you. His were green.” He paused, then went on. “Other than that, the boy resembled all three of you.”
“Is he the one who bought your property?” Geaxi asked.
“No. A man the boy referred to as ‘Uncle Raza’ purchased the farm. I believe the man was Hindu. His name was Raza Vejahashala. The boy was the strangest boy I ever met. They requested a tour of the farm and all the surrounding mountains. I had several unusual structures on the farm. One was a greenhouse, where I maintained a rose garden year round. The boy seemed overjoyed with it, but his joy was expressed in a bitter, haunting laugh that has echoed in my mind ever since.”
I glanced at Geaxi and Nova again. It was the Fleur-du-Mal without a doubt. Then another thought came to me—Zuriaa! Searching for her presence, I turned in a slow circle. The cathedral was vast and the light dim, but Zuriaa was nowhere near. Geaxi, Nova, and I all wondered the same thing—who sent the Maoris, and why? It didn’t make sense.
Nova picked up an old red sweater lying on the platform between two trays of stained glass. “Yours?” she said, handing it to Rune Balle.
He removed what was left of his torn shirt and pulled on the sweater. “
“Could you tell us where to find your farm?” she asked. “We will be glad to pay for the information.”
“There is no need,” he said, “I will take you there myself.” He gazed down at the two dead men lying on the cathedral floor in the center of the labyrinth. “My work here is finished.”
We would have left Paris the next day, except Emme decided to have a beautiful baby girl at ten after ten in the morning. The baby weighed eight pounds, two ounces and was twenty inches long. Her skin was the color of milk and coffee, her eyes were dark, and tiny black curls covered her head. She was given the name Antoinette PoPo Boutrain. A day later, Emme would sign a paper naming Antoinette’s godparents—Mercy Whitney and Zianno Zezen. I couldn’t have been more proud. Geaxi and Nova agreed to delay our departure another day in order for us to visit Emme and Antoinette in the hospital. By that time, the police had informed Rune Balle he should not leave Chartres until the investigation was complete. Rune was not suspected of any wrongdoing, but the Maoris carried no papers or identification on their persons. Along with tattooed faces and expensive dark suits, the Maoris were a mystery and their strange deaths warranted further study. After two weeks of futile investigation, Rune Balle was told he was free to travel at will. The police had found no clues whatsoever and the Maoris were simply filed away and forgotten.
During that time, Antoine had been listening to some of our discussions about where we were going and why. Antoine believed we would need assistance in eliminating the Fleur-du-Mal, though he never mentioned him by name. He said he had known many assassins, but none as cruel or invisible as our “friend.” I reminded Antoine he had just become a father and he ought to remain in Paris. He still insisted on going. Geaxi, Nova, and I all said no, and I was surprised when Emme said he should go. Through PoPo and me, she had learned long ago of the Fleur- du-Mal and his infamy. He needed to be stopped and Antoine could help. She said Mitch and Mercy would give her all the assistance she needed, while Antoinette would give her more than enough love, and all of them would pray for our safe and swift return. Still, we said no.
I cabled Owen Bramley and Carolina in St. Louis, asking if all was well and if they had heard from anyone, meaning any of the Meq. Carolina cabled back within a day saying Owen Bramley was on an extended trip to Hawaii and Japan. She assured me that all was well, then chastised me for being gone so long. She said Charles Lindbergh had returned to St. Louis and was greeted by a huge crowd and Mayor Miller. She added that she had not heard from anyone else.
We packed lightly and left Paris the next day by train, deciding to purchase anything we might need in Norway. Rune Balle had arranged for us to stay in Bergen with his sister, Penelope, and his nephew, Knut. They lived in a large three-storied home his family had owned since the 1840s. I asked him if Penelope was a common name in Norway. He laughed and told me his father’s favorite work of literature was
London was our first stop after ferrying from Le Havre. Geaxi wanted to check our deposit box at Lloyd’s for messages. There were none. I telephoned Caitlin’s Ruby and spoke with Arrosa and Willie. Neither had heard from anyone. It was as if every Meq except Geaxi, Nova, and me had disappeared. Geaxi assured me it was nothing unusual, there had been centuries of absence and silence in the past. It was common for the Meq. That was true; however, it failed to relieve the anxiety of not knowing. She then reminded me there were other Meq in the world I had never met. Did I ever wonder where they were or worry about them? I had no answer.
“Aside from that, young Zezen, I suspect there is only one you are truly concerned about, no?”
I said nothing because we both knew the answer.
We caught a late train for Newcastle, where we spent the night and then early the next morning boarded a ferry for Bergen. Halfway across the North Sea, we encountered rough seas, which gave Nova a bout of seasickness. It was highly unusual. Geaxi said she had never heard of one of the Meq experiencing seasickness. Nova recovered quickly, but she seemed bewildered and alarmed by what had happened. She said she had never been seasick before and it might portend some ill will for us. Geaxi tried to assure her there was nothing to be concerned about. But once we reached the outer islands and approached the Vagen harbor of Bergen, all our spirits lifted, including Nova’s.
Bergen is a thousand-year-old port city. Surrounded by mountains, the city has long been called “the town between seven mountains.” As we entered the inner harbor, the sun was setting behind us. Two of the peaks, Floyen and Ulriken, were golden in the last rays of light. Green pines covered the hillsides and ships and sailboats were everywhere. I had never seen a more beautiful town and harbor. Geaxi remarked that she had first visited Bergen in 1350 on a Hansa ship, only a year after the Black Plague had appeared and spread throughout Norway. She said at that time the harbor was equally beautiful, but a miserable destination.
Rune told me to enjoy the clear air and colorful sunset because in the past he had seen it rain in Bergen for twenty days in a row on several occasions. I replied that rain could not dampen the beauty of Bergen. Rune grunted and said I might make a good Norwegian.
After disembarking with the other passengers, Rune escorted Geaxi, Nova, and me through customs. We walked along the quay, then up narrow streets and steep hills to Rune’s family home. With the sun down, the air cooled dramatically and by the time we arrived, I could see my breath. It was the middle of September. The days were getting shorter and colder. The Fleur-du-Mal might or might not stay the winter in Norway. I hoped silently we were not too late.
Penelope and Knut welcomed us inside the large entry hall. She was a stunning woman, probably in her mid- forties, with coal black hair and ice blue eyes. She made me think of how Caitlin Fadle must have looked. Knut was a young man in his early twenties and had the same features as Penelope. They were both clearly ecstatic to see Rune. I could tell Knut idolized his uncle. Rune then asked if someone named Svein was still alive. Knut said he was. Rune looked relieved, glancing at Geaxi and saying, “Roses…Svein takes care of the roses.”
Rune was right about the weather. The next morning we not only had to buy rain gear, but sweaters, wool caps, boots, jackets, and gloves. Rain fell cold and steady and the temperature dropped twenty degrees. By midday we were finally outfitted properly and on our way to Voss, an ancient town on the northern edge of Vangs Lake, and only an hour by train from Bergen. In Voss, we leased a small fishing boat from a man Rune knew and trusted. We launched immediately, with Rune behind the wheel. Our destination was the farmstead of Rune’s old friend and confidant since childhood, Svein Stigen, gardener and caretaker for the Fleur-du-Mal.
When Geaxi first told me the Fleur-du-Mal had purchased a home in Norway, I thought it was a joke. This would be the last place, I thought, where he would consider living. Norway was too remote for his international tastes and habits. Why had he chosen it?
Rune slowed the engines and veered to our starboard side. Suddenly, an almost invisible inlet appeared between two headlands, two promontories of sheer rock, rising 150 feet above the lake.
“Through this channel lies Askenfada,” Rune said. “It used to be uninhabited during the winter months because of heavy snowfall and the danger of avalanches.”
“Askenfada?” Geaxi asked.
