Rogue Angel 54: Day of Atonement (27 page)

Roux tried to keep the smile from his lips.

He hadn’t noticed the dark bruise beneath the blonde’s eye. The makeup concealed the worst of it, but the swelling was hard to disguise. This changed things. If Annja was safe, then he’d handed over the breastplate for nothing. They could have come in here guns blazing.

“If she’s truly gone and you have what you want, then we are done here,” Roux said.

“Done? Oh no. No, no, no. We’re not done. We haven’t even started.”

Cauchon opened the box.

He carefully pulled back the silk wrapping that protected the metal from contact with the wood, and breathed in deeply as he gazed upon the object of his obsession.

“Joan of Arc’s breastplate. Part of the armor she wore on the days of her final stand against the enemy.”

“That’s what I was told,” Roux said.

“You lie!” Cauchon yelled suddenly, all trace of restraint blown. “Stop lying to me! I still don’t know quite
what
you are, but I know that you are not a mortal man. I am not stupid. I do not believe in fairy stories.”

“People say that I have a very familiar face.”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up.”

“There are a lot of people who look like me. It’s always been like that.”

“Stop lying, old man. I
know
you were there when she wore this armor. I
know
. I have seen enough pictures and paintings dating back centuries to know you were there at some of the most important incidents in history.”

“You don’t know what you are talking about. I told you before. You are mistaken.”

“And then you tried to silence me, if I recall. That is not the act of an innocent man, Roux. You know it and I know it. The fact you were able to lay your hands on her armor without difficulty is damning in itself.” He patted a palm against the dented metal.

“You’re making logical leaps that have no grounding in reality. This is what I do. I’ve dealt in all kinds of things over the years. Not all of them with any kind of provenance.”

“Really? Then how do you explain Miss Creed?”

“Annja? What about her?”

Cauchon sighed heavily. “I’ve seen the trick she does, drawing that sword of hers out of nowhere.”

Roux waved the notion away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do. But let’s pretend you don’t. Let me explain it to you.”

“Please do,” Roux said, purposely stalling. He needed to give Garin time to infiltrate the farmhouse and even the odds. Cauchon didn’t seem to mind. He was enjoying himself. He’d imagined this meeting for a long time and had no intention of rushing it, even if his ultimate endgame was Roux’s death, which was a possibility that grew all the more probable the longer they spent together. For Cauchon this was about revenge; for Roux, suddenly, it was about atonement. This didn’t have to end in death. Not this time.

“You see, I am a scholar. I have devoted my life to research.”

“An honorable pursuit,” Roux said.

“And an enlightening one. The more you look, the more you see.”

“I would imagine so,” Roux agreed.

“I have seen a lot. Almost as much as you, I suspect.”

“More, probably,” Roux offered. “I’m not particularly observant.”

“No need for self-deprecation, Roux. You are with some of the only people in the world who truly understand all of the marvelous things you must have seen during your life.”

“No so many marvels.”

“You are too modest. Perhaps we should share. Let me begin with one of the incredible things I’ve witnessed, shall we?”

“Please do.”

“I’ve seen her sword before.”

“Sometimes a sword is just a sword,” Roux said.

“I’ve seen it in several paintings. You see, it’s the Maid’s sword, isn’t it? Jeanne d’Arc. Saint Joan.
La Pucelle d’Orléans
. Joan of Arc. That’s quite a coincidence, don’t you think?”

Roux shrugged, the ties tugging at his wrists as he did so.

He was starting to think that there was no point in trying to deny anything.

The man had clearly made his mind up and nothing he could say was likely to change it, especially as it would be a lie.

Cauchon lifted the breastplate from the box and turned it over, examining every inch of the metal on both sides.

“Do you know what this is capable of? No, silly of me. Obviously you do. The clues were all in the notes that your friend retrieved from your own home. A better question would be, did you follow the clues that were in there? Did you find the proof that I found?” Cauchon waited for a moment, clearly wanting Roux to respond.

The old man knew that silence would be the way to beat him.

“Guillaume Manchon only scratched the surface when he suggested that there was a secret magic being practiced, but you know that, don’t you? Even Bernard Gui had suspected it was more than the mere hedge magic of charms and curses, of love potions and medicines. But neither of them could have known quite how demonic this magic was, could they? Because at heart they were good men who didn’t understand how corrupt their world really was. Unlike you.”

Roux refused to speak.

He wasn’t about to risk a word until he knew what Cauchon knew, what he believed and just how far from the truth his obsession had taken him. He already understood
that Cauchon had picked at the thread of something that had more than an element of truth, but how far did that thread go? A link between Annja and the young woman who had once wielded the sword? A further link to his own incredible longevity? Both seemed likely. Both were too close to home. And, in truth, both contained answers he didn’t want to hear in case Cauchon had stumbled across something that could end it, something that could give him the power to draw a line under this life if ever decided that he had had enough of it. And there were days when all he longed to do was die.

“Nothing to say? Come on, Roux, I’m sure that you must have given the matter some thought. After all, you had plenty of time, even just over the past twenty years since I went to visit you. Since then, I have dedicated my life to studying this. I had one intention—to find your Achilles’ heel and make you suffer. But things changed. I changed. I realized that more than just pain, I wanted to give you the opportunity to show true penitence.”

“I’ve already told you that I’m sorry,” Roux said, breaking his silence. “I thought that you had died.”

“No. That’s what you
wanted
to believe, you mean,” the man snapped, revealing again the anger he barely kept in check beneath his veneer of calm. “Because it was convenient. Because it was better for you. Safer.”

He took a deep breath and looked Roux in the eye, holding his gaze unblinking for longer than Roux found comfortable. “Even though you seem awfully reluctant to confirm what I already know to be true, we’ll just take it as a given that you comprehend what I’m talking about. We both are aware that Annja Creed is connected in some fashion to Joan of Arc. She has her sword, and somehow reaches across time to draw it. How could this be possible? I wondered. How indeed, unless she is possessed by the
martyr’s spirit? That set me to thinking. And eventually I found what I was looking for, ancient documents that show the rites and incantations that could have been used to keep her spirit in this world. Papers that detail rites that bind a spirit to this world by offering it a safe haven, a vessel that it can remain in until the mortal flesh is no longer able to sustain it. Imagine that. And while it survives in this vessel, the possessing spirit gives the body a strength that it would not otherwise have, cures it of wounds and sickness that should end its life and sustains it.”

“I’m sorry, but that’s rubbish. Superstitious nonsense. You do understand that, don’t you? There’s no such thing as magic. There is no ‘supernatural.’ What you are holding in your hands is a rusted piece of armor. A treasure? Yes. Undoubtedly. It was worn into battle by one of the greatest women this world has ever known. But that doesn’t make it magical, just precious,” Roux said.

“Far from it. Something sufficiently advanced may indeed seem to be magical, but that does not necessarily make it so. It only underlines the fact that we do not see all there is to see about this space we live in or how it works.”

“Now you’re mixing science and superstition to suit your need.”

“And you are willfully trying to goad me. That makes a lot of sense. You must be frightened. All these years living in the shadows, your secret safe, only to have the spotlight turned on you.”

“I’m not what you think I am,” Roux said.

“There are a number of rites and incantations that need to be completed to recall the spirit from the body.”

The woman laughed. He’d almost forgotten she was there, standing at her brother’s shoulder.

Had she been allowed inside the insanity that existed inside his head? Was she party to his madness?

The two thugs remained silent, seemingly unfazed by this talk of immortals and spirit possession. It was above their pay grade.

“It sounds like your sister agrees with me,” Roux said, weighing his words carefully. “Maybe she knows that this is all some madman’s obsession with no basis in reality.”

The woman crossed the room in less than half a dozen strides, then swung one hand, slapping him hard across the face without warning.

The noise rang out loudly. His lower lip split under the impact of the blow and his mouth was suddenly filled with the coppery tang of blood. There was no anger behind the slap, more a satisfaction that he had given her the opportunity and excuse to do it. She enjoyed inflicting even this little pain.

She returned to her place behind her brother.

“You must forgive my sister,” Cauchon said. “She is very protective of me and sometimes does the things she thinks I would like to be able to do but, because of the constraints of this chair, am unable to. She is very loyal.”

“I get the picture, even if I don’t really like what it looks like.”

“That’s good,” Cauchon said. “Very good. Now perhaps we can get on with this. I’m a changed man. I would hate for you to suffer for any longer than absolutely necessary.”

“That’s very decent of you.”

Annja held her hand over Garin’s mouth.

“Move back behind the car, keep down. I’ll draw him closer,” she whispered. “Not a sound.”

Once he nodded his understanding she released her grip and allowed him to move.

She had been surprised to see Garin crouching beside the vehicle. There would be time for questions later. Right now she was just glad the band was back together. She grinned at him.

“It’s good to see you.”

He put his finger to his lips.

Annja had caught a glimpse of Roux inside. He wasn’t having tea and biscuits with the madman and his homicidal sister. She resisted the temptation to make some ironic dig about how her white knights had come to rescue the damsel in distress only to wind up needing to be rescued themselves. There’d be time for that later. She gave Garin just long enough to hide himself before she rose.

The guard showed no sign of realizing she was there,
even as she stepped away from the car. He was clearly savoring his nicotine-fueled meditation.

She made a show of stumbling to her knees.

This time he looked up.

“Help,” she said in a voice that was barely above a whisper, weak but just loud enough for the man to hear.

She slumped forward and waited as the man grabbed the Uzi and flicked his cigarette to the ground.

He was faster than she’d expected. She lay still, her eyes closed, listening to the sound of boots running across the snow toward her.

She felt the man’s breath on her cheek as he bent down to be closer.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

It was a stupid question, but was exactly what she would have asked. It was a human response to someone who was hurt.

She resisted the urge to open her eyes until she heard the sound of him being hit—
hard
—and falling. He landed on top of her, driving the air from her lungs.

A moment later the weight was lifted.

Annja scrambled free.

“Well, that was easy,” Garin said.

He relieved the man of his Uzi.

The guard appeared to be dead.

“They’re interrogating Roux,” Annja said, nodding toward the closed door. “What exactly are they chatting about in there?”

“I wish I knew,” Garin replied. “The old man’s not exactly forthcoming at the moment. I think he’s got some noble plan to save your life, but beyond that?” He shrugged.

“So have you boys kissed and made up?”

Garin winced. “Not yet. But at least he isn’t trying to kill me.”

“Would you blame him if he was?”

“Probably not, but I’m not too stubborn to admit we can all make mistakes.”

“Big of you.”

Garin grinned. “I’m just here to try to put things right. You can’t hold that against me, surely?”

“Putting things right by letting Roux sacrifice himself?”

“It’s not about me. It’s not about you. It’s all about Roux. Roux’s the one that this Cauchon has been after all the time. It was about a bigger prize than those papers I stole from the old man’s vault.”

“Talk to me, Garin. I want to know what we’re going up against. I really hate surprises. You should know that by now.”

“He was very secretive about it, but he’s brought a piece of armor here. A breastplate. Joan of Arc’s,” he added meaningfully.

Annja shook her head. It wasn’t a denial; she was trying to understand, to put the pieces together. “But why would he think Roux would have that?” She didn’t like the only answer she could come up with.

“He knows about us.”

“What do you mean, about us?” She frowned.

“The guy must know that there’s a connection between the three of us, and with Joan. That’s what has the old man rattled. All of our secrets are beginning to unravel.”

“How? How is that even possible?” How could Cauchon have discovered this about them?

All Garin could do was shrug.

They weren’t going to learn anything more outside.

Every minute they delayed meant another minute that Roux was alone in there.