In town, we headed toward La Maison, passing by villagers as they entered and exited shops, worked away trading and selling, strolled in pairs and groups laughing and smiling. None of them realizing the priest among them was a wolf waiting to devour them all.
We entered the main thoroughfare and hurried toward the tavern. From a distance, we saw Celia Verdante, standing near her father as he spoke with Monsieur Denue at his clothier shop. Not unusual, as they probably met often to discuss purchase of Monsieur Verdante’s fabric. But Celia seemed different, all but ignoring the two handsome boys who flanked her, vying for her attention. A few months ago, she and her best friend, Marie Beauchamp, would have flirted and giggled with those boys all afternoon. When Marie Beauchamp was still alive.
Celia and the others perked up upon hearing us gallop toward them. But while the boys stepped aside and Celia’s father pulled her away, Celia craned her neck, recognizing us, recognizing my hooded cloak and trousers that she so often ridiculed. She continued to watch us as we rushed past, looking curious, while the boys laughed and Monsieur Verdante and Monsieur Denue dismissed our interruption, resuming their talk.
We charged on to the tavern, nearly trampling LieutenantGeneral Vitton who emerged from a munitions shop.
“Whoa!” he shouted, knitting his brows in fury. “Keep that horse under control if you want to keep it at all!”
“Sorry,” Pierre said, tugging on Diamond’s reins.
“Where are you rushing off to?”
“La Maison,” Pierre said.
He raised an eyebrow. “You’re a little young still, son.”
“No, no,” Pierre said. “We’re just – we need to –.”
The Lieutenant-General waited, arching his eyebrow even higher.
“Father Vestille and Gerard Touraine are in danger,” I said.
He blinked. “Father Vestille is at La Maison?”
“Yes. He’s meeting with Touraine.”
“… All right. Besides their sobriety and his reputation, what danger are they in?”
I looked up and down the street, to make sure no one was within earshot. “I stayed with the Serrones in DeSarte. I overheard one of the Lycanthru talking about them, that they saw Father Vestille and Pierre taking me to their home. Now they’re missing. And Father DuChard attacked me. He’s one of them!”
Lieutenant-General Vitton gaped at me, looking annoyed. He glanced up and down the street as well. “That’s quite a claim. You have some proof of this?”
“Not yet,” Pierre said. “But we will.”
I glared at him until he met my eyes, which made him flinch. “What are you doing?” I demanded.
“Well – I mean – we can’t prove it, but –.” He turned back to LieutenantGeneral Vitton. “Red said he attacked her. We didn’t see it, and – well, she tried to prove it, but – anyway, we need to tell Father Vestille and Monsieur Touraine.”
He soured at Pierre. “So they’ll know that something might happen, that neither of you can prove?”
I didn’t know which of them to strike first. Though I knew I would regret either one, so settled for clenching my fists. “Look. We’ll gather proof later. Right now, we need to let them know.”
“All of that can wait a few minutes,” he said. “Tell me what happened.”
“We don’t have time for that,” I insisted. “We need to –!”
He put a hand on his gun holster. We both froze.
“Helena, if you run through the streets making these kinds of wild accusations against reputable citizens without a shred of evidence, you could land in serious trouble. So I suggest you make time to explain yourself.”
I started to speak, but nothing came out. LieutenantGeneral Vitton had the same effect of silencing me that Papa always had, giving me no option to argue. Although Papa never threatened me with a gun. “Yes, Monsieur,” I said.
He lowered his hand. “Now step down off that horse and settle down, so we can figure this out.”
Neither of us moved.
His hand returned to his gun as he grit his teeth. “Now.”
I eased off of Diamond’s back, sliding to the cobblestone path, and Pierre followed suit, keeping hold of the reins.
“Now what makes you think these Lycanthru you mentioned are after Father Vestille and Monsieur Touraine, and what makes you imagine Father DuChard is one of them?”
I gathered my breath, then told him everything. The conversation I overheard from Monsieur Strineau and the other two Lycanthru. The disappearance of the Serrones, and the warning I received from Hugo DaVorre before killing him and his partner.
“So Monsieur DaVorre threatened you and claimed to know what happened to the Serrones, and you killed him?”
“Yes.”
Lieutenant-General Vitton nodded, businesslike. “I’ll send word on to my contact in DeSarte, have them look into what happened at the Serrones’ residence. I’ll also have them see what else they can learn about the Strineaus and that missing girl. Meanwhile, I’ll head out to your parents’ house, Monsieur Leóne, and have a little talk with –.” He narrowed his eyes, staring at the opposite end of the street. “Well, speak of the devil and in he comes.”
We turned.
Father DuChard was trotting toward us quickly on a pale stallion.
My heart raced, blood surging through my arms and temples. I rolled the crossbow down off my shoulder.
The LieutenantGeneral put up a hand. “None of that. Wait here, I’ll handle this.”
He marched off to meet Father DuChard, whose horse slowed to meet him. The Lieutenant-General kept his hand on his holster. Then he raised his gun and stood before the horse. “Step down,” he ordered.
Father DuChard tugged on the reins and stepped gingerly to the road, as Lieutenant-General Vitton continued to address him. Father DuChard raised his hands and spoke calmly for over a minute. The Lieutenant-General kept his gun raised, ready for any attack.
Then he lowered it, holstering it once more. He continued talking with Father DuChard, fists on his hips. He pointed a finger at him in warning, then stepped away, looking satisfied for the moment. He marched back to me and Pierre.
“What did he say?” I asked.
“He doesn’t remember attacking you at all,” he said. “Seems sorry that it happened, says he never meant to upset you.”
“He’s lying,” I hissed.
He leaned into my face. “So you say. And he says different. So until someone gives me more than their own opinion, I suggest you talk with him for a minute. Is it possible you misread the situation?”
“No,” I said, my nerves flaring.
His eyebrows rose. “It’s not only possible, it’s very likely. Now work it out and stop waving that crossbow around, or I’ll have no choice but to make an arrest. Clear?”
I reminded myself of Father Vestille’s advice to get along. So I masked my rage, for now. “Clear.”
I needed proof. And the right weaponry, whatever that might be.
“Good. Monsieur Leóne, bring your horse over here a moment and give them some privacy. If there’s any real trouble, I’ll be watching, Mademoiselle, don’t worry.”
He strode away with Pierre, who offered a helpless look as he led Diamond away. Leaving me alone to speak with Father DuChard. Which hardly seemed safe – for him.
But Lieutenant-General Vitton was right. Without proof, I couldn’t expect him or anyone else to take action. So I needed Father DuChard to make a mistake and expose his true self.
I walked toward him, arms at my sides. I could roll the crossbow off my shoulder in an instant, if needed.
Father DuChard spread his empty hands apart, with an expression of pity. “Helena, I’m so sorry if I hurt or offended you.”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “You’ll soon be a lot sorrier.”
He sighed, looking weary. “Can we take a walk?”
I nodded and stepped alongside him.
He strolled down the street, moving to the si
dewalk to avoid passing horses and coaches. “Helena, I fear you have misunderstood me.”
I kept pace with him. “I understood you perfectly last night. You’re the Prime.”
He glanced over his shoulder to where Lieutenant-General Vitton and Pierre stood. Then his voice turned sharp as a knife. The voice of the Prime. “Then you understood me well. But you have yet to understand your position.”
I fingered the crossbow. “Do I? Tell me more.”
He sounded ready to laugh. “You imagine you can defeat me. Don’t you, Helena? It’s quite endearing. I expect it will remain so for several more months, before you’re broken. But I assure you, my dear child, you will break.”
“Not by your hand.” I kept my voice from trembling as we continued down the street, filling with late afternoon travelers.
“Perhaps not by my hand, no. After all, we will be taking turns.”
A chill ran through me. Like DaVorre, he was not threatening what he intended to do. He was simply explaining what would happen, as my inevitable fate.
I tensed my body, keeping myself rigid, and clutched the crossbow. “I don’t know how you pulled that trick with the knife earlier, but I doubt you can do it twice. I can end all your plans right here, right now.”
“Of course you would think so. You think you can murder an innocent priest in the middle of town, and explain to everyone that he was really a wolf in disguise, so you had no choice. Then you can end your miserable existence, rotting in prison.”
More coaches and horses passed by as we drew closer to Monsieur Denue’s clothier where the Verdantes remained. Lieutenant-General Vitton and Pierre were now well behind us. Could I plug Father DuChard with a bolt under cover of one of the passing carriages? How could I dispose of the body or claim I hadn’t shot him as he bled on the cobblestone pavement? “Better than letting you take any more children,” I said.
“Ah, yes, the child. You still have no idea where she is, do you? And if you kill me and are escorted to prison, how do you plan to find her?”
I tightened my lips.
“So. Perhaps you start to understand your position at last.” He stopped, narrowing his eyes at something on the street. “Is that man waving to us from the coach?”
I turned in the direction he faced, to see the carriage approaching us from the far end of the street. A man leaned out the window that faced away from the Verdantes and Monsieur Denue as he passed them, waving for our attention. I narrowed my eyes at him, keeping the crossbow ready.
Then I gasped at the man’s thin smile.
It was Simonet.
32.
“Simonet!” I shouted, all but forgetting Father DuChard at my side. Simonet drew back inside the coach as it passed by us, his team of horses charging up the street toward LieutenantGeneral Vitton and Pierre.
I ran after the coach, clomping down the cobblestone path. “It’s Simonet!” I called to Pierre, who stood in the street craning his neck to hear me. “Simonet’s in that coach!” I cried.
Pierre and Lieutenant-General Vitton tried to peer inside the carriage as I whistled for Crimson, on instinct, forgetting he was still at Father Vestille’s hovel. But Diamond perked up his ears. I whistled again, to no effect, then ran at Diamond as he snorted in alarm. I seized hold of the saddle horn and stepped into the stirrups, swinging myself onto his back and kicking his flanks. Pierre shouted after us. “Red! Where are you going?”
I left them behind and sped after the coach.
The coach from which Simonet waved. Simonet, the Lycanthru I killed the other night . I didn’t know how he survived, but it somehow made sense. He was behind all this, working with Father DuChard, the Prime. They were gathering forces in DeSarte, spreading out and preparing to invade La Rue Sauvage again soon.
Unless I ended it here, now.
I pushed Diamond harder as we neared the fleeing coach, having to prod him much more than I did Crimson. He pounded across the cobblestones, quickly closing the distance. We drew near enough for me to glance inside again. And again, Siegfried Simonet bent forward with his thin smile.
I charged ahead, urging Diamond ahead of the coach. I tugged at the reins, struggling to make him understand that I wanted him to whirl about. Diamond reared on his heels as I rolled the crossbow off my shoulder to aim it at the small driver.
“Stop,” I said. I knew he couldn’t hear me over the rumble of his horses, but he could easily grasp my meaning. The man’s short legs rose up as he yanked hard on the reins, nearly falling backward in his seat. He gaped with crooked teeth, his thick moustache twitching with terror.
I slid off the saddle, keeping my crossbow aimed at the driver as a crowd gathered. Pierre and Lieutenant-General Vitton were running toward us, and Celia Verdante was now hurrying down the street, lifting her skirt. Her father and Monsieur Denue came close on her heels. I had no idea she could run.
“Stand back,” I ordered everyone.
Lieutenant-General Vitton arrived, puffing, his pistol raised at me. “Hold it, Mademoiselle,” he ordered. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Wait!” Pierre cried. “Helena wouldn’t do anything without a reason! She said Simonet’s in that coach!”
LieutenantGeneral Vitton blinked. “Siegfried Simonet, the former royal advisor?” He narrowed his eyes at me. “The man you said was part of those wolves, after you killed him at La Maison?”
“Yes,” I said, breathless.
Several people gasped and stepped back, fathers putting arms in front of their wives and children as I strode past the driver. Celia and her father now arrived with Monsieur Denue. “What’s happening, Lieutenant-General?” Monsieur Verdante asked.
“Step back, Monsieur. We’re investigating something.” Lieutenant-General Vitton now turned his weapon toward the carriage window as Monsieur Verdante pulled Celia back, giving us room.
I aimed my crossbow at the door, steadying it. Then I seized the door handle and threw it open, pointing the crossbow deeper in.
It was empty.
I stared into the coach. The smooth cushioned seats. The sturdy wooden floor. The curtained windows.
The dark emptiness.
“There’s no one inside, Mademoiselle,” Lieutenant- General Vitton said. The crowd edged closer, trying to peer past us.
I pushed past them, startling a few villagers as I turned my crossbow on the driver. “Where is he?”
The driver raised his small arms in fright. “Who, Mademoiselle? Who?”
I raised the crossbow higher, aiming between his eyes. “Where are your passengers?”
“I have none. I just dropped off a family and I’m heading home to Burgundy. I have no passengers.”
“You did. I saw him.”
“Put your weapon on the ground and take five steps back,” Lieutenant-General Vitton ordered.
I kept the crossbow aimed high. Not to be defiant, but because I was trying to sort this out. What was happening?
“Now.”
I knelt and laid the crossbow down.
“Now back away,” he continued, his pistol pointed at me.
I stepped back, my fingers tensing with the naked feeling of helplessness. Lieutenant-General Vitton stepped forward with the pistol, keeping an eye on me. Then he scooped up my crossbow, keeping it at his side.
“Helena!” Father Vestille called, breaking through the crowd.
“Keep back, Monsieur,” the Lieutenant-General warned.
The crowd thickened as I saw Monsieur Touraine behind Father Vestille. Half of his customers must have poured out of the tavern to see what was unfolding on the street.
Father Vestille stopped behind me. “What’s happening here?”
“Simonet was in that coach,” I said. “Now he’s gone.”
“That’s not possible,” Monsieur Verdante said. “You killed him the other night.”
“I know,” I said.
The crowd fell silent. Then began to murmur.
“I want everyone back,
” Lieutenant-General Vitton commanded, motioning with his hands as the crowd struggled to move backwards and clear space around the carriage. He waited until they had made a wide circle around the carriage and driver. Then he set the crossbow on the street and aimed his pistol back at the rear coach. He looked inside again. Stepped up into it. Stepped down and looked beneath the carriage. Then he moved to the driver, studying him, studying his horses.
Then he holstered his weapon and picked mine up. “There is no one inside, Helena,” he said, as he slid back the catch of my crossbow and emptied it of bolts.
“I tell you he was there,” I said.
Celia rose on her heels to look into the coach, then squinted at me and examined the other faces in the crowd.
Monsieur Denue stepped forth, looking irritated. “Where could he go, then?”
“I don’t know. He disappeared.”
Monsieur Verdante looked down his nose at me, his eyes half-amused, half-annoyed. “What is that supposed to mean, ‘he disappeared’?”
“I mean he vanished,” I snarled, causing him to draw back. “I saw him in the coach, waving to me. Twice! When I ordered the driver to stop, the coach was empty.”
Father Vestille stepped toward the Lieutenant-General. “May I?” he asked, gesturing toward the coach.
Lieutenant-General Vitton shrugged. Pierre came alongside me and took my hand, and I let him. I wanted my arms free to fight, but right now I just wanted to hold his.
Father Vestille peered inside the coach windows, craning his neck deeper. He glanced at the crowd as they pressed in closer, then turned back to me. “Did he jump?”
I shook my head. “He couldn’t have jumped out without me seeing him.”
“Then where is he?” Touraine asked.
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