Grace,” Trémoille said, reaching for an apple. “But don’t worry, Maid, we saved some fighting for you.”
; Gabriel stared disbelievingly at the king, who was smiling peacefully as if he had not just gutted Joan, Gabriel, and Alençon and left them to bleed to death; and at Trémoille, whose small, cruel eyes glittered with something he found very humorous.
“No,” Joan said softly. “You will do no such thing. God—”
“—was not much in evidence in the skirmishes around Paris, nor in the attack of the great city itself,” Trémoille said casually as he bit into the fruit.
“Jeanne, please understand,” the king said. “We know you wept over the fallen of both armies. Surely peace is what you want.”
“We shall find no peace but at the end of a lance,” Joan said, and for an instant, her face shone with the certainty of old. Gabriel’s heart contracted; he had not realized how seldom he had seen that unique facet of Joan’s beauty in recent months.
“If tilting lances is what you crave, Jeanne, as I said, I have a fight for you,” Trémoille said. “There is a wicked fellow, a mercenary captain, in the pay of the Duke of Burgundy. His name is Perrinet Gressart. You are to lay siege to his stronghold and bring him to the king’s justice. My own half-brother, d’Albret, will lead the company, and—”
At that point, Alençon did the last thing Gabriel expected. He started to laugh, great, gulping whoops of laughter that were at the same time poisoned with bitterness.
“Tell me, Trémoille,” he said, when he could breathe, “is this the selfsame Perrinet Gressart who once held you prisoner? And who nearly drained your coffers in ransom? That Perrinet Gressart?”
Trémoille’s brows drew together and he turned as red as the apple he had half-devoured. For a moment, Gabriel wondered if the man would collapse from a seizure. He hoped so.
“That is neither here nor there,” the king interjected smoothly. “What is important—”
“Is that Jeanne is now not the help to you she was,” spat Alençon, rising. “And you are afraid that the two of us together may somehow desire you harm, so you need to separate us.”
The duke and the king stared at one another, and Gabriel wondered if he were about to witness treason. But the king merely said, “We regret how sad the two of you are to part, but we know you will understand when you are not quite so angry with us. In the meantime, we wish to speak to Jeanne privately.”
Alençon remained standing just long enough to make the king’s smile waver. Then he bowed exaggeratedly and left the room. Gabriel followed him. When the doors were closed behind them, the duke began swearing so colorfully that Gabriel had to smile.
“Jeanne would be so angry with you right now,” he said.
Alençon looked at him, and Gabriel thought he had never seen a man so desperately unhappy. “The king is throwing it away. All of it. Burgundy and the English—” He looked down the corridor to make certain they were alone, then said, in a softer voice, “The Templars are playing him like a pipe.”
“You think the Templars are behind this?” A terrible thought seized Gabriel. “Do you think they found the sword?”
“The Assassins certainly didn’t, or if we did, I don’t know about it. There’s a lot they’re not telling me these days,” he added. Gabriel sympathized. Alençon had done his best to teach Gabriel about the Brotherhood, but he was not as experienced as de Metz had been.
“I was told they would protect her,” Gabriel continued. “You’re the only one I know of, and now you’ll be gone. Has the Mentor abandoned her?”
“Unfortunately, now that Charles is officially king, Yolande has less political power. Trémoille has always been a thorn in her side. For a while, the king shunned him in favor of Jeanne, but now… now everything is harder. Even for a Mentor who is also a queen.”
“Perhaps it is time that the Assassins live up to their names,” Gabriel growled. “The Templars are not afraid to act, but I have heard of no assassination attempts.”
Alençon looked as if he felt he should be angry with Gabriel, but somehow could not dredge up the emotion. “I can’t bear to think of Jeanne languishing in castle after castle, or squandering her ability battling bandits,” he said, biting off the last word. “I will see if I can sway our king when a little time has passed. Trémoille is playing him for a fool, and the only one who can’t see that is Charles himself.”
Alençon glanced enviously at Gabriel. “At least he is not sending you away.”
“No. But now I have no teacher.”
“The Assassins will find you if they need you.” Alençon was clearly uncomfortable with Gabriel’s words. Unspoken was the question Gabriel wanted to ask: But what if Jeanne or I need them? “Take care of her for me,” Alençon continued. “For Dunois, and de Rais, and that old bear La Hire. Tell her we all love her, and we will always believe in her.”
“You’re not going to say good-bye yourself?”
“I still hope that this isn’t good-bye. Charles is consistently inconsistent. I think he will come around, given time, and you and Jeanne and I will get to attack some English together again.” He managed an echo of his old grin. “Say good-bye for us all, but only for now.”
“You know I will.”
Simon felt a pang of sorrow. Jeanne and her “noble duke” would never meet again. And later in life, Alençon… Charles was such a fool.
“And… tell Fleur, she will always have a home with my household, if she ever wishes to leave Jeanne.” Alençon hesitated. “People have been kind to her because of their respect for Jeanne. If the Maid falls out of favor, Fleur will suffer for it.”
“She won’t leave Jeanne, ever, any more than I will.”
“I do so most unwillingly, and only because to refuse would be treason.”
“I know. Jeanne does, too. Now get out of here, before we both start to cry.”
He said it with a laugh, but it was too late. Only now had Gabriel realized what a good friend he, the lowborn bastard, had had in the noble duke. They embraced roughly, two soldiers departing for different battles. And then Alençon was gone.
As the mists gathered about Gabriel, Victoria’s voice came to Simon. This is like watching a train wreck, she said.
“Charles put more effort into his own ruination than Philip did.”
Did Joan really serve under Tremoille’s half-brother to fight against the bandit who’d kidnapped him?
“She obeyed orders,” Simon said. “The siege failed after a month because Charles ignored her letters pleading for food and supplies, including gunpowder. For most of the winter of that year, she stayed with d’Albret’s family. Oh, but all that’s just fine, because Charles gave Joan a Christmas gift in the form of ennobling her family. He even made it clear that the title could pass down through the females of the line. A consolation prize.”
I can’t even think of anything to say to that.
“Meanwhile,” Simon continued, waxing angrier by the moment, “by this point Philip has founded the Order of the Golden Fleece. Cities that had pledged loyalty to Charles, including Compiègne, have been given back to Philip against their will. It was a terrible betrayal of faith, and you can imagine how furious Joan was. Most cities didn’t take it well—they resisted Philip when he came to claim them.”
Eventually Charles and Philip did make peace, yes?
“Eventually. But not in Joan’s lifetime.”
The mists, it would seem, were not yet done with him. Simon braced himself for what the Animus would show him next.
SUNDAY, 23 APRIL, 1430
MELUN
EASTER
Joan was sobbing during the Easter Mass.
When it was over and Fleur and Gabriel tried to coax her to leave with them, she waved them away. They walked outside the ancient city’s church, silent and somber.
“It breaks me to see her like this,” Gabriel said miserably. Since the Duke of Alençon had been dismissed, Gabriel and Fleur had turned to one another to help ease the confusion and worry over Joan’s situation. Fleur, who asked nothing of Joan except to be in her presence as much as poss
ible, was the only one who grasped the depth of Gabriel’s pain. They had grown close; they might have become lovers, except Joan was so fully in their hearts that there was no room for anyone else.
A year ago, Jeanne was about to become the Maid of Orléans, and there, at least, she was still welcomed with honors when she came. But ever since she had lost the sword and her king had embraced the path of diplomacy rather than battle, Joan seemed to diminish. She was still beautiful to Gabriel; how could she not be? But the strain of inactivity and meaningless skirmishing was taking its toll.
Gabriel missed de Metz and Alençon more than ever. He wondered if an Assassin presence in Joan’s life might have helped her keep her fighting spirit. Only in March, when Joan had learned of the continued resistance of cities like Compiègne, had the Joan Fleur and Gabriel knew returned. By now, Joan’s “army” was a handful of intensely loyal men; a mere two hundred, a far cry from the ten thousand she led after the king’s coronation. She had gathered them to her, and then simply left. She did not tell Charles where she was going, or what she intended, but anyone who knew Joan knew what her plan had to be.
They had been welcomed in Melun, and for a time, Joan had seemed hopeful. To see her devastated during mass was like a knife to the heart for the two who loved her best. They stood now, hand in hand, seeking comfort from one another as they walked outside down the streets of the ancient city.
“Did she tell—” Gabriel began.
“Did Joan say—” said Fleur.
They smiled sadly at one another, then sobered. “Where do you think this will end, Gabriel?”
“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “Pierre is trying to get her to go home with him.” Jean, the older brother, had already left, but Pierre had been with his sister every step of the way since Blois. He did not understand her as well as Fleur and Gabriel did, but he loved her, and Gabriel was glad he had stayed.
Assassin's Creed: Heresy Page 24
