'Plotting, Seneschal?' de Roquefort asked, the eyes beaming.
'Not anymore.' He wondered about the show of force. 'Need an audience?'
'They're here for your benefit. Though I am hoping this can be done in a civilized manner. You are under arrest.'
'And the charge?' he asked, showing not a hint of concern.
'Violation of your oath.'
'You intend to explain yourself?'
'In the proper forum. These brothers shall accompany you to your chambers, where you will stay the night. Tomorrow, I will find more appropriate accommodations. Your replacement will, by then, need your chamber.'
'That's kind of you.'
'I thought so. But be happy. A penitent cell would have been your home long ago.'
He knew about them. Nothing more than boxes of iron, too small for standing or lying. Instead, the prisoner had to crouch, and no food or water only added to the agony. 'You plan to resurrect the cell's use?'
He saw de Roquefort did not appreciate the challenge, but the Frenchman only smiled. Seldom had this demon ever relaxed into a grin. 'My followers, unlike yours, are loyal to their oaths. There's no need for such measures.'
'I almost think you believe that.'
'You see, that insolence is the very reason I opposed you. Those of us trained in the discipline of our devotion would never speak to one another in such a disrespectful manner. But men, like you, who come from the secular world think arrogance appropriate.'
'And denying our master his due accord was showing respect?'
'That was the price paid for his arrogance.'
'He was raised like you.'
'Which shows we, too, are capable of error.'
He was tiring of de Roquefort, so he collected himself and said, 'I demand my right to a tribunal.'
'Which you shall have. In the meantime you will be confined.'
De Roquefort motioned. The four brothers stepped forward, and though he was frightened he decided to go with dignity.
He left the chapel, surrounded by his guards, but at the doorway he hesitated a moment and glanced back, catching a final glimpse of Geoffrey. The younger man had stood silent as he and de Roquefort sparred. The new master was characteristically unconcerned with someone so junior. It would be many years before Geoffrey could pose any threat. Yet the seneschal wondered.
Not a hint of fear, shame, or apprehension clouded Geoffrey's face.
Instead, the look was one of intense resolve.
TWENTY-FIVE
MALONE SQUEEZED HIS TALL FRAME INTO THE PEUGEOT. STEPHANIE was already inside the car.
'See anybody?' she asked.
'Our two friends from last night are back. Resilient suckers.'
'No sign of motorcycle girl?'
He'd told Stephanie about his suspicions. 'I wouldn't expect that.'
'Where are the two amigos?'
'In a crimson Renault at the far end, beyond the water tower. Don't turn your head. Let's not spook 'em.'
He adjusted the outside mirror so he could see the Renault. Already tour buses and about a dozen cars filled the sandy car park. The clear weather from yesterday was gone, the sky now smeared with pewter storm clouds. Rain was on the way, and soon. They were headed to Avignon, about ninety miles away, to find Royce Claridon. Malone had already checked the map and decided on the best route to lose any tail.
He cranked the car, and they cruised out of the village. Once beyond the city gate and on the winding path down to ground level, he noticed the Renault staying a discreet distance back.
'How do you plan to lose them?'
He smiled. 'The old-fashioned way.'
'Always plan ahead, right?'
'Somebody I once worked for taught me that.'
They found highway D118 and headed north. The map indicated a distance of twenty miles to A61, the tolled superhighway just south of Carcassonne that led northeast to Avignon. About six miles ahead, at Limoux, the highway forked, one route crossing the Aude River into Limoux, the other continuing north. He decided that would be his opportunity.
Rain started to fall. Light at first, then heavy.
He flipped on the front and rear wipers. The road ahead on both sides was clear of cars. Saturday morning had apparently kept traffic at home.
The Renault, its fog lamps piercing the rain, matched his speed and then some. He watched in his rearview mirror as the Renault passed the car directly behind him, then sped ahead, paralleling the Peugeot in the opposite lane.
The passenger window descended and a gun appeared.
'Hold on,' he told Stephanie.
He floored the accelerator and whipped the car tight around a curve. The Renault lost speed and fell in behind.
'Seems there's been a change in plan. Our shadows have turned aggressive. Why don't you stay down on the floorboard.'
'I'm a big girl. Just drive.'
He slid around another curve and the Renault closed distance. Holding the tires to the highway was tough. The pavement was coated in a thick veil of condensation and becoming wetter by the second. No yellow lines defined anything and the asphalt's edge was partially obscured by puddles that could easily hydroplane the car.
A bullet shattered the rear windshield.
The tempered glass did not explode, but he doubted if it could take another hit. He started zigzagging, guessing where the pavement ended on each side. He spotted a car approaching in the opposite lane and returned to his own.
'Can you fire a gun?' he asked, not taking his eyes off the road.
'Where is it?'
'Under the seat. I took it off the guy last night. There's a full clip. Make 'em count. I need a little space from those guys behind us.'
She found the pistol and lowered her window. He saw her reach out, aim toward the rear, and fire five rounds.
The shots had the desired effect. The Renault backed off, but did not abort its pursuit. He fishtailed around another curve, working the brake and accelerator as years ago he'd been trained to do.
Enough of being the fox.
He swerved into the southbound lane and slammed on brakes. Tires grabbed the wet pavement with a screech. The Renault shot past in the northbound lane. He released the brake, downshifted to second, then plunged the accelerator to the mat.
The tires spun, then shot the car forward.
He wound the gearshift through to fifth.
The Renault was now ahead of him. He sent more gas to the engine. Sixty. Sixty-five. Seventy miles an hour.
