Rogue Angel 49: The Devil's Chord

by Alex Archer

  As the keep of Joan’s sword, she shouldn’t be surprised that her adventures would bring her back to the city over and over. Though it was not Joan of Arc’s birthplace—that was Domrémy—Rouen was steeped with the martyr’s memory, perhaps even her spirit.

  “We’re headed for the Place du Vieux-Marché?” she asked Garin. It was the site of Joan of Arc’s pyre. A monument had been struck in her honor.

  He nodded. “The Lorraine cross did have Rouen inscribed on it, yes?”

  “Yes. And the coordinates are also for Rouen. Did you have an opportunity to look it over, uh, now or a few centuries ago?”

  “Leonardo showed it to me, and I remember not being terribly impressed with it. Simple crosses that people wore around their necks or carried in a pocket were so common.”

  She glanced around the lounge. It seemed unusually quiet. And Garin seemed to be in an oddly reflective mood. Maybe he was tired. Now that she thought of it, she was tired, too. She should try to catch a few winks before they got to Rouen. But she wanted to check the central square, where they guessed Roux would go, and familiarize herself with all the surrounding streets. Though she’d been there before, the layout may have changed.

  At one end of the square stood the Joan of Arc church. It was beautiful. Annja had been inside it a few times. She could spend a lot of time losing herself in the architecture. Of any church, actually.

  “Did Roux mention why Leonardo da Vinci had labeled him a thief in the notebook, Annja?”

  “No. Will you tell me?”

  Garin shrugged.

  “Give me a clue, then. Has it anything to do with the Lorraine cross?”

  “No. Actually, Leonardo once owned a piece of Joan’s sword.”

  Her gaze met Garin’s brown eyes and her heartbeat spiked. Annja knew Roux had traversed the world to track down every piece of Joan’s sword, until he’d been drawn to the very last piece—and Annja—by destiny.

  “Oh...” She paused, unsure what could be said.

  She knew the story after that. Roux had gathered the sword pieces, yet nothing had happened. Until she had looked it over and suddenly she’d held Joan’s sword in her hand. And now it was hers, claimed only by her, called from the otherwhere to serve her bidding when she should need it.

  Incredible.

  “Just thought you’d like to know,” Garin said. He tilted his head back against the seat and closed his eyes.

  Annja let her fingers fall slack on the keyboard. It was weird how the tidbits of history she gained from Garin or Roux directly correlated with her life. It never ceased to amaze her.

  Glancing across the room, she saw Garin snoring. The man had his hands folded on his chest, and his feet up on the chair opposite where he sat. While thoroughly modern in every way, she could easily imagine him outfitted in armor and wielding a sword or halberd while riding siege on an enemy’s castle. He had that noble warrior appeal.

  Not that he appealed to her, personally. But she could understand why it was easy for him to attract a lot of women. Add to that the private jet and a billionaire’s bank account.

  “The centuries have been good to you,” she muttered.

  Powering off the laptop, Annja slid it onto the chair next to hers, then reclined in her seat and closed her eyes. She might not sleep now, for remarkable memories kept her adrenaline racing.

  * * *

  THE BLOND MAN from the airport had eluded Roux, even though he’d briefly caught up to him while entering the city. He’d lost him in a traffic jam detouring around construction on the Pont Mathilde near the river.

  So instead of driving aimlessly in a random search, Roux headed to the one place he expected the Lorraine cross to show up. If Evan Merrick had any clue about how to operate the time-shifting device, he would arrive in the Place du Vieux-Marché.

  Forgoing a more predictable watch point in the central square, Roux strode along the rooftop of a building that boasted cafés and clothing shops on the ground floor and apartments from the first to fifth floors. He marked the best angle to view entrance to the square from any street below.

  From his position he had a direct view of the statue of Joan of Arc designed by Maxime Real del Sarte. It stood in a corner outside of the Church of Saint Joan of Arc. Put there in 1926, the simple stone statue depicted Joan praying, her eyes cast toward heaven as flames whipped up around her long skirts. Bright red flowers had been planted around the statue, but from this distance they appeared but a blur, almost flamelike.

  Roux looked away.

  Satisfied with this spot to watch the square, Roux sat and pulled the music box out from the paper bag. Running his thumb over the carved wood and bronze fixings, he closed his eyes and whispered a prayer that he had not uttered since the fifteenth century.

  Chapter 30

  Annja answered her cell phone as she strode the short runway toward the waiting limo without plates. The driver nodded to Garin and opened the back door for him. She went to the other side and opened the door herself.

  “Creed, I wasn’t sure you’d answer my call.”

  “Evan, where are you?”

  “I’m probably in the same city as you right now. And yes, thank you for the concern. The cross is safely with me.”

  “Really?” Last she’d known, Roux had lifted it from Garin.

  “The universe has a way of ensuring things end up where they belong,” Annja said. “Ever pause to think that maybe you were not meant to have the Lorraine cross?”

  “Bravo! But since it keeps bouncing back into my hands, I’m going to choose to believe the universe actually wants me to have it. So, did you find the box?”

  “Box? What box?”

  “Yeah, that’s not going to work. I know you went to Villa Melzi. Good call. I wouldn’t have tracked it next door.”

  “You want to make a trade?” Now that they were inside the limo, Garin asked if it was Evan. She nodded.

  “Trade? What good is the key without the box? What if I split the profits with you?”

  “Fifty-fifty?”

  “Seventy-thirty. The sale of the authenticated items will bring in millions, Creed. You’ll never have to work on that stupid TV show again.”

  “I rather enjoy hosting Chasing History’s Monsters. Only sometimes I end up chasing real-life monsters like you that spoil my day.”

  “Hey, like I’ve said, we could have made a great team.”

  “Where are you, Evan?”

  “At the market, in the central square. Bring the music box.”

  The line went dead, and Annja stuffed the phone into a pocket.

  “Where is the rat?” Garin asked.

  “The center of town,” she said to the driver. The car pulled away from the private terminal. “Evan thinks he’s a lot smarter than he is.”

  “He has managed to hang in the game this long. And find his way here with very little information to go on.”

  “You forget he had the notebook.”

  “Yes, but to decipher the clues Leonardo put in there?”

  “So you’re giving Evan Merrick points now?”

  “Never.” Garin reached beneath the seat for a slim case and placed it on his lap. He opened it, took out the 9-mm Glock and checked the magazine, then inserted it into the pistol. “Let’s go catch us a rat.”

  * * *

  THEY STOPPED IN the market square in front of the Church of Saint Joan of Arc. This late at night, there weren’t a lot of people around. When Annja had looked at the square on a satellite map, she was startled to find such modern architecture plunked down in the middle of a relatively historic neighborhood. The church and the adjoining parish when viewed from above were positively alien in nature, but gorgeous in their own right.

  The park nearby featured a path through areas shaded by massive canopied trees. The nooks offered privacy, even from the cafés directly across the street. Many still had lights on even though they had closed hours earlier.

  An eerie solemnity thickened the air.
But instead of making her feel calm, the mood prickled the back of her neck.

  Walking around the church, she and Garin sought the corner where Joan of Arc’s effigy had been preserved in stone behind glass.

  Annja had been here before and had seen the beautiful sculpture of the saint—during daylight—so she gasped now when spying it this time. Low spotlights positioned on the ground beamed up through bright red tulips planted around the base of the statue.

  Garin sucked in a breath. The image had to be even more dramatic for him.

  He turned his back to the statue and scanned about the market square. Chairs and tables were set up before a fountain, which was also lit in the dark hours. A couple sat at one of the tables chatting. But for the most part, the square was quiet, save the occasional taxi rolling by on the Rue de Crosne. Traffic from the nearby river was minimal, but the schush of the Seine’s waters and the scent lingered even here, blocks away.

  Garin strode a few feet away from Annja and spoke into his headset. He’d put the thing on when they’d arrived. He was always working some deal or talking to people in other countries at all hours of the day. He shoved his hands into his front pockets and stared off across the square.

  From behind him, Annja followed his gaze. And then she spotted what must have captured Garin’s attention. A man on the rooftop directly across from the square. Five stories high, it must be a hotel or perhaps an apartment building. Annja couldn’t see any signage because the building front was not well lit. The man had suddenly stood upright as two other men confronted him.

  “That’s...” Annja squinted to make out the three silhouettes on the building’s mansard rooftop. The one defending himself against the other two had a familiar form, and his hair was pulled back in a clasp at the base of his neck. “Roux?”

  Garin didn’t respond. He squinted and rested his hands on his hips; he was enjoying the show.

  “Those are your men?”

  “He’s got the box and the key, Annja.”

  “Call them off.” She stepped around Garin, but stopped when he held an arm out. It caught her off guard and she wheezed out a breath.

  “Give them a minute. They’re not going to hurt the old man, and you know it.”

  “They will if you let them.”

  This time Garin gripped her by the wrist as she tried to step into the square.

  “Annja,” he said tightly, “we are not enemies this time.”

  He winced as her boot crunched into his shin, and he let go of her. “You know as well as I what the old man has in mind to do.”

  Yes, but it wasn’t going to happen. Time travel was a fantasy. No one would ever convince her that a little box with gears and a magical key could perform such a wonder.

  “He won’t win,” he said, staring again at the rooftop. “This time I get to walk away with the prize.”

  “It doesn’t belong to either one of you. It is a historical artifact. That’s it,” she said, ready to move. “It belongs in a museum.”

  Garin held his arms out to his sides as if she were making more out of this than was necessary. “I agree.”

  Annja quirked a brow. Rarely were she and Garin Braden on the same side when it came to such matters. But that didn’t mean she had to stand aside and watch Roux get shoved around—

  On the other hand... She glanced toward the building just as Roux seemed to knock down one man and then the other. The old Frenchman stood proud, the victor, and looked down over the square. When his gaze landed on the two of them, Roux shook his head and waved them off dismissively.

  “Told you.” Garin chuckled and glanced at her. “He’s on his way.”

  And she seriously had had enough of these two schemers. Time to seize the artifact and put this whole quest to bed. But there was one piece of the puzzle still missing.

  She swept her gaze around the square in search of the arrogant Evan Merrick.

  * * *

  FROM WHERE HE stood inside the dark bistro that edged the market square, Evan had all the players in his sights. Behind him, the shop owner lay on the floor, his hands and mouth bound. Evan wasn’t a killer. But he’d needed a quiet place, close to the action, to observe. Fortunately for him, the owner had been working late on his accounts in the back room, and he’d spied the light on as he’d cased the neighborhood.

  So Annja Creed was with Garin Braden now? That woman jumped from one side to the other with a dexterity that made him wish he’d been just a bit nicer to her. At the very least, having her with him would have made the poison incident unnecessary. He still felt the burn in his esophagus and wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to look at tea the same way again.

  Garin was standing next to Annja and looked imposing; more weapons were probably hiding under that expensive jacket. He knew that Garin Braden was a force with whom regular folks should not mess. If he couldn’t handle a situation with his guile or those fists, he could easily employ someone to get the job done, and do it in just as imposing a manner as he. Although, given what Evan had just witnessed on the rooftop, he should reassess his opinion of Roux, whom he’d initially pinned as an old man with a bottomless wallet and a penchant for shiny baubles and placing bets. He’d tried to take Roux out with his gambling and keep him distracted that way, but he’d proven more than capable of ditching two or three goons on his own.

  As well, Evan suspected Roux knew more about the music box than he was letting on. He’d shifted through time—the notebook with the picture of him labeled a thief was evidence of that.

  Evan swallowed. He was by no means a fighter. He was smart, but not so skilled that he thought he stood a chance against either Roux or Garin, let alone both of them.

  Annja Creed offered a formidable challenge, as well.

  But he did hold the key.

  He hoped that would buy him the strength he’d need to win this match.

  * * *

  ROUX JOINED THEM, and the two men went head-to-head, exchanging harsh words that started in English, then switched to a few French oaths, a splash of German and then a surprising Latin curse.

  Annja stood aside, allowing them to get out their frustrations.

  Garin didn’t make a move on Roux and vice versa, but both maintained an aggressive stance, shoulders back and chests puffed up. They’d been going at each other for centuries. Would their rivalry ever end?

  Still, she knew they cared for one another more than they would ever admit.

  They eventually settled their ire and stepped back from their posturing when Annja brought up the thought that someone could be observing them.

  And when that someone revealed himself, stepping out of a closed shop farther along the street, Annja felt the tension ratchet up again. Garin and Roux were standing beside one another, reluctant allies. Roux had a brown paper bag tucked under his arm. In it, the music box and notebook, she was sure. Garin appeared as if he had no weapon, but of course, the Glock was tucked at the back of his waistband, under his leather jacket.

  She stepped in front of them, and Evan crossed the market square, slowing his stride and shoving his hands into his sweatshirt pocket.

  “He’s got the cross,” Roux muttered.

  “What?” Garin growled.

  “There was an incident when I arrived at the airport. Couldn’t be helped.”

  Garin muttered another curse.

  Annja assumed Evan must still think he was in the game; he certainly wouldn’t have shown up here unless he still had a piece on the board. The cross could be in a pocket, stuffed down his shirt or even shoved in a sock. Garin and Roux would tear him apart to find it.

  She waggled the fingers of her right hand, sensing the sword was close. Her partner in battle, one that never let her down. If she needed to summon the sword, the hilt would find her fingers within milliseconds. Like a thought, it was always there, ever ready. Not a fancy sword, but a solid battle sword that was as much her servant as she was to it.

  Not yet, she cautioned herself. But perhaps soo
n.

  Chapter 31

  Milan, 1500

  He’d designed it to work only when placed at a specific latitude and longitude. A gift for his friend René d’Anjou, who, sadly, had since passed on. So was it worthless now? A mere fantastical notion he’d managed to construct yet never test? At the very least, it had gone beyond the sketch stage.

  Leonardo sat beneath the willow tree in the courtyard near Melzi’s estate on Lake Como. In his hands was the music box on which he’d carved the intricate knot details with such care.

  He traced over a particular ribbon that wound beneath the bronze gear that turned only when the box had been activated by placing the key within the lock. Why the tritone of musical notes had been banned was beyond him. He did not believe a man could call forth the devil in such a manner.

  This device had ceased to hold anything more than sentimental value.

  “To shift time?” he said to himself. “Preposterous.”

  He set the box aside. He was never regretful of the time he spent on his many ventures, successful or not. Always he learned something in the process. And that was what he enjoyed most: learning. Would man ever be able to traverse through time to the past or perhaps even the future? It was a question that was difficult to fathom. And for what purpose was another unknown.

  Surely the purpose must always be to advance knowledge. Since by continually sharing knowledge, the vast secrets of life, why, the very universe, could be revealed.

  He tilted his head back and closed his eyes. A rare moment of silence on this bright evening beneath the stars. Should man truly master time travel someday, he hoped someone would journey back and introduce themselves to him.

  * * *

  EVAN MERRICK HELD the Lorraine cross out in one hand. Garin stood not ten feet away from him, while Roux flanked him another twenty feet to the left.

  Annja stood before their adversary, unsure how to approach this one. Well, she didn’t believe in time travel, so why not let the guy insert the key in the device? Everyone would step back in anticipated awe and then—nothing! Ha!