A Heartless Design (33 page)

“We’ll find you then,” Sebastien said.

Hartley nodded. “If you can’t come yourselves for any reason, or if you need me to sail elsewhere, send a messenger to the Calais harbor. It’s safe to ask for the
Mistral
…I’ve greased a few palms in this town.”

“If you hear nothing by Thursday night, return to England and report what you know to a Captain Julian Neville. He’ll know what to do next.”

Thorne retrieved their bags and disembarked again, watching just long enough to see Hartley turn the ship about. He hoped he would see it again. But for now, he had work to do. Cordelia needed him.

Thorne and Forester entered the city itself. “Let’s get that address and get Cordelia.”

“We’ll find her,” Forester said encouragingly.

Thorne was not so sanguine. “The man said it was the landlord’s address, not Hayden’s.”

“And how long do you think the landlord will hold out that information against us?” Forester grinned.

Cordelia sat back on the
narrow bed, despairing. Her room was surprisingly comfortable, with soft bedclothes, rather fancy furniture, and clean floors. They had given her new clothes too. She now wore a comfortable though rather old-fashioned dressing gown in the continental style. Her own evening gown was gone, which was no great loss, considering the rips and stains it suffered during her kidnapping.

Even the food was good. But it was still a prison. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been here, but she had made a small mark on her room’s little table with her fork whenever the sun slipped through the tiny window for a few hours. Four days, she thought. No one touched her, but she feared the main jailer—more than she feared Hayden, who she hadn’t seen since he dropped her here.

The jailer knew better than to harm her physically, but the way he looked at her…Cordelia felt her blood run cold. When the door to her room was open, she could see a larger room just beyond, and she knew that men were in it at all times. They usually kept her door open so they could keep an eye on her, though they never made much of a fuss if she asked for it to be closed when she needed privacy. But they locked her in then, and she didn’t like it. Either way, she could hear them talking, either in conversation or sometimes over a card game.

They spoke only French. Cordelia’s French was sadly lacking, but she strained her ears anyway, hoping to put some meaning into their talk. It helped that they clearly thought she knew no French at all. They never lowered their voices, or spoke out of her hearing.

“
Avez vous soif
?” She heard a voice near the door. She looked over. A very young man stood there, looking in at her. “Are you thirsty?” he asked again in English, his accent thick.

“Yes,” Cordelia answered.

“Water.” The boy thrust a bottle at her. “Careful,” he added, softly. “Be sharp if the bottle broke.” It took her a moment to decipher his words.

Cordelia took the bottle, finding the water surprisingly sweet and cool. She drank half the bottle down before she spoke again. “Thank you.”

The boy did not reply, he merely continued to look at her. Cordelia sensed nothing untoward in his inspection, only intense interest. She hadn’t seen this boy before. He was thin, tall for his age—if he was about fifteen as he seemed. He had a rather delicately featured face, framed by messy and unkempt hair. He looked almost elfin.

“Jacques! What are you doing, boy?” the jailer yelled in French.

The lad turned around and snapped something.

The man bickered back, a comment Jacques had no trouble responding to in kind. He, at least, seemed to have no fear of the jailer. Cordelia tried to follow the argument as best she could.

Cordelia nursed the rest of the water, gripping the bottle in her hand. The lad, even if he wasn’t on her side, had been decent. The glass bottle felt cool in her hand. Then Cordelia realized what his words had meant. Glass. No one else had given her glass, because glass could be a weapon. If she had to, she could break the bottle. Cordelia carefully tucked the bottle away in the corner of the room, hidden by the edge of the bed. She felt infinitesimally better. She wondered what Sebastien would do in this situation. Would he have already worked out an escape plan? Would he fight his way out?

Despite everything, she prayed he was looking for her. She was certain he wouldn’t stop until he found her. He must come soon.

* * * *

The landlord’s address proved to be easy to find. The two Zodiac spies discussed how best to approach him. Forester was all for simple bullying to get their answer. His athletic frame and wide shoulders naturally encouraged cooperation from most people, and he often relied on sheer size to intimidate.

Thorne feared making a scene. “I don’t want him to alert anyone that we’re looking. Let’s try something more subtle.”

“Such as?”

“Calais is a market town. We’ll say we’re here to do business with Arceneau and Hayden. The landlord won’t want to get in the way of business.”

“But we forgot the address?”

“Something like that.”

They entered the landlord’s shop, and Thorne fell easily into a persona he’d played before in his work with the Zodiac: the unscrupulous trader who didn’t let national pride get in the way of profit. He guessed it would fit right in with Hayden’s approach.

It worked with the landlord too. Calais had a long history of English traders in the city, and the man didn’t blink when Thorne asked if a man named Hayden or Arceneau was a tenant. Thorne deliberately kept his story vague, only hinting at the need to contact Hayden quickly. With only a minimal amount of bribery, the landlord offered up the directions to the house.

They left again, and now Thorne was ready to do battle. “We have the location. We can go now.”

“You’re not thinking clearly. We might know where she is, but we still need a plan to get her out safely. That means clear thinking.”

Thorne growled, “I hate waiting. If they’ve hurt her, I swear…”

“Calm down, man.” Forester steadied him. “If the lady is in anything less than pristine condition when we find her, I’ll help you dissect the offenders myself. What are friends for, after all?”

The Zodiac spies found the house on Rue Auber with little difficulty. It was in a rather modest neighborhood in the quarter of the city west of the Place d’Armes, the square that held the main market. Most of the buildings here belonged to laboring families, sometimes crammed ten to a floor.

Across the street from the building in question, Thorne saw a house that had a room to let. He went in and learned it was the front garret on the top floor. Secretly elated, he nevertheless haggled fiercely with the owner of the house to rent it, starting immediately.

The men took turns watching the street from the grimy window, trying to decide the best way in. The house with the blue door was a popular one. Men came and went regularly. Soon, they knew the face of each person who passed through the door. Thorne was more and more convinced that the house was indeed where Cordelia was being kept.

“Guards, though,” Forester grunted. “They must always have two or more watching her. We won’t be able to stroll in and simply overpower them.”

“Perhaps we can trick them into leaving all at once?”

“Short of setting the house on fire, which I wouldn’t risk, I doubt they’ll all go. They know they’ve got something valuable.”

The pair continued to watch. One of the most active residents of the house was a slim young man who appeared to be some sort of errand boy. He brought in food, he brought in coal. He carried out letters and came back bearing newspapers and yet more food.

“At least they’re feeding her.” 

“They’d bloody well better,” Thorne growled.

“Watch out,” Forester cautioned. “Don’t lean too close to the glass. They might see you.”

“No one will look up here.”

“The boy might. He’s got eyes," Forester muttered. The slender lad paused on the doorstep, facing their hiding place across the street. The boy raised his head for a moment, adjusting his cap. Forester had the sudden, uncomfortable notion that the boy was tipping his cap in recognition. But then he turned and headed up the street, whistling a jaunty tune. “He’s gone. I don't like that boy.”

“Well, he’s working for the enemy. Although I doubt he knows what he’s into.”

“Nah. He knows. That’s a sharp lad.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Just
look
at him.”

Sebastien looked, and saw the same thing as before: the now retreating figure of a narrow-framed, dark-haired boy. His face did have a certain sharpness about it, with a long, narrow nose and dark eyes. But Thorne didn’t see anything special there. “What am I missing?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t like him. He’s altogether too cheerful.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Thorne sat back, trying to relax. He had to think of a way to get Cordelia safely out of that house.

“We could sneak in the back way? Or even over the roof,” Forester suggested, though without enthusiasm.

“No.” Thorne shook his head. “They’ll see us far too early. What we need is leverage.”

“How so?”

“Hayden. When he shows up, we’ll follow. But we’ll grab
him
, and then bargain for Cordelia.”

“Will that work?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“Sadly, no.”

“Then we wait for Hayden.”

It was late at night
. The room had been warm enough during the day, but a chill had set in with the evening. The stove in the front room didn’t put out enough heat to reach Cordelia. She wrapped herself up tightly in a blanket and lay down on the bed, facing the door.

She didn’t know if she could sleep, but eventually she fell to dozing, her body worn out from days of constant worry. She dreamed Sebastien was with her, beside her. She dreamed that he was holding her, and her coldness seemed to melt away. Cordelia clung to him in her dream, not out of passion, but from pure joy at being able to touch him and be with him. Why had she ever told him that they shouldn’t be together?

“Mademoiselle?” A low voice came from the other side of the door.

She opened her eyes, but it was still dark. “Who’s there?” she whispered.

The voice returned, “Jacques.” 

Cordelia sat up, pulling the blanket with her. “What is it? What’s happening?” She got up off the bed and hurried to the door, which opened a crack.

Jacques stood on the other side, his eyes large but dark in the light of the barely lit lantern on the wall. “Be calm. Nothing right now.” He looked over his shoulder, then continued, striving to keep his English clear. “You will have a visitor soon. Arceneau. Our real employer.”

“What will he do?”

“He wants you to tell him about the ship. Why it’s broken.”

“How do you know this?”

Jacques waved an impatient hand. He muttered something in French and then went on. “Listen. Don’t be noble. Don’t play dumb—he knows you understand this work.” 

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Never mind. He’s going to make you an offer. Give him a good plan for the
Andraste
, and he’ll send you home. He’ll even offer money.”

“I wouldn’t take it,” Cordelia snapped.

“So you say now.” Jaques looked at her in a pitying way. “If you want to get out of here alive, you do as I say. Refuse Arceneau’s offer at first, but not too heartily. Act scared. Give in after a little while. Make him think that he’s won.”

“He will have won.”

“Not quite. Appear to cooperate, but do whatever you can think of to keep him from using the designs right away. Be
slow
.”

“Stall him, you mean? For how long? I can’t get out of here.” Cordelia curled her hands around the handle of the door, as if willing it to dissolve. “Can’t you help me escape?”

Jacques raised an eyebrow. “I’m helping you now,
cherie
.”

“But what can I do once Arceneau gets here?”

“Don’t lose hope,” Jacques whispered. “I probably won’t see you again. But I think you have angels coming for you. I have to go. I can’t be here when Arceneau arrives. But I wish you luck.”

“Why? I’m not on your side.”

The young man looked at her steadily. “I don’t like Arceneau. But I do like you,” Jacques whispered. Without warning, he leaned forward and laid a swift kiss on Cordelia’s lips. She was startled, but not scared. Jacques pulled away and gave her a sudden, wild grin. “
Bon chance
.” And then he was gone.

* * * *

The Zodiac spies slept in fits, trading watches. It was late at night when Thorne cautiously approached the window. They had not dared to light a lamp or candle, lest someone see their position, so his eyes were already adjusted to the darkness.

After several minutes, he sucked in a breath. “It’s Hayden! And he’s not alone.”

The man they were waiting for was walking alongside another man, whose hair was completely white under his hat.

The two reached the house with the blue door and were admitted instantly.

Forester made a satisfied noise. “Well, our bird is in his nest. Odd companion he’s got. Did you notice his hair? Completely white. Think it’s a wig?”

“We can find out when I scalp him.” Thorne clenched one hand into a fist. He had never really felt any sort of battlelust during his time in the army, but he felt it now. Here was the man who was keeping the one person Thorne wanted. And he was finally within reach.

* * * *

The hours had passed with agonizing slowness. Cordelia’s stomach was tied up in knots. She could barely eat any of the food they gave her. She felt like a storm was about to break in the atmosphere above them. And perhaps it was. She knew that if she ever got out of this place, nothing would be the same for her.

Having been forewarned by now-disappeared Jacques, Cordelia was ready when an expensively dressed gentleman entered her room after her supper dishes had been taken away. The jailer trailed him, and locked the door again as a matter of form.

“Mademoiselle Bering?” the gentleman asked in cultured tones. He was slender, with fine clothes that nevertheless looked slightly garish. His hair was startlingly white, considering that he was not old. His deep-set eyes never left Cordelia.