Gawain (Knights of Excalibur Book 1)

by Hanley, Donald

  Her shoes crunched in the snow as she trudged around the line of trees towards the other building. It was two stories tall, made from the same stone as the mansion, with dark windows overlooking the pool and a small porch on one end. She stomped up the steps, trying to shake off the snow clinging to her shoes before it melted and got everything wet, and then peered through the glass doors. It was dark inside and she couldn’t see anything except her own silhouette in the glass. She tried the door but it was locked securely.

  She looked around, irritated that her trip through the cold was for nothing. She searched for a key, hoping someone had left it on a hook or under a mat or something, but whoever took care of the property apparently wasn’t foolish enough to let random strangers look around without permission.

  Now what? she wondered. She could go back inside the mansion and warm up, but she’d already seen everything there was to see. I can either go wash the sheets or take a walk around the house. It was a toss-up, but she finally decided a brisk stroll around to the front would at least give her something new to do. She stepped off the porch with a resigned sigh and hiked across the frozen grass towards the end of the nearest wing.

  24

  “Hawk is looking at a house,” Chantal reported, keeping her voice low. Her hiding spot was only a few dozen yards away from her target.

  “A house? Where?” Lionel watched Nim’s Jaguar turn off Highway 20 just a short distance ahead, but he continued on without slowing. He knew where she was headed. He just hoped Savard was ready.

  “In ... Roxbury, I think? It’s on Valentine Street, a very old house.”

  “Roxbury?” He didn’t know where that was, but then he hadn’t been in Boston all that long. “What else is around there?”

  “Nothing.” He could almost hear her shrug over the phone. “Just more old houses.”

  “Did Hawk go inside?”

  “No, he tried the door but it’s locked. He’s walking around the outside, looking through the windows.”

  “Is he looking for Trisha?” Lionel wondered dubiously. “Why in the world would he think she’s there?”

  “Un moment, I must move to keep him in sight.” Lionel heard the barest hint of rustling branches and then nothing for a long while. He turned left onto the next road, paralleling the one Nim took, and drove slowly while he waited with growing impatience. “I am back. Hawk is leaving.”

  “Leaving? He looked at that house and then just left?”

  “Oui.”

  “Very strange,” he murmured. “All right, keep on him. Let me know where he goes next.”

  “Bon. What of Madame Nim?”

  Lionel debated whether to tell Chantal what was about to happen but decided it would just distract her. “I’m still on her,” he said, which was mostly true. “Stay in touch.” She sniffed disdainfully and hung up.

  He switched back to the map display on his phone to make sure the road he was on allowed him to loop around to Nim’s destination. It did, but he pulled over in front of an empty lot and sat back to wait. Savard would call when Nim was dealt with, one way or the other.

  25

  Nim slowly walked along the long, curving driveway towards the house ahead, alert for any sign of movement. There were tire tracks pressed into the snow all the way to the detached garage, but they didn’t look recent and there was no car in sight. The garage door was down, though, so there could still be one hidden inside.

  She followed the tracks, carefully setting each foot down where it wouldn’t leave any prints, although she had to stay on her toes to keep her heels from punching holes through the icy crust. The house was a small one-story affair in the center of a couple of acres of open land, separated from its neighbors by dense walls of evergreens. A brick chimney rose above the roofline but no smoke drifted from the top. Apart from the tire tracks, the place looked deserted.

  A concrete walkway connected the side of the garage to the front of the house, but Nim just stepped over it and continued between the two buildings. She might not have the field experience of the Knights but she knew that going through in the front would be foolish, at least until she checked for other ways in and out. The grass surrounding the house was taller than her ankles and she grimaced at the frosted blades brushing at the hems of her thin slacks. She was definitely not dressed for a walkabout in the dead of winter.

  The windows on this side of the house were covered with heavy curtains, hiding whatever lay in the rooms beyond. The back of the house had a small patio with metal chairs and a table, long unused judging from the rust under the thin coating of snow and ice. A screen door led inside and Nim considered it thoughtfully before crossing over and grasping the handle. It was ice-cold but unlocked and she eased it open, listening for any sign that someone inside heard the faint creak of the hinges. The house was absolutely quiet.

  The back door had a small window covered with a lacy curtain, but there was a narrow gap between the panels. She peered in, using her hands to shade her eyes, and saw a small utility room with plain nondescript and a washing machine just in view. A dark hallway led further inside. Nothing moved within.

  The door itself was locked but it took her only a few moments to unlatch it and push it gently. It opened silently and she stepped in, closing it carefully behind her. The air inside wasn’t warm, exactly, but it was much more comfortable than the weather outside.

  She followed the hall towards the front of the house. The first door she passed was ajar, revealing a sparsely furnished bedroom. The covers on the bed were askew and wrinkled, as if the last person to sleep there just tugged them back into place. There was no way to know how long ago that happened, though, and she continued on.

  The next room was a bathroom, with a small vanity, a toilet, and a combined shower and bathtub unit. Her eyes narrowed as she surveyed the toiletries scattered around the sink. If the house was truly unoccupied, those shouldn’t have been there. She listened again, but the silence was complete.

  I should leave, she told herself. Someone is living here, or at least was recently. Where is he now? Anyone staying in a supposedly unoccupied Du Lac property was not someone she should meet alone and unarmed. But what if this is where Lionel brought Patricia Macmillan? She weighed the risks and continued to the end of the hall.

  She rested her hand on the door handle and waited, searching for any sound, any vibration, any passing shadow that might give her a hint as to what lay beyond. There was nothing, except ... She flared her nostrils as she inhaled. There was an odd, faintly musky odor in the air. A dog? she wondered. An old blanket? She couldn’t quite place it and she finally twisted the handle and pulled the door open.

  She found herself in a kitchen straight out of the fifties, with old enameled appliances, plain cabinets, a black-and-white checkered linoleum floor, and a small chrome-and-vinyl dinette set with four chairs, all lit by a single uncovered bulb mounted on the ceiling. A larger dining room stood off to the right, near the entrance hall, and a living room sporting an overstuffed couch and two wingback chairs lay in shadow beyond that. Another door hinted at another hallway leading to the rest of the house.

  There were dishes in the sink, soaking in water with a faint film of grease and bubbles on top. It was hard to discern how many people had eaten that meal, but it was obviously recent. She scanned the room for any sign that Trisha had been there and her eyes fell on the dinette table. A man’s wallet lay there, along with a familiar white card: a Pendragon Security pass key.

  She crossed the floor quickly and picked up the wallet, flipping it open. A clear pocket held the owner’s driver’s license, issued by the State of New York: Lucas Butler. He looked surprised in his photo, as if whoever took it hadn’t warned him to get ready.

  “How did this get here?” she mused softly. A slow, deep rumbling sound surrounded her, like the growl of a very large and angry tiger, lifting the hairs on the back of her neck. She very carefully set the wallet back down on the table, composing her face to disguise th
e shiver that coursed through her. “René,” she said, pleased that her voice remained steady.

  “You should not have come here, Nim.” She turned as a misshapen shadow rose from one of the chairs in the living room. “You would have been safe in New York.”

  “I can’t stay hidden away when the people I care about are in danger.”

  “We are much alike, then.” Savard came forward into the light.

  He was taller than she was and rail-thin, all wiry muscle and bone. Short shaggy black hair covered his head and cheeks and arms and his face was gaunt, his dark eyes sunken and almost invisible beneath his heavy brows. His hands and feet were disproportionately large and his fingers looked like grasping claws. He was a caricature of a man, but an extraordinarily dangerous one nonetheless.

  “You look unwell, René,” Nim observed coolly. His gait was uneven and he favored his left side. Something bulged under his shirt, as if a thick bandage was wrapped around his ribs. “Lucas did not go down willingly, I gather.”

  “I was under orders not to kill him,” Savard growled sullenly. “He would have been dead otherwise.”

  “Then why hurt him at all? Why was it necessary to put him in the hospital?”

  Savard’s brows knitted together in a scowl. “That was not the plan. I was only supposed to follow him. He attacked me first.”

  That surprised her. “Why would he do that?”

  Savard shrugged, an awkward, lopsided movement. “To keep me from learning where he was going, I presume. Or perhaps he just does not like me.”

  That was intended to be a joke, she supposed., despite the ominous tension in the room. She refrained from pointing out that no one liked any of Savard’s kind. “So what happens now? Am I to end up in the hospital as well?” Her right hand was hidden behind her body and she slowly clenched her fist.

  “No. Sit.” He pointed to the kitchen table. “We will wait for Lionel. He will decide what to do with you.” Nim considered the ramifications of that statement and then seated herself in the nearest chair. Her hands were out of sight beneath the table but Savard shook his head warningly. “Keep your hands where I can see them, Nim. I know your tricks.”

  “Hardly tricks,” she sniffed, but she obeyed, resting her palms flat on the table surface. “You knew I was coming here. You left these out to lure me inside.” She nodded at the wallet and pass key. “We didn’t even know about this place until an hour ago. How did you know I would come?”

  “We have been watching you, you and Hawk.” Savard growled Hawk’s name through his teeth and his hands curled into fists for a moment. “Lionel followed you here.”

  “Ah. I underestimated you. I didn’t think you’d be on top of things quite so quickly.” Savard just regarded her intently, as if she was prey he wasn’t hungry enough to eat yet. “If he followed me, why isn’t he here?”

  “He is waiting. We did not know how long it would take to capture you.” He extracted a phone from his back pocket.

  “I hope you’re not disappointed that it was so easy.”

  Savard glanced up from his phone, giving her the same sort of look as before. “You are very calm, Nim,” he observed.

  “I understand my value to Lionel. He would not thank you if I am harmed.”

  “No, he would not.” He tapped the screen and held the phone to his ear. “But that will not stop me from killing you if you try to escape. You dead is preferable to you free. Lionel? I have her.” He listened and nodded. “No, no problems. Bon,” he said and hung up. “He is coming.”

  “I’m in no hurry.” Nim tapped her fingernails on the table, thinking furiously.

  26

  Lionel tucked his phone back into his pocket, feeling uneasy as he shifted the Range Rover into drive. Why did Nim just surrender? he wondered. Savard is formidable but she surely has her own defenses. She knows we won’t just let her walk away. What is she up to?

  His phone rang again and he pulled it out hurriedly, already imagining what havoc Nim was wreaking, but the name on the display was Chantal’s, not Savard’s. He hit the answer button.

  “What is it?” he snapped.

  “Hawk just turned onto Hammond Street.” She sounded puzzled. “He is heading to your house.”

  “My house? You mean the mansion?” A whole series of possible scenarios ran through his mind, one after the other, but it was obvious what was going on. “Shit, she’s a decoy! They’re still after Trisha!”

  “What should I do?”

  “Stay after him! No matter what, don’t let Hawk take Trisha!”

  “Bon.” She hung up and Lionel slammed his fist on the steering wheel in frustration. He still had no idea why Trisha was so important to Pendragon, but it was clear that this entire Quest centered around her. He made a sharp U-turn in the road and sped back towards the highway, pulling up Savard’s number again.

  “Yes?” Savard growled in his ear. “Are you here?”

  “Change of plans. I have to get back to the mansion ASAP. Keep Nim there and make sure she doesn’t try to leave or contact anyone.”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “Yes, but we’ll take care of it. Stay with Nim and stay alert.”

  “I know how to deal with Arthur’s Knights.”

  “She’s not a Knight, Savard,” Lionel reminded him grimly. “Be careful.”

  Savard breathed harshly in his ear for a few seconds before he responded. “May I kill her if necessary?”

  “Yes,” Lionel said shortly, “but try not to. She’s far too valuable a prize to waste.”

  “D’accord.”

  Lionel disconnected and dropped his phone on the passenger seat to use both hands to make the turn onto Highway 20, slewing around on the slick pavement until he was back in the eastbound lane. He gunned the Range Rover, hoping the police didn’t have any speed traps out today. It would take him half an hour to reach the mansion. He prayed that Trisha would still be alive when he got there.

  27

  Trisha slogged wearily around the front of the mansion, berating herself for not retreating to the kitchen when the drifts of snow got up to her shins. She’d figured that the front door was closer than the back door, though, and now her jeans were frozen stiff, her shoes were soaked, and she couldn’t feel her toes.

  She paused to catch her breath, rewrapping her scarf so that it covered her mouth and ears and tugging the collar of her coat up as high as it would go. The mansion loomed three stories above her like the castle of some medieval king. Was Camelot like this? she wondered sourly. She doubted it. Any self-respecting king would have put in a moat instead of a manicured lawn and neatly-trimmed shrubbery all blanketed in snow.

  The front door was in sight now so she forged on doggedly. The snow wasn’t as deep here, but she still had to pick her feet up high to avoid scraping her ankles on the icy crust. It was exhausting work and she promised herself a good long steaming soak in the bathtub once she got back to her room.

  She finally reached the driveway and stomped her feet on the pavement, grimacing at the numbness in her feet. She hurried up the steps, eager to get inside and thaw out, but the door refused to yield. She pushed and pulled on the latch, but it remained solidly in place. “Oh, come on!” she yelled, not caring who heard her. That was the problem: there was no one home to unlock the door for her.

  She rested her forehead against the smooth surface of the door, mentally kicking herself for being so stupid. She’d have to go all the way back around and she couldn’t be certain the kitchen door hadn’t automatically locked itself behind her either. She might be stuck outside until Lionel finally got back from whatever he was doing. She wondered how hard it would be to break one of the first floor windows and climb in. Not that she ever would, probably, but it was tempting.

  She surveyed the trail she’d made through the snow, hoping it would be easier going if she retraced her steps. It looked like a drunken rabbit had hopped around the property with his eyes closed. She heaved a sigh, watching the
fog dissipate as she tried to summon up enough energy to make the return trek.

  A deep thrum turned her around and she frowned at the white sports car passing through the gate and making its way around the driveway towards her. It obviously wasn’t Lionel – he drove a green Range Rover – but maybe Chantal decided to come by to give her an update on Hawk. The ballerina or whatever she was creeped Trisha out, but she’d cheerfully welcome anyone who could get her inside.

  The car stopped right in front of her and she tried to peer through the windshield to see who it was. There was too much glare to see anything but vague shadows inside, but the driver’s door opened and a man stepped out, scowling at her across the roof of the car. Trisha’s heart froze in her chest. It was Hawk.

  “Excuse me,” he said, casting a speculative eye at the building behind her. “Do you live here?”

  Trisha blinked at him as her mind tried to process his question. Why isn’t he shooting me or trying to kidnap me? Doesn’t he recognize me? Does he have bad eyes or something? It took her a confused moment to remember that her scarf still covered half her face. Can I talk my way out of this? Will he recognize my voice if I say something? The silence dragged on too long as she tried to think of a way to convince him to leave without her and Hawk’s scowl deepened.

  “Are you all right?” he asked suspiciously. He started to walk around the front of his car and her throat closed up in panic. She looked around desperately for an escape route, but there was nowhere to go and she’d never be able to outrun him through the snow. She stared at the gate, praying that Lionel would suddenly appear out of nowhere, and a shocked gasp caught in her throat. Someone was standing there.