Gonnes of navarre, p.18
Gonnes Of Navarre, page 18
“Perhaps never to your face,” Jacquemart said, “but I imagine there are quite a few who have said such things under their breath or behind your back, Mademoiselle.”
Someone else snickered, but when Robin looked about he could not determine whence it came, though several of the guard stood red-faced, as if stifling the urge to laugh. Even Laurens hung his head and smirked.
Robin squared his shoulders and scowled at the man as he stepped round the chair to face him. The guard gave way for him, though remained close by so he would not try anything foolish. “I fail to see how you find this so amusing. Do you realize you face the hangman’s noose, or worse?” He lowered his face until it hovered just in front of the prisoner’s. “I want to know who you really are, and what you are doing here!”
“’Tis plain what he is really doing here,” d’Alle snapped. “He is here for my gonnes!”
Robin turned and glared at the clockmaker, who stood at his side with his hands planted on his hips and trying his best to stand over their prisoner. Yet despite being bound and seated, Jacquemart merely smirked up at the fellow, not the least bit cowed or intimidated.
“Quiet!” Robin snarled, and d’Alle flinched at the fire in his voice. He reached out and seized the woodworker by the chin, and forcibly turned him back to face him. “Answer me: Who are you, what are you doing here, and where is your wife?”
The smirk never left Jacquemart’s face. He said nothing, and just stared back. His patience already worn thin by de Carcassonne’s foolishness and d’Alle’s constant complaining, Robin’s hand flew and struck the man hard across the jaw. Jacquemart’s head wrenched around, blood sprayed from his busted lip, and though Robin’s blow succeeded in knocking the smirk from his features, his countenance remained defiant.
“Where is she?!”
“I beg your pardon, Monsieur,” Laurens interjected, “but are you sure she is part of this? She seemed such a timid, uncertain thing whenever I have seen her—”
Robin speared him on his glare. “Not one more word. I have been a goddamned fool! Every one of you I am sure would know her by sight. Monsieur le Comte has not been back a day and even he knows her! And because she is so recognizable ’tis obvious I would not even consider her a threat when Pierre is attacked by a woman yet cannot remember what she looked like. Of course she is a spy. And a perfect one, at that!”
He turned to Therot. “Take some men and secure the armory. Now! Then have this entire place searched for her. I want her found, and I want her al—”
Robin did not have a chance to finish. The great hall was rattled by a sudden roar like thunder, and everyone froze in shock. Then it passed, and he heard a commotion outside the hall and the rushing of many feet as people scrambled into motion. Sudden realization dawned on him, and icy fingers seized him by the heart.
“The armory,” he muttered, under his breath. “The armory!” he shouted, and turned to the guards. “Aimery! Baulduin! Stay here and keep watch on the prisoner. Laurens, take Rapine and clear the hall. Master d’Alle, remain here with Aimery and Baulduin, and the rest of you come with me!”
Everyone snapped into motion. Laurens gathered Rapine and led her from the great hall, while the company surgeon helped the injured guardsman back to his feet and followed after. The rest of the guard formed ranks around him, but d’Alle danced about and wrung his hands on his apron.
“My gonnes! My gonnes!” he cried, and jabbed an accusing finger at Robin. “You said you had everything in order, and now look at what has happened! All of that work will be for nothing if she gets away!”
Robin rounded on him, seized him by the front of his doublet, and dragged him closer. “Do not test me now, Master Clockmaker. I have had enough of it for a lifetime! Stay here and out of my way.”
He released him with a shove, then spun on his heel and rushed for the doors. The rest of the guard fell into step behind him.
Robin rushed through the halls, shouldering his way past serving staff and guests who milled about in fright and confusion. By now everyone in the keep had emerged from whatever rooms they were in to see what the commotion was about, and it took a great deal of yelling, cajoling, and the guard making use of their halberds to push the crowds aside for him to reach the nearest exit to the bailey.
He burst out, heedless of the cold, and found the scene outside no less chaotic. Guards and workers rushed madly around the side of the keep, and Robin spied the telltale orange glow of a raging fire just around to the left along the side of the keep’s outer wall. Cries of alarm echoed across the bailey, along with a deeper, crackling rumble. Robin slipped in the mush and mud churned up by the passage of so many people through the snow-swept grounds, and so staggered more than ran round the corner, and into a nightmare.
The armory had all but ceased to exist, with only a few timbers and shattered walls left to mark its former location. Great, towering pillars of flame leapt up from the wreckage, and poured thick black smoke into the sky. Debris continued to rain down, some of it falling dangerously close to the keep itself, as men scrambled to douse the flames with snow or water drawn from one of the wells on the grounds. No one could approach the wreckage of the armory itself. Guardsmen formed an orderly line of men bearing buckets in a desperate effort to extinguish the inferno, but the oil and pitch that had once been stowed within stubbornly resisted their firefighting. Others organized the men and women of the staff, and even a few of de Carcassonne’s guests who had responded to the blast. Of de Carcassonne himself Robin saw no sign; not even his personal guard.
“Monsieur! Monsieur!” a voice called, and Robin craned his neck. One of the guard waved frantically for his attention from the far side of the crowd. He seized Theron by the arm and motioned to the blaze.
“I want every man in the guard not currently on duty summoned,” he snapped. “Get these flames under control for God’s sake before it sets the whole damn castle on fire!”
“Yes, Monsieur!” Theron replied, and directed the men who followed, while Robin dove into the crowd of onlookers.
He pushed through them, most distracted by the scene unfolding before them, but others recognized the sight of his arms and gave way so he could pass. After a few moments Robin emerged into an empty space where several men lay on the ground. Some coughed and hacked, others groaned. Frederick met him as he broke free of the mob and directed him to one of the wounded.
“How are they, Frederick?”
“Most of them just got too much smoke, Monsieur,” the guardsman replied. “But, Monsieur, ’tis Pierre who is the worst off!”
“Pierre?”
Robin frowned as he was led to where Pierre lay. He moaned pitiably beneath several blankets, with more laid out beneath him on top of the snow, while several of the household staff tended to him. Robin stopped and knelt beside him. Pierre’s face was drawn and pale, and he grimaced in pain.
“Pierre,” Robin said, and reached out to take him by the shoulder. “Pierre, ’tis me, what happened?”
Pierre groaned. “The...whole thing. She blew it up!” he said.
“What?”
“’Twas the laundry maid, Monsieur. She was dressed up as a guardsman. She was with that other fellow; he struck her and ran off, and ’twas not until I came to help that I realized ’twas a ruse. But it was her. The one from Isabeau’s.”
Robin balled his fists. “Are you sure?”
Pierre nodded weakly. “Now that I saw her face again, I am sure of it. I don’t... I don’t know how I missed it before.”
“Where is she now?”
“I don’t know,” Pierre moaned. “She asked me about passwords — I did not tell her, Monsieur, not a word! — and then she set the whole armory on fire. I think... I think she might have taken something, but there was nothing I could do. The whole thing blew up, and I got speared in my leg. When I woke up again ’twas to find myself lying here, and chaos all around.”
“Damn it! How could I be such a fool?!” Robin spat. “’Twas all one misdirection after another! Jacquemart was just a distraction. She was the mastermind all this time!”
“I tried, Monsieur, I tried ...”
But Robin was no longer listening. He stood and stormed back to the ring of people surrounding them, and with a cry of “Guards!” plunged back through again, forcing past people until he reached the other side once more. “Guards! With me! With me!”
Those of the guard not occupied battling against the conflagration in the remains of the armory reacted promptly and gathered round. “Have my horse saddled and get as many others together as you can and quickly. We have a spy in our midst, and they may be attempting to flee the city. Sound the alert, and have the gates sealed at once!”
“Yes, Monsieur!” one shouted, and rushed ahead to carry out his instructions. Robin ordered his party then turned for the gate.
More people by now had joined the crowd around the burning armory, gawking at the inferno, or pitching in in the desperate effort to combat the blaze. But they had made no further headway. By now, de Carcassonne had also appeared outside the doorway, and watched the scene, dumbstruck. Robin turned his head aside to avoid a summons, but he need not have bothered; de Carcassonne’s attention was held so rapt by the scene before him he never noticed him pass by on their way around the wall of the keep. Within a few moments Robin and his party were out of sight, with only the telltale orange glow of the fire, and the acrid stench of burning pitch and oil hanging in the air, to remind him of its presence.
As they neared the main gate, Robin observed a knot of bodies clustered together near the stable, all speaking animatedly. When they noted his approach, one detached himself from the group, and hurried to intercept him. It was the runner he had dispatched.
“Monsieur!” the man said, out of breath from the debate with the guard, and the effort of rushing across the frozen bailey. “Beg your pardon, Monsieur, but we have another problem.”
Robin let a frustrated growl escape his throat. “What is it? And quickly!”
The guardsman blanched and stammered his response. “’Tis the horses, Monsieur, the ones Germain keeps saddled for the dispatch riders. One is... missing.”
The icy fingers wrapped round Robin’s heart since discovering the woodworker’s wife gone and the armory aflame squeezed even tighter.
“Missing?” he repeated, having already guessed the implication.
The man swallowed. “Yes, Monsieur. When the folk at the gate heard the explosion everyone but the watchmen took off to help, including Germain and his stable hands, and the extra guard that was posted. One of the hands passed by another of the guard coming from that direction.” He waved back the way Robin had come, where the orange glow of the fire illuminated much of that part of the bailey. “He did not think anything of it. I suppose he guessed he was sent to raise the alarm.”
“Which guardsman? Did he get a name, or have a look at his face?”
“I don’t know, Monsieur. I have not seen the lad, ’tis what Marin tells me; he mentioned seeing the fellow as well, and he seemed in an awful hurry. Marin is over with the gate guard, now. He was about to send for help from down in the City to put that fire out when I arrived with your instructions, and that is when the gate watch said someone took a horse and rode off, not much more than a few moments past, thinking that was what the fellow was doing. But he cannot recall anyone having given an order to send a runner into the city.”
“Because no one did!” Robin snarled. He fumed and tore at his hair. “Damn it all! She is ahead of us, and already out of the castle. How quickly can the City be sealed?”
“That is the other matter, Monsieur,” the guardsman said, and braced himself. “If the spy is already loose, we shan’t get word to the gates before they can get out, especially if they are on horse and riding hard.”
Robin stomped and buried his face in his hands as every waking nightmare he had experienced since Pierre was found unconscious at Isabeau’s now played out before him. Presently, the dull thud of many hooves on snow forestalled any further command, and his horse was brought round, along with several others. Without preamble, he selected the fastest riders among the company present, and vaulted into the saddle.
“Seal the castle behind us, no one else comes or goes,” he ordered. “Send word to Monsieur le Comte that we have one prisoner in custody and I am in pursuit of another. Sound a general alarm, and by God, I shall have every man and woman in the castle searched. If I should find any others either complicit or simply negligent in their duties, heads will roll!”
And with that he dug his heels into his horse’s flanks and gave a cry, and his column flew from the gate and down into the City, kicking up a great cloud of powdered snow behind them as the icy winter wind whipped against his face.
His only hope now was in speed, and that his enemies had no further surprises in store.
D’Alle paced impatiently as the great hall was cleared, leaving only the prisoner, Aimery, Baulduin, and himself behind. Laurens, Rapine, the surgeon, and the hapless guardsman watching over the woodworker and his wife departed first, and silently. Then came a great commotion and deafening rattle of gear as de Sens and the rest of the guard filed from the hall and hurried for the bailey. His stomach knotted itself as events spiraled quickly out of control, and he despaired at the thought that so much of his efforts over the past months had been forfeit.
He sighed, and paced, and fought to settle his nerves and the bile churning in his belly. Rapine left her cup of wine behind on the table, so rather than let it go to waste he finished it in a single draught, but, though it was a potent one, it did little to settle his nerves.
The prisoner sat calmly and silently with his hands bound behind him. He dared not move with Aimery and Baulduin to watch him, and their attention was focused on him. The slightest shift in his chair to ease his shoulders, bound as he was with his hands behind his back, provoked a twitch from their halberds.
D'Alle chewed the inside of his lower lip and wrung his hands. After several more minutes passed, he approached the guards from behind. Aimery turned slightly to consider him at the sound of him drawing nearer.
“I would stay back from this one,” Aimery said. “I hear he put up quite a fight when they caught him. They practically had to beat him unconscious to take him.”
“How much longer is this going to be?” d’Alle asked, slipping his hand into a pocket of his apron, and scrutinizing the battered man carefully. Despite his unfortunate condition, the prisoner’s good eye was nonetheless bright and alert, and appeared keenly aware of everything happening around him.
“I could not say, Master d’Alle. If the whole armory went up... well, I can’t imagine ’twill be contained quickly. The oil and pitch alone can burn for a long while. I suggest you have a seat before you wear a hole in the—”
D’Alle did not give him a chance to finish. His hand in his apron pocket seized hold of the carven handle he had been looking for, and before Aimery could react, he whipped his weapon out and struck Baulduin across the back of the neck. Aimery turned and snatched up his halberd, but froze at the ominous click as D’Alle lowered the dog and flint of his gonne into place on the wheel, and pointed it at Aimery’s face.
“I would not! Drop it!” D’Alle said, and only through great effort did he manage to keep his voice even. Nonetheless, Aimery’s courage failed him upon gazing into the gaping muzzle of the gonne, and he laid his halberd aside. “I have not had the opportunity to test this out myself, but it seemed only natural to me that my mechanism could work in a hand gonne, as well.”
D'Alle smirked at the prisoner. “Quite ingenious, eh? I was working on it for myself while I was assembling the others. I suppose it shan’t shoot as far, but ’tis much more readily concealable.”
“I am sure the Baron will be quite impressed.”
D’Alle turned his attention back to Aimery. “Now then, my apologies to poor Baulduin, but would you kindly take him to the cabinet and put him inside? Oh, and then follow him yourself, thank you!”
Aimery gawked, as if d’Alle had sprouted an extra head. “In the... are you out of your mind?”
“I was out of my mind when I agreed to de Carcassonne’s wholly unsatisfactory terms!” He made a show of pointing his gonne. “Now go on!”
Aimery took hold of Baulduin beneath the arms, and his stricken comrade moaned as he was hefted up and dragged to the cabinet the conspirators had used on poor Rapine. Aimery folded Balduin’s limp body in as best as he was able, then stepped inside himself. Never taking his eyes or gonne from the pair, D’Alle warily approached and kicked the cabinet closed. The latch clicked into place, locking the two men inside. He grunted in satisfaction, then carefully returned the dog to its safe position, and stuffed the gonne back into his apron pocket.
“Now then,” d’Alle said, and returned to the prisoner. “Is all in order?”
He nodded. “The Baron’s offer is ready to be delivered, we must but meet with him at Tuebingen,” the prisoner said, and twisted his neck to indicate his bound hands. “If you would be so kind, Master Clockmaker.”
D’Alle quickly undid the knots and helped the man to his feet. Despite his battered countenance, he stood with little real trouble and rolled his shoulders to loosen them again. “And what about my gonnes? Blowing up the armory was not part of the arrangement!”
“I do apologize for that, but circumstances required a degree of improvisation, and a need for a distraction. This should keep them busy. And rest assured, the Baron shall compensate you for your loss. And if fortune should remain with us, my companion will have salvaged one of them before blowing up the rest.”
D'Alle grunted. “Do you really expect her to make it through? De Sens will be on her quickly, I fear.”
The prisoner quirked a grin. “The Baron has the utmost confidence in her, ’tis why he hired her to keep de Sens’s attention in the first place. Come on then, Master d’Alle, we must be on our way to make the most of her distraction.”
