Traitor's Chase (16 page)

Greg had been pleased to hear this—he'd been scheming to ditch Milady somehow. Milady herself had been indignant, but she had ultimately capitulated and stayed with Catherine in the garden.

“What is it that you have traveled so far to find?” Brother Timothy asked now, his voice barely a whisper.

“A magic stone,” Aramis replied. “According to our records at Notre Dame, this city was the last place it was ever seen.”

Timothy gave him a wary glance. “We are men of God, my brother. We do not deal in sorcery.”

Aramis nodded. “Of course. I'm well aware of that. But you also record history. I know what I speak of sounds impossible, but I can assure you that the Devil's Stone exists.”

Greg heard a sharp gasp at the mention of the Devil's Stone. On the far side of the library, an elderly monk had lifted his head from his work. The surprise in his eyes was visible from across the room.

Aramis made a beeline for him. Greg and Timothy followed. Greg caught a glimpse of the page of text the old man was working on; it didn't look like any book he had ever seen. The writing was beautiful, ornate calligraphy and the borders of each page were filled with elaborate illustrations. “This is Brother Leo,” Timothy said. “He is the finest artist we have here.”

“I assume, from your reaction, that you know of the Devil's Stone?” Aramis asked eagerly.

“I do, although I have not thought of it in a long, long time.” Leo's voice was tired and raspy. “I translated the tale of it from Latin when I was as young as Brother Timothy. At first, I considered it a waste of time; the story was too fantastical to take seriously. But Brother Francis, the head of St. Trophimus at the time, insisted that it was of great importance.”

“Is your translation still here?” Greg asked.

Leo nodded, waved Timothy to his side, and instructed him where to find the text. Timothy hurried off into the warren of bookshelves to find it.

“Do you recall much of the story?” Aramis asked.

Brother Leo's eyes sparkled. “Quite a lot. It was one of the more interesting works I've ever done here. How much do the two of you know of the stone?”

“We know it can make men immortal—and it can allow travel through time,” Greg replied.

Brother Leo shook his head and chuckled. “That's true, I suppose. But I think you boys misunderstand the true power of the stone: When one holds it, it will make one's greatest desire come true.”

“There are no limits to its power?” Aramis questioned.

“Well, I suppose there must be some,” Leo admitted. “But not many. That's why the stone was regarded as being so dangerous. Humans are ill equipped to rein in their desires when given so much power. Those who held the stone generally tried to conquer their fellow men, rather than helping them. I assume you've heard of Alexander the Great. Julius Caesar. Caligula. Nero …”

“They all had the stone?” Greg asked.

“So the legend goes,” Leo replied. “And when men weren't doing bad things with the stone, they were doing even worse things to obtain it. Battles were fought for it. Rivers of blood were spilled. Finally, after the reign of Constantine the Third, a few wise men in this city decided mankind was unfit to have the stone. So they destroyed it. They broke the stone in two and had the halves taken to the farthest ends of the Empire.”

“Where?” Greg asked.

Brother Leo laughed. “There wouldn't be much point to hiding the pieces of the stone if everyone knew where they were hidden.”

Greg frowned, feeling foolish. “I understand that,” he said. “But we aren't seeking the stone for the same reasons others have.”

“That's what everyone who comes looking for it says,” Leo replied.

Greg started to press his point, but Aramis laid a hand on his arm, signaling him to back down, then tried a different tactic. “Surely, there must be more to the story of the stone, Brother?”

Leo nodded. “Yes, but the details have grown hazy in my mind. You'll have to consult the text for the rest.... Ah! Here comes Brother Timothy now.”

To Leo's surprise, however, Timothy emerged from the bookshelves empty-handed, a look of grave concern on his face. “This text,” the young monk said. “It's not there.”

“It must have been misplaced,” Leo said. “Someone removed it and didn't return it properly.”

“Well, it wasn't one of our brothers,” Timothy said. “I'm the librarian. Anyone who requires anything from here comes to me first. If that text was moved, it was done without permission.”

Greg was suddenly struck by a chilling thought. “Do you ever have travelers stay here?”

“Yes,” Timothy replied. “The cloister offers a place to rest for all who are weary. Why?”

“By any chance, did you offer rooms to two men around two months ago?” Greg asked. “They would have looked quite similar, almost like twins, but one was somewhat older than the other and was missing a hand.”

Timothy's eyes went wide. “How on earth did you know …?”

“Because we're hunting those men,” Greg replied. “They're looking for the Devil's Stone. And I'd bet anything that they stole the text.”

A ripple of shock went through the room. Every monk looked up from his desk.

Aramis grew uneasy with all the attention. “Could you excuse us?” he asked. “I need to talk to my colleague here in private.” He dragged him into a corner and whispered to him. “How'd you know Dinicoeur and Richelieu had been here?”

“Because Dinicoeur found the stone once before,” Greg explained. “And now I think I know how: the same way you did. He found the reference to the White City of Constantine at Notre Dame, then came here and found the text, which helped him track down both halves of the stone.”

“So why return for the text again?” Aramis asked. “He already knows where the pieces of the stone are.”

“True, but he doesn't want
us
to know. Or anyone else.”

“Of course! I should have figured that out myself.” Aramis sighed sadly. “Without that text, we've hit a dead end. The only one who knows how to find the Devil's Stone is Dinicoeur.”

“Maybe not,” Greg said. “Catherine might know a bit more than she realizes.”

“Like what?”

“There's a chance one half of the stone might be back in Paris.”

“Paris?” Aramis gasped. “Then why didn't Dinicoeur get it already?”

“I was wondering that myself,” Greg said. “Maybe Catherine's wrong. Brother Leo said the Romans hid the halves of the stone at the farthest ends of the Roman Empire.”

“A thousand years ago, Spain and Paris
would
have been the farthest ends of the Roman Empire,” Aramis told him. “Catherine may be right. It's Dinicoeur's route that doesn't make sense. If only we had that text …”

There was a sudden commotion from the hall outside the library. The doors burst open and Porthos and Athos stormed in, with Milady and Catherine in their wake. “There you are!” Porthos's booming voice was like a bomb in the quiet library. “We've found out something important: There are no horses for sale in Arles.”

“What?” Aramis asked. “How can that be? The town is surrounded by farms.”

“Well, there
were
some horses for sale,” Athos elaborated. “Quite a lot, we understand—but two days ago, some men bought them all.”

Greg felt the hairs on the back of his neck prick up, as though something was very wrong. “Exactly how many horses are we talking about here?”

“The last merchant we talked to had sold half a dozen,” Porthos replied. “The merchant before that had sold eight—and the one before that had sold ten.”

“All to the same group of men?” Greg asked.

Athos nodded. “Plus, they cleaned out the market. Every vegetable, fruit, chicken, fish, and pig. Apparently, this city was empty yesterday. Everyone had to go back to their farms to get more food.”

“Where'd they go with it all?” Greg asked.

Porthos pointed out the window toward the pontoon bridge. “That way.”

Greg swallowed. Arles sat on the eastern side of the river. Across the bridge was the way to Spain. “Were the men who bought everything Spanish?”

“I asked that very question myself,” Athos said. “No one could say for sure—although they'd never seen these men here before.”

“There's only one reason I can think of that anyone could possibly need that much food,” Greg said. “They're feeding an army.”

Catherine gave a gasp of worry. Greg noticed she'd gone pale. But then he wondered if he'd done the same. Although the prospect of an invasion had been raised before, he'd figured that the most Dinicoeur could muster would be a small force, not an entire army.

“Yes, an army,” Porthos said gravely. “A big one. And if they're stocking up on food from here, then they're probably not far away.”

SIXTEEN

“W
E NEED TO SEND A PIGEON TO
P
ARIS
,” M
ILADY SAID
. “And we need to do it at once.”

The Musketeers and Catherine raced after her as she stormed through the city, heading for the boat, where they'd left the birds.

“Now wait,” Athos said. “Let's not be hasty. So far, it's only a guess that Dominic has an army.”

“Oh, let's not go through
this
again,” Milady snapped. “We know Dominic is allied with Spain. We know that a group of people who appear to be from Spain are fielding an army close by. And we know from the map that Dominic has learned the location of every secret entrance into Paris. How much more evidence do you need? Would you like him to conquer the city before your eyes?”

“No,” Athos said. “But we have only five pigeons. We don't want to make a mistake. We're assuming that Dominic is connected to this army, but we have no real proof. I think we ought to do a little more reconnaissance before we sound the alarm.”

Greg noticed Milady and Aramis share a glance. Something unspoken passed between them.

“I think Milady's right,” Aramis said. “There's no time to waste. If Dominic has truly amassed an army and is headed for Paris, then we need to alert our own army to begin preparing as quickly as possible.”

“And what if we're wrong?” Athos demanded.

“Then we send another pigeon,” Aramis said. “We have four more.”

Athos began to protest, but before he could, Porthos asked, “Can you conceive of any other explanation for the evidence we've found besides Dominic fielding an army?”

Athos bit his lip. “No,” he admitted. “But that doesn't mean there
isn't
another explanation.”

“True, but I still side with Aramis,” Porthos said. “Better to send the alert now. How about you, D'Artagnan?”

Greg hesitated. He didn't want to upset Athos, but the others' arguments all made sense. Greg wondered if, perhaps, Athos was only sticking to his guns because sending the pigeon had been Milady's idea in the first place. “I think we should send the bird,” he said finally.

They reached the boat. The birds were right where they'd left them, chirping happily in their cages.

Aramis wrote the note to the king on a small scrap of parchment:

He signed the note, then tied it tightly to the leg of one of the pigeons with a bit of twine.

The pigeon fluttered its wings as Aramis lifted it from the cage, excited to fly after weeks in captivity. It took to the air immediately, circled their heads twice to get its bearings—and then made a beeline for Paris.

The sun was beginning to set. Without horses, there was no point in trying to leave the city so late in the day. So everyone returned to Saint Trophimus.