It was not what she had expected. She had assumed the monk was alone, but only because he had come to court alone. Maybe he had not wanted to place his young companion in danger. Could Roslaire have found the right man? Her heart was pounding. "And they are Brothers of Tarsien?" she asked, picking up her cloak.
Roslaire took it from her. "Yes," he said. Lifting the cloak, he settled it around her shoulders. "But we are not the only ones looking for him. If you want to find him before any others, we must hurry." His fingers brushed her neck. Mariette shivered, but he was already turning away. She saw Sophie watching and smiled to reassure her. Then she followed Roslaire.
They walked quickly along the stone corridors, matching strides in silence. The bailey was near deserted, only the palace guards standing watch. Roslaire took her arm as they crossed the cobbles to the west tower. Her men were waiting there, dressed in plain clothes, weapons hidden beneath their cloaks. Roslaire nodded to them and led the way down the steps and out through the tower. They crossed the narrow footbridge that spanned the moat.
Roslaire came to a halt. He hesitated and looked to her. "Are you sure you want to come?" When she nodded, he turned to study the men. "We are going to the Jallo. Keep your eyes open and wits about you. Stay close to your mistress." He turned back to Mariette. "I have a boat waiting."
The water steps were slippery, and Roslaire put an arm around her waist, lifting her effortlessly and setting her on the cushioned seat. The men boarded quickly. At Roslaire's command, the boatmen guided the craft out into the busy river. Clear of the banks, the rowers settled to a steady rhythm, their powerful strokes driving the boat through the choppy water. A lamp at the prow illuminated Roslaire's profile. He looked unfamiliar and dangerous.
It was cold on the water. The sea breeze brought a hint of rain. The river was busy at night, and she heard the calls of other boatmen. The lantern at the boat's prow cast a strange play of light across the water. At the riverbank, boats jostled for position, the boatmen shouting and cursing as they maneuvered, vying for fares. The river at night could be a dangerous place. But not as dangerous as the Jallo. Mariette shivered, pulling the hood of her cloak up to shelter her face. She longed for Stefan's reassuring presence.
No one spoke. Mariette stared ahead until she saw the old bridge outlined against the sky. Beyond the bridge lay the Jallo. As they rowed closer, light from the houses that lined the bridge glimmered on the water. The river foamed and roared as it tumbled between the bridge's narrow arches. The boatmen pulled on their oars, turning the boat and rowing for the bank. It was too dangerous to shoot the bridge, especially with the river so high.
When they reached the water steps, Roslaire gave the boatmen a heavy purse and instructions to wait. Mariette watched him. There was something about him tonight that unsettled her, a difference in the way he carried himself and the way he spoke. It left her with the feeling she was seeing something of the corsair, and when he offered her his hand to help her from the boat, it seemed a strangely courtly gesture.
The riverfront was busy, and people were crowded into the taverns and inns. The smell of roasting meat and chestnuts drifted from the riverfront stalls. Women were selling pies of meat and fish. Crowds gathered round the stalls, eating and drinking. Barefoot children darted in and out begging scraps. A roar of noise filtered out from the inns, voices raised in laughter and snatches of rough music. Roslaire did not pause. He took her arm and led the way along the riverfront, heading downstream towards the Jallo. Her men stayed close, hands on the hilts of their blades.
They passed the bridge, pushing through the crowds waiting to cross. Beyond the bridge, the river widened, and she could see out into the bay where the big vessels lay at anchor, their rigging outlined against the sky. Gradually, the riverfront changed. There were fewer stalls and inns. The laughter and noise faded. Around them stone and wood buildings gave way to rickety wood, the stink of the streets became sour. Men and dogs lurked in the shadows. She heard a sharp cry and the sound of running feet. Roslaire let his cloak fall back and placed a hand on his sword. Her men moved closer.
####
Edouard cradled a beaker of wine and watched Gaspard de Nortial through half closed eyes. The giant knight lounged at a nearby table, playing cards, and drinking heavily. The White Hart was packed and rowdy, with Gaspard's cronies making most of the noise. Edouard glanced up towards the balcony, wondering if he could slip away without de Nortial noticing. He had received a note from Camille. She claimed to have kept her promise and found the monk. He found it hard to believe. He'd been looking for the monk for days, how could the girl find him in one night? He hoped she had found the right monk.
Now he needed a way to escape without attracting de Nortial's attention. He had been drinking and making a show of getting drunk. Gaspard liked his cronies drunk. But the giant knight was a long way from drunk, and it would not be easy to slip away from him now. Edouard needed an excuse, something that would amuse Gaspard, and free him from the giant's watchful eye. There was one obvious way. Camille had suggested it. Reluctantly, he set the beaker aside and stood up, staggering a few paces, mostly for show, and then heading for the stairs.
Gaspard's roar halted him before he was halfway to the stairs. He turned back as Gaspard stood up and shoved the table aside, scattering the other players. The giant knight crossed the room, knocking people casually out of his way. No one protested.
"Leaving us so soon, are we not good enough company for you, my lord?" The silky sarcasm did not conceal Gaspard's true intent.
Edouard glanced up pointedly. A couple of girls were waiting on the balcony. In the shadows beyond, others were engaged in the early stages of their next liaison. He cleared his throat and tried to sound convincing. "I had other company in mind."
"A girl." Gaspard raised his voice to catch the attention of his cronies. "No, wait, not just any girl." His smile was malicious. "A maiden in distress. I heard the story of your heroic defense of threatened virtue." A roar of laughter greeted his words. "So you have taken a fancy to the girl? You do realize it may not be in her nature to be faithful, or virtuous. But of course she will have other talents that compensate..." Gaspard gestured with his hand causing more laughter. He caught Edouard's arm. "Let's see her then."
"I don't need company." He tried to pull free, but Gaspard's fingers tightened. The man was unbelievably strong. Resisting him would turn this into a challenge. Giving up the struggle, Edouard staggered swinging an arm towards the giant. "Get off me." It was a purposefully ineffectual blow.
Gaspard laughed. "By the mysteries, likely you are too drunk anyway, but I best see the girl." Gaspard leered back at his audience. "To make sure she's good enough for you."
The urge to punch Gaspard in the face was very strong, but he knew there was no point, it would serve no purpose, and Gaspard would welcome an excuse to start a brawl. But to be escorted to a supposed liaison by Gaspard was beyond embarrassing. He supposed his pride would have to suffer once more. At the giant knight's urging, Edouard started up the stairs, leaning half his weight on Gaspard. They reached the landing. The girls turned to watch them, whispering and giggling. Edouard could not see Camille, and he had no idea where to look for her. This seemed to be a flaw in their plan. As he hesitated, one of the girls came forward. She slid a hand along Gaspard's arm.
"Hands off." He pushed her aside.
"I know how to please, my lord. Let me show you." The girl pouted and sidled forward.
Edouard saw the glint in de Nortial's eye. Quickly, he stepped between him and girl. At the same time, he called out, "Camille. I want Camille."
He tried again to break Gaspard's hold, and they struggled, lurching against the balcony rail. Outmatched by the giant's weight and strength, he was forced back against the rails. Down below in the common room, de Nortial's cronies were yelling lewd suggestion.
The balcony rail creaked. Gaspard laughed and altered his grip. For a moment, Edouard thought the giant knight was going le
t him fall. There was movement behind among the watching girls. Gaspard looked round. A figure came forward and caught his arm. "Let him go."
It was Camille. He recognized her voice and felt a moment's dread. He wondered what he had dragged her into.
Gaspard laughed, loosening his grip. Edouard began to slip backward. "Are you sure, that's what you want, bitch?"
Edouard could not see Camille, but he could hear the anger in her voice. She knew what Gaspard was like. He hoped she would be sensible.
"Stop it," she hissed.
With a jerk of his arm, Gaspard pulled him away from the balcony. Effortlessly, he threw Edouard at Camille. Edouard could not save himself, and he cannoned into the girl, hard enough that they landed in a heap on the floor. Camille cursed him and tried get up but, clumsily, Edouard impeded her. She was wearing a rose pink velvet dress with a tight-laced bodice. Her face was painted like the other girls. She managed to sit up. He slid a hand around her waist fumbling with the laces. Leaning close he let his lips brush her neck. He knew Gaspard was watching them.
"Play along, please," he whispered.
After a moment's hesitation, she laughed and put an arm round his neck. "There are more comfortable places, come let me show you, my lord." Her voice was soft and teasing, but her eyes gave him a different message.
With a show of reluctance, he disentangled himself. Laughing, she helped him stand and caught his hand, tugging him after her. He stumbled along the corridor. He listened for any sign that de Nortial was following, but heard he nothing. It seemed too good to be true. As they reached a door, he chanced a look back. The giant knight was gone. Edouard felt a moment's relief. Gaspard's games were becoming more lethal. A roar of laughter echoed up from the common room. No doubt, a joke at his expense, but at least he could be sure De Nortial was back with his cronies.
Edouard closed the door and leaned against it. The room was small with a low ceiling and a cloying scent of lilac. A bed took up most of the space. Camille was unlacing the pink dress. He watched as she stepped out of it, and pulled on a skirt and blouse. She kicked off a pair of dainty slippers and replaced them with sturdy knee length boots. Finished she reached under the bed to retrieve a matched pair of daggers. She glanced up. "That man is no friend to you. He kills for sport." She sounded angry and, to be fair, her offer had not included dealing with Gaspard de Nortial.
"I know." He shrugged, not knowing what else to say. "I'm sorry."
"It's your choice." She slipped the daggers into a belt at her waist. "But when I offered to pay a debt..."
"He is no part of this." He moved towards her, forced to admit. "Or won't be as long as he doesn't find out." He was surprised when she smiled.
"We best go then, before he comes looking."
They left, heading down the backstairs. Camille set off through twisting alleys that brought them out on the riverbank. At first, they walked beside the river heading downstream, but soon Camille turned away from it into a warren of narrow streets. As they climbed uphill away from the river, Edouard glanced back. He saw the old bridge lay upstream now, and he knew that they had passed into the Jallo, the lawless underbelly of Fourges. Around them, the night sounds changed. The laughter of the taverns was gone, here it was quieter; a murmur of voices and somewhere a child cried. He heard an angry shout close by and an ominous scuffle of sound. His fingers settled on the hilt of his sword. Beneath his feet, the cobbles were slick with mud and filth, and on each side, the wooden houses leaned suffocatingly close. Beams of moonlight crept through narrow gaps between overhanging eaves.
He did not recognize the streets Without Camille he would be hopelessly lost. She was moving swiftly and with purpose, no one lingered in the Jallo after dark. They followed an alley that headed steeply uphill. Edouard could still smell the river. Ahead the alley turned sharply right and for a moment, he lost sight of Camille. He lengthened his stride to catch up and emerged into a small square. Camille was a few paces away. She was standing in front of a small stone chapel with a narrow arched doorway.
"This is the place," she said and stood back so he could enter.
Edouard pushed the door open and stepped inside. The small building was dark, and he knew at once it was empty. The chapel, an ancient stone building, dating from a time when the Jallo was prosperous, had only one room. Beneath the shadowy frescoes, he could see the pews were empty. He searched anyway, but it took only moments to confirm the place was deserted. If the monk had been here, the only sign was the tang of smoke from candles recently doused. With a last glance around, he returned to Camille. The square was deserted. He saw there were only two narrow streets and another alley leading from it. If the monk had been here, he might still be close enough to find. He looked to Camille. "He may have left recently. Which way is most likely?"
She hesitated. "He must have lodgings close by to come here without being seen. It's the only way he has kept hidden for so long. There are places, back down by the river, where you can find a room and no one will trouble you with questions." She pointed to the alley. "That alley leads to the river."
He hesitated. "You should go back."
"I know the streets, you don't." She had reached the alley, turning back she grinned at him. "And I know the people. You might find yourself in trouble without me."
He did not argue. It was true, and where they were going it might matter. Together they entered the alley. It twisted, sloping gently downhill between houses and other ramshackle buildings. Edouard listened for footsteps or any sign that the man they sought was close, but he heard only dogs barking and the shouts of the river men. He lost his bearings as the alleys crisscrossed and doubled back. Camille was a ghostly figure up ahead, passing silently from shadow to shadow. She ran up a flight of steps, and Edouard followed. Suddenly the dogs were quiet. In the silence, a whisper of sound caught his attention. The hairs on his neck prickled. Distracted, he stumbled and blundered against a slimy wall. A few paces ahead Camille turned back, alerted by the noise.
"What is it?" she asked.
He made an urgent gesture, and she fell silent. A dagger glinted in her hand. The sound came again. A low murmur, echoing through the alleys, as he listened it settled to a familiar rhythm. He had heard it only once before, but it was a sound he would never forget. Without thinking, Edouard drew his sword. Camille turned towards the sound, but he reached to catch her arm.
"No." He jerked her close, his voice soft. "You must go back, now."
"That noise, what is it?"
"Danger." The chant was growing louder. He shoved her back the way they had come. "Run, don't look back."
Chapter 47
Roslaire led them away from the river into a maze of dark, twisting alleys. Overhead, the timber framed houses huddled close, blocking the moonlight. Many of the windows were dark; in the Jallo most families were too poor to waste money on candles. Mariette walked carefully, stepping over gutters choked with filthy water. Rats scurried among the refuse. She heard a cry, and the sound of running feet, but she did not look round.
Roslaire came to a halt in front of one of the houses, a tall tenement with lopsided windows. Mariette could not tell how he identified it. He did not go to the door, but instead entered a narrow tunnel that ran between two houses. The tunnel lead away from the street. She followed him into a small yard. It was dark and silent.
A dog leaped forward from the darkness, teeth bared. Roslaire stepped in front of her. His sword hissed from its scabbard, but the rope round the dog's neck pulled it up just short of where she stood. Holding his sword, Roslaire turned, scanning the narrow yard. In the far corner, a door cracked open, and she saw movement beyond it. Roslaire crossed the yard in five strides. The door slammed closed as he reached it, but Roslaire did not hesitate. He used his shoulder, splintering the door and knocking it off its hinges.
"Wait here," he said quietly, and disappeared inside.
For a moment, Mariette stood frozen. Then she looked around, searching for any clue t
he monk might be here. She heard a crash and a shout. With a signal to her men to precede her, she headed for the door. One of them entered first. The others flanked her as she followed. They entered a long, dark hall, empty but for a wooden staircase with broken banisters. She halted. Roslaire stood halfway along the hall holding a man roughly by the neck. A wooden club lay on the floor nearby. In his free hand, Roslaire held a dagger. He moved it towards the man's face. The man flinched from it, babbling. "I don't know any monks."
"I heard a different story." Roslaire moved the blade so it pricked the skin beneath the man's eye.
After a moment the man muttered, "Two men share a hut at the back. One old, and one younger. I know nothing of monks." His fingers twitched as Roslaire shifted the blade. "They might be monks," he admitted.
"Show me," said Roslaire.
The man glanced down the hall. "What do you want with them?"
Mariette saw Roslaire tense. She was surprised by the loyalty the man was showing. It did not seem right that he suffer. Uncertain what Roslaire might do, she moved closer. "We mean them no harm. There is danger. We want to help."
"They paid for my silence," the man said.
"Then we will pay for your help," she said, ignoring Roslaire's scowl. "But only if you take us to them quickly." She lifted a heavy purse from the folds of her skirt, shaking it so he could hear the coins.
"I'll show you," he said.
After a moment, Roslaire released him. But he still held the blade ready. "Show us then, and no surprises."
The man watched Roslaire warily. "How do I know you'll keep your bargain?"
"You have my word, the purse is yours, and no one will harm you, or them." Mariette promised.
The man studied her, and after a moment he nodded. With a glance to Roslaire, he turned and led them along the corridor. A door opened on to a muddy pathway between the buildings. Mariette saw a row of small hovels had been erected against the far wall. The door banged closed, and the last of her men arrived carrying a torch. A figure appeared in the doorway of one of the hovels.
Traitor Blade: (Books 1-3) Page 46
