Double Cross (9 page)

Milady herself stood in the center of the room. Rather than appear surprised by Greg's intrusion, she seemed pleased by it. “Welcome,” she said with a smile. “I'm so pleased you could make it.”

It's a trap,
Greg thought, and he turned to warn the others. But he was too late. There were four men behind them, blocking the way out. Greg recognized all of them. He'd last seen them in the woods near the Pont du Gard. Three were members of Condé's army. And the fourth—the handsome man with the devilish grin—was the Prince of Condé himself.

ELEVEN

“D
ROP YOUR WEAPONS
,” C
ONDÉ ORDERED.

Greg had no choice. He let his sword fall. Catherine and his parents dropped the weapons they'd been carrying as well.

“I am impressed. You are a very difficult person to kill,” Condé told Greg. “I have no idea how you escaped from Les Baux. Apparently, if I want you dead, I'll have to kill you myself.” He took a step toward Greg. The blade of his sword flashed in the light.

“Not yet,” Milady said sharply.

Condé stopped in his tracks like a well-trained dog. “Why not?”

“He still has information that is of value to us,” Milady replied.

“I already told you, I don't know where the other Musketeers are,” Greg said.

“I very much doubt that's true.” Milady sighed. “However, there is
other
information I need from you. Something I couldn't bring up in front of the king.” She held up the amulet, letting the piece of the Devil's Stone dangle before Greg's eyes. “Where is the other half of this?”

“I don't know,” Greg said.

Milady came closer, studying him carefully. “Now
that
I believe. But you have some idea as to where it might be, yes? You and Aramis have been working hard on this, because Dinicoeur
does
know where the other half is, correct?”

“Yes,” Greg said. Denying it seemed pointless. Milady probably already knew the truth.

Milady smiled. “The real question is, exactly what can this stone do when both halves are brought together?”

“I don't know,” Greg said again.

“Back to lying now, are you?” Milady asked. “That is very disappointing, Gregory.”

Greg flinched in surprise. It was the first time he'd ever heard Milady say his real name.

She smiled in response. “Oh, yes. I know much more about you than I've let on.” She turned to Condé. “Keep an eye on the parents and Catherine. I need to talk to Gregory here in private.”

“But . . . ,” Condé began, looking concerned.

“Don't worry,” Milady said. She picked up Greg's sword off the floor and jabbed it into Greg's back. “He won't cause me any trouble.”

With that, she forced Greg through one of the other doors and into a much smaller room, barely bigger than a closet. When Milady spun Greg around to face her, there were only a few inches between them. Although Milady kept the point of her sword tucked just below Greg's chin, there was no longer loathing in her eyes. Instead, she actually looked friendly.

“I know you think you're doing the chivalrous thing by refusing to tell me what I want to know,” she said. “But you're fighting a losing battle. There are more of Condé's men inside the city than just those in the other room. Tonight, they will take the city gates by surprise from the inside. Then they'll allow the army through, and Paris will fall. Meanwhile, Condé will murder Louis in his sleep. And just like that, Paris will have a new king. There is nothing you or your Musketeers can do about it.”

Greg tried to remain tough before Milady. He didn't want to give her the pleasure of seeing him crack. But he couldn't do it. He knew she wasn't bluffing about her plans—and the truth was, he
didn't
know how to prevent it from happening. Tonight, despite everything he'd done, despite everything he'd been through, world history was going to change.

However, Milady didn't seem pleased by the effect this information had on Greg. Instead, she seemed concerned. “Now, now,” she said, placing a comforting hand on his arm. “There's no need to be so unhappy. In fact, there's a very good opportunity here for you. The next king of France doesn't necessarily have to be Condé.”

Greg's eyes went wide. He stared at Milady in disbelief.
No,
he thought.
She couldn't possibly be that duplicitous.

“Yes,” Milady said, as though she'd read his thoughts. “I mean you.”

“I thought you loved Condé,” Greg said. “I thought you were going to be his queen.”

“In the history of royalty, love has never been a prerequisite for being a queen,” Milady countered. “Royal marriages have always been about one thing: power. Now, Condé has the means to overthrow the throne—although frankly, he never would have been able to pull it off without me. But once that's done, he brings very little to the equation. He's nice to look at, but he's not very bright. You, on the other hand, are very clever. Far smarter than just about anyone else I've met. But then, I suspect that's because you're from the future, correct?”

Greg did his best to hide his surprise that Milady knew this. “That's not true,” Greg said weakly.

“Oh come now,” Milady said. “There's no use denying it. I'm quite intelligent myself. Certainly smart enough to know that nothing like this could have been built in this day and age.” With that, she held up Greg's phone.

Greg stared at it. He was relieved to see it was still intact and could still get him home again. But Milady was currently holding all the cards. Right now, there didn't seem to be anything he could do except play along with her.

“You're right,” he said. “I'm from the future.”

Milady grinned, pleased with herself. “How far in the future?”

“About four hundred years.”

For once, Milady looked surprised. “So then, Dinicoeur isn't Richelieu's twin at all? He's a descendant of his from the future?”

Greg didn't answer right away, and Milady rightfully understood that his hesitation was an answer in itself. She stepped back, and Greg could see that her mind was racing. A look of fascination overcame her as she put everything together. “No,” she said. “He's not a descendant. He's Richelieu himself! My goodness, this stone doesn't merely make time travel possible. It can also make one immortal?”

“Yes,” Greg admitted. “Though I think Dinicoeur has learned that's not as great as it sounds.”

“Then we can learn from his mistakes,” Milady said. “What else can the stone do?”

“That's it,” Greg lied. “Isn't that enough for you?”

Milady didn't catch his lie; she was too distracted with visions of glory.

“Yes,” she said. “That could be very handy indeed. So I want you to think very carefully about your choices, Gregory. If you try to stand in my way, things won't work out well for you—and your family and your girlfriend out there will be lucky to survive the next five minutes. But if you work with me and help get the other half of this stone, the world will be ours for the taking. Just imagine combining the power of the throne with the power of the stone. We could create an empire bigger than that of Alexander the Great, Julius Caesar, or Genghis Khan . . . and we could rule it for eternity. Now which sounds better to you?”

Despite his best instincts, Greg found himself disturbingly tempted by Milady's offer. It certainly made a twisted sort of sense. Taking the moral high ground sounded great in theory, but what good would it do if it only got him and the people he cared about killed? Why not team up with Milady instead and become rich, powerful, and immortal? He could help everyone then. As Greg stared into Milady's gorgeous blue eyes, he found himself thinking that it wouldn't be so bad to have her as his queen as well. True, she had betrayed him before, but she was so beautiful. . . .

No,
he thought.
What am I thinking?
And then, he found himself wondering if it was even
him
thinking at all. There was something eerily hypnotic about Milady's stare. And now that Greg thought about it, he could almost feel her mind working on his, Milady trying to worm her way into his consciousness. His eyes flicked to the Devil's Stone. It seemed to be pulsing in her hand somehow. If he concentrated, he could feel the energy from it.

Could the Devil's Stone let you control people's minds?
Greg knew this piece had powers by itself. Or maybe it could just enhance a person's normal abilities. After all, his mother had worn it plenty of times—but then, she'd never known that the stone had any powers and thus would never have tried to use them. Milady, on the other hand, was determined to harness the stone's strength. Without it, she was already the most manipulative person Greg had ever met. With it, she seemed almost impossible to refuse. That would explain how quickly she'd bent King Louis to her will, how smitten he'd become with her. . . .

And she planned to betray him.

The same went for Condé. He, too, was willing to do anything for her, and now Milady was confiding to Greg that she would happily toss him aside as well.

Which meant that if Greg accepted Milady's offer, she'd most likely betray him, too. Milady didn't care about him. She didn't care about anyone except herself. All she wanted from Greg was his help finding the other half of the Devil's Stone. Once he did that, he'd no longer be of any use to her. In fact, the only reason he was still alive was because Milady thought he knew far more than he actually did about where the other half was.

Realizing this, Greg suddenly felt immune to Milady's power. He would use this situation to at least save Catherine and his parents. And he'd try to leverage his new “alliance” to get more information about Condé's plans. He looked back into Milady's eyes. He no longer saw her as beautiful and enticing, but as the cruel and calculating person he knew she was.

He didn't let Milady know this, however. Instead, he acted as though he'd been completely entranced by her. He tried to mimic the smitten expression he'd seen on King Louis. “You're right,” he said. “Ruling an empire does sound better. Especially with you by my side.”

Milady smiled coyly and batted her eyes. “I know we've had our differences in the past,” she said. “But I've always thought you were very handsome.”

“Just to be clear, though,” Greg said. “If we do this, my parents and Catherine don't get hurt. You'll let them go right now?”

Milady finally lowered her sword from Greg's neck. “Right now,” she said reassuringly.

“And you'll tell the king that they are no threat to him and neither am I?”

“Of course.” Milady leaned so close to Greg, he could feel her breath on him. “And then, you and I will go find the other half of this stone.”

Greg felt himself being enticed again.
Don't trust her,
he had to remind himself.
Just play along until you figure out what to do.
“Yes,” he said. “I'll do whatever you want me to do.”

Milady pulled away from him, smiling. “You've made a very good decision,” she said.

There suddenly came the sounds of a scuffle on the other side of the door, followed by several startled cries. Milady quickly threw open the door—only to find Michel Dinicoeur waiting on the other side.

TWELVE

C
ONDÉ AND HIS MEN WERE SPRAWLED ON THE ATTIC FLOOR
behind Dinicoeur, out cold. They'd been taken by surprise so quickly they hadn't even put up a fight. Greg's parents and Catherine were still conscious, cowering in a corner. Dominic Richelieu held them at sword point. Either he was unaware that Dinicoeur had made a last-ditch attempt to kill Stefan, or he'd gotten over it.

For a moment, Greg thought that Dinicoeur and Milady might have teamed up against him, but then Milady screamed in horror, and Greg realized she wasn't faking. Dinicoeur had caught her by surprise as well. She hadn't expected that he'd find her here—and she obviously hadn't seen what had happened to him since the Pont du Gard.

She tried to raise her sword against him, but he shoved her backward into Greg, and both of them fell to the floor. The phone clattered to the ground. The amulet flew from Milady's hand and Dinicoeur caught it in midair. “You really think I didn't know about your little hideout here?” he snarled at Milady, dangling the amulet tauntingly. “This is the price you pay for foolishness.” With that, he pulled another grenade from the satchel that hung around his neck, touched the wick to one of the lamps in the room, and tossed it at Greg before fleeing with Richelieu.

The grenade bounded across the floor and plunked into Greg's lap. Greg glanced at the wick. It was almost burnt out already. There might have been time for him to run, but his parents and Catherine were too far from the door. They'd be blown to bits.

There were only a few seconds to act. Greg snatched the grenade, leaped onto the table in the center of the room, then slam-dunked the bomb through one of the ceiling vents. It tumbled down the edge of the roof and exploded outside. The room shook violently from the blast, and centuries' worth of dust dislodged from the ceiling, but no one was hurt.

Catherine quickly grabbed Condé's sword and started toward one of the doors. “They went this way!” she told Greg. “We can still catch up to them.”

“Let me go after them,” Greg told her, grabbing his phone and stuffing it into the folds of his clothes. “Tie up Milady and Condé and their men and then get my parents to Notre Dame. I'll meet up with all of you there.” Before Catherine or his parents could protest, he raced out of the room.

It felt wonderful to have his phone back, but it wouldn't do him any good if Dinicoeur had the Devil's Stone. Even though he was outnumbered and worn out, he had no choice but to go after them.

The door his enemies had fled through led to another narrow staircase, which in turn took Greg upward to a trapdoor in the ceiling. He scrambled through it and suddenly found himself on the roof of the palace. The Louvre varied greatly in height from place to place, so the roof had many levels, and Greg now found himself at its highest point. In fact, save for the bell towers of Notre Dame, he was at the highest point in all of Paris, a small flat area atop a dramatic peak of the roof, ten stories above the main entrance to the castle. Nearby, the roof slanted downward steeply toward a much larger stretch that covered the northern wing of the Louvre. From where he stood, Greg could see down into the courtyard, which served as a training ground for the military. Much of the palace below was lined by several stories of scaffolding, as the building was still under construction. Lots of workmen and a dozen members of the king's guard were staring up toward him. The explosion of the grenade had probably drawn their attention, but now he, Dinicoeur, and Richelieu had it.

Dinicoeur and Richelieu had disappeared over the edge of the roof. Greg found them scurrying down a ladder built into the steep incline toward the northern wing. Rather than take the time to climb down the ladder, he simply leaped onto the steep slope and slid down it. He rocketed over the smooth slate tiles and hit the lower roof just behind his enemies.

Greg was still eight stories above the ground. A narrow, level walkway ran straight down the middle of the roof, but from there, each side slanted precariously toward a stone railing studded with massive statues of gods and cherubs.

“Hold him off!” Dinicoeur ordered, and Richelieu withdrew his sword, blocking the narrow walkway, while his older self scurried off with the amulet.

Greg held up his sword as well and fended off the attack. “How can you still trust him?” he asked Richelieu. “He tried to kill your son!”

“And he stopped when I told him not to,” Richelieu replied. “He was trying to do what was best for us. He and I are the same, after all.”

“No,” Greg said. “You're not the same. He's too obsessed with revenge to think about what's best for you anymore.”

“That's not true!” Richelieu shouted, and charged Greg again.

“Really?” Greg asked, parrying. “He left a grenade in Teresa's house after you two fled. Even after you told him not to, he still tried to kill your son.”

Richelieu paused, and in that moment Greg saw that he'd guessed right: Although Richelieu and Dinicoeur had the same body, they were not exactly the same man anymore. Richelieu's mind hadn't been warped by centuries of anger and plotting revenge. Not yet. He wasn't a good man, but at least he seemed capable of reason. And yet he still couldn't bring himself to believe that Greg's words were true. “No,” he said.

“You heard the explosion, didn't you?” Greg asked.

“That was one of Condé's cannons firing at the city.”

Greg shook his head. “No, it wasn't,” he said simply.

“He would never betray me like that!” Richelieu's eyes filled with anger. Perhaps it was at Dinicoeur, but he directed it toward Greg, attacking again.

Behind Richelieu, Greg could see Dinicoeur getting away. He was carefully picking his way down the roof to a place where the scaffolding was highest. His good hand clutched the amulet, the Devil's Stone gleaming darkly in the light of the setting sun. If Dinicoeur got away with it now, Greg doubted he'd ever get it back.

“He
did
betray you,” Greg told Richelieu. “And you know it. He's insane. He's so determined to have his revenge on me and the Musketeers that he's willing to kill his own son.
Your
son.”

“No!” Richelieu yelled again. He charged, full of fury, slashing his sword.

Greg sidestepped him on the narrow walkway, letting Richelieu's momentum carry him past, then raced after Dinicoeur. Richelieu recovered and took up the chase.

Suddenly, an arrow whistled past Greg's ear.

Down in the courtyard, the king's guard had recognized him. Now they were opening fire as well—as though
he
were the enemy here.

Great,
Greg thought.
As if I didn't have enough going on right now.

He reached the point where Dinicoeur had gone down the roof. There was no time for caution; Greg simply ran down the slant. Another arrow came flying toward him. He dodged it, but stumbled and picked up too much momentum on the slope. He flew down the incline and slammed into the railing so hard that he pitched over it. His legs flipped over his head and for one dizzying moment, he fell.

And then he slammed into the scaffolding. He landed flat on his back on the wooden planks. He'd only dropped ten feet, but it was enough to knock the wind out of him. He sat up, his ears ringing, and saw Dinicoeur racing down the scaffold not far ahead. Greg might have taken a bad fall—but he'd gained a lot of ground.

He'd also lost his sword, however. He spotted it teetering on the edge of a plank, but as he lunged for it, it fell and tumbled into the courtyard.

It landed at the feet of the soldiers, who loaded a new round of arrows into their bows.

Greg looked around desperately for a new plan. There was a pallet full of masonry—huge pieces of limestone for the facade of the palace—dangling from a winch nearby. A chunk of wood had been wedged into the pulley to keep it from moving. Greg snatched up a piece of lumber the size of a baseball bat and smacked the chunk as hard as he could. It popped loose, releasing the pallet, which plummeted downward.

The soldiers scattered as it crashed into the ground where they'd just been standing. A thick cloud of limestone dust billowed into the air, creating a smoke screen for Greg to escape. He charged after Dinicoeur.

The scaffolding shook as Richelieu dropped onto it behind Greg.

Dinicoeur tried to flee into the palace. He heaved a piece of masonry through a window and started to climb inside, but Greg caught up to him before he could. Greg lowered his shoulder and slammed into Dinicoeur with all his might, and the two of them cartwheeled along the scaffold. The amulet tumbled free and bounded over the edge.

Greg dove and, at the last moment, caught the final link of the silver chain.

Then he scrambled away just as Dinicoeur lunged for him. He almost made it, but Dinicoeur snagged his heel and latched on like a pit bull. “Give me the stone!” he roared.

Greg looked into the disgusting mask of burnt flesh. At this range, he could smell Dinicoeur as well. The man had a nauseating stench, like meat that had gone bad.

Behind him on the scaffolding, Richelieu was bearing down, his sword aimed right for Greg's chest.

Greg spotted a rope that dangled down the scaffolding, attached to a winch high above. He grabbed onto it and, with his free leg, booted Dinicoeur in the mouth. Dinicoeur howled in pain, releasing his grip on Greg's leg.

Greg leaped off the scaffold just as Richelieu slashed at him. He felt the wind as the sword sliced the air beside him. He swung out on the rope, away from the scaffold and his enemies—and straight toward a huge window. There was no way Greg could alter his course. All he could do was brace for impact. He smashed through the glass, sailed into the palace, and rolled across the floor.

A chorus of screams greeted his arrival.

Greg looked up to find he'd landed in the laundry room, with a dozen laundresses staring at him.

“Sorry for the intrusion,” Greg told them, and ran for the door.

Out the window behind him, he could hear Dinicoeur far away on the scaffolding, bellowing with rage. “That stone won't be yours for long!” he roared. “I'll find you again long before you ever find the other half!”

Greg didn't even look back. He just ran on through the palace, determined to quickly get as far away as he could.

He hung the amulet around his neck as he ran, but still kept his hand clenched around the stone. He couldn't believe he actually had it again—as well as his phone—but he was all too aware how quickly this prize had slipped through his fingers before. He wasn't familiar with all the secret passages like Catherine, but he did know some less traveled ways through the palace after the months he'd lived there. He moved quickly through rarely used rooms and down forgotten staircases, finally reaching an unguarded door.

He stepped out into the streets of Paris. To the west, he could see the summer sun sinking behind the city wall. That made it around nine o'clock at night. Greg felt as though he'd been moving constantly for almost eighteen hours. He'd never been so exhausted in his life. And yet there was still much more he had to do. Although every part of his body ached with fatigue, he quickly started through the alleys toward Notre Dame.

He hadn't gotten more than a few steps when several men suddenly stepped from the shadows, surrounding him. “D'Artagnan! Stop!” one ordered.

Greg whirled around. The men were coming at him from all sides. He could see their uniforms now—the king's guard. There were too many of them to outrun, and even if he had been talented enough to fight them all, he had no weapon. He slipped the amulet into his shirt and raised his hands in defeat.

The guard directly ahead of him broke into laughter. Then he stepped into the light of the setting sun, revealing his face.

Athos.