The Templar Detective and the Code Breaker Page 2

  The old man chuckled, his head bobbing. “Hot. Oh, I do miss the heat. It’s been a long time since I’ve been there. Things have changed much since I left, I hear.”

  “I suppose they have.” He picked up the coins, his fingers not cooperating with all the shaking, but finally had them all clasped in his hand.

  “Are you well? You seem nervous.”

  René paled. “I-I get this way if I haven’t eaten.” A coin escaped, dropping to the floor and rolling to his left. He chased it and snagged it before it fell between the floorboards, then held it up, smiling awkwardly. “You, umm, had all my money.”

  The knight laughed. “Try only being able to carry four deniers.” He shrugged. “I guess it doesn’t matter. The Order takes care of all my needs.” He nodded toward the door. “Have a good day.”

  René bowed with a jerk of his upper body then rushed out the door and into the chilly afternoon, winter still commanding the land. He rushed toward his borrowed horse, stealthily transferring the money gripped in his hand to an inner pocket, hoping no one noticed.

  “René! What are you doing here?”

  René almost fainted as he recognized the booming voice behind him. It was Enzo, a behemoth of a man that worked for Simone Thibault, a terrifying woman to whom most people he knew owed money. She was a loan shark unlike any other—she was a woman. Her business had been started by her late husband, but upon his death, she had taken over and flourished, the woman as cutthroat as any man.

  Especially with beasts like Enzo to do her bidding.

  And if this man discovered his secret, not only would he take all the money he had just acquired, he might take his life for not having shared his discovery.

  2 |

  Thibault Residence Paris, Kingdom of France

  Thomas Durant leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped across his chest, his eyes closed with a smile as he pictured Isabelle’s beautiful face. He hadn’t seen her in what felt like months, yet it hadn’t been that long.

  Though it had been too long to not see the woman he loved.

  For he did love her, of that there was no doubt. Isabelle Leblanc was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, the first he had ever loved, yet to commit to her meant losing everything he had, everything he had ever been.

  His mood fouled with the thought, his smile turning into a frown as his heart raced.

  Isabelle lived on a farm outside of the city, in the small town of Crécy-la-Chapelle. She lived with her parents, and though they had spoken of her moving to Paris when they got married, there was no possibility she would be happy here. Life was too fast-paced, too cutthroat. She would never survive. He, on the other hand, had grown up here, and knew nothing different. His parents were both dead, and all he had left of them was the house he had grown up in. It wasn’t much, as they had been poor, his father’s business as a forger of letters and documents not a thriving one.

  Though now, now that he worked for the despicable Simone Thibault, he had more money than he had ever known. She paid him well, perhaps too well, as his skills were desperately required, and he had proven trustworthy. That trustworthiness, however, wasn’t out of loyalty, but fear. Enzo, her henchman, was twice his size, if not thrice, and could tear him limb from limb, literally, he was certain.

  It kept most in line, the few daring to challenge her never doing so again after Enzo entered the room and closed the door.

  And it kept him here.

  Or did it?

  He had a standing invitation from Sir Marcus de Rancourt, a Templar Knight who had taken an interest in him several months ago, and was now a protector of Isabelle, and once the subject of her affections. Sir Marcus and his men were the best examples of honor he had ever encountered, and to be associated with them he was certain would put him in the Lord’s good books despite his recent activities.

  Yet they lived on a farm, raising Sir Marcus’ niece and nephew, along with an orphan they had taken in, and also acting as protectors to Lady Joanne and her former chambermaid, Beatrice. It was a growing group that would welcome him with open arms, yet farming was something that simply didn’t interest him.

  And didn’t pay.

  He was ashamed to admit he was obsessed with money. With wealth. With the power and freedom it brought.

  He hadn’t been hungry since he began working here, which was not something he could have said before. In fact, most of his life had been living on the razor’s edge of satiety and starvation. His father had tried his best, but it had never been enough.

  If only he could see me now.

  His frown deepened.

  He’d be ashamed of what I’ve become.

  Though his father wasn’t an innocent man, he had never hurt anyone. At least directly. Though Thomas wasn’t exactly privy to all his father was up to, there was little doubt someone ultimately got hurt by the masterful forgeries he created.

  Not the least of whom was Thomas’ own father, murdered by a man he thought his friend, over a forgery no one could know existed.

  His chest ached at the too recent memory.

  “What’s this? I don’t pay you to sleep!”

  Thomas bolted upright, opening his eyes to find Simone Thibault staring down at him. “Umm, sorry, ma’am, I wasn’t sleeping, I was just, thinking of something.”

  “Well, think on your own time.” She snapped her fingers. “Show me the records for René Courvat.”

  Thomas opened his desk drawer and flipped through the large stack of outstanding loans, finally finding the paper in question. He handed her the ledger, but she didn’t take it. She bounced some coins in her hand before tossing them on his desk. “He gave Enzo this today, said it would clear his loan. Is he right?”

  Thomas quickly tallied the coins, already knowing René was correct, for the man had a way with numbers that even Thomas, as skilled as he was, could never hope to match. He updated the ledger and nodded. “Yes, ma’am, his loan is paid in full.” His eyes narrowed as he saw the date of the agreement. “After so many years!”

  Simone scratched her chin. “Now, where does a man like that get this kind of money?”

  Thomas shrugged. “Does it matter? He paid his debt, including the interest. Isn’t that a good thing?”

  Simone shook her head, a frown creasing her face. “My poor, naïve little boy. Don’t you realize we don’t want them paying off their debts? We want them paying interest for as long as possible. If everyone paid their debts off early, I’d go broke, which means I’d have to get rid of you.”

  Thomas didn’t think that would necessarily be a bad thing, though kept the thought to himself. “What do you want me to do?”

  “There’s nothing we can do, but let me know if anyone else is paying off their loans quicker than expected. Something’s going on, and I want to know what it is.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She spun on her heel and left, leaving Thomas uncertain as to what to do, for he already knew the answer to her question. René wasn’t the first to have paid off his loan early, and there were others who were making unusually high payments. These were all people who shouldn’t be able to make payments of this size, yet when he went out with Enzo to collect, the excuse almost universally given was that a relative had died, and they would hopefully be paying off their debts soon.

  If he were invested in Simone’s business of graft and usury, he might have reported the unusual occurrences to her, but he wasn’t, and hadn’t. And now he feared what might happen if he had to admit he had known all along something was amiss.

  Perhaps I should leave this all behind and live on the farm.

  3 |

  De Rancourt Residence Crécy-la-Chapelle, Kingdom of France

  “I can honestly say I have never been more sore in my life.”

  Templar Knight Sir Marcus de Rancourt regarded his youngest though by no means young squire, Jeremy, lying on his back on the grass, his limbs spread-eagle, every square inch of him covered in dirt and worse.

/>   “It sucks to be the low-man, doesn’t it?”

  Jeremy’s head lifted off the ground and he gave his friend and fellow squire, David, a look. “If there are a thousand rungs on the ladder of seniority, I’m the bottom one, and you’re the one above, so don’t go acting so superior.”

  “Hey, if you’re on the first rung, and I’m on the second, that means I’m twice as senior as you.”

  “Yes, but it also means that someone is five-hundred times your senior!”

  “I can live with that, as long as I’m twice as senior as you.”

  “You’re an idiot.”

  “That’s Senior Idiot to you.”

  “You’re so stupid, you actually think that’s a compliment to yourself.”

  David shrugged. “Or am I so smart, you simply can’t understand my genius?”

  Marcus exchanged a glance with his sergeant and trusted friend, Simon Chastain. “Sometimes I miss the separation of knights and squires that we enjoyed in the Holy Land.”

  Simon grunted. “If I chopped a few of those rungs off this ladder, I wonder if I might be granted some silence.”

  Jeremy propped up on his elbows. “Be careful. You’re not that far up the ladder yourself.” He looked at Marcus. “Don’t worry, sir, you’re at least on the five-hundredth rung.”

  “Lovely. So, when the shit rolls downhill, I still get half of it on me.”

  “Better than all of it like these two.” Simon waved a hand in front of his nose. “Speaking of, have you two been shoveling it again?”

  David collapsed onto his back, groaning. “It never ends. Day in and day out, those animals shit. That’s all they do! They eat and shit and we have to shovel it.”

  Simon flicked a wrist at the field they had been preparing for spring planting. “And soon you’ll be spreading it.”

  “Ugh, that’s going to make this place smell just wonderful.”

  Marcus chuckled. “Well, the Holy Land didn’t smell much better, at least in the cities.”

  “True, but this is the country. Fresh air, clean water, rolling hills. Yet in a few weeks, it’s all going to smell like an outhouse.”

  Jeremy dropped back onto the grass. “Yeah, but in the end it will all be worth it when we harvest our crops.”

  Simon growled. “That’s assuming there’s anything to harvest. It’s not like we actually know what we’re doing.”

  Marcus smiled. “We’ll learn, and there are plenty of people in the village who will answer our questions.”

  “Only because you’re five hundred rungs up Jeremy’s ladder.”

  David rolled over onto his side, propping his head up with his hand. “I think they’re actually scared of you.”

  Marcus eyed him. “If they’re scared of anyone, it’s Simon.” He turned to his friend. “You really need to try smiling more.”

  Simon frowned. “I tried. It hurt.”

  They all laughed then fell silent as the door to the farmhouse swung open and Lady Joanne charged out, her former chambermaid, Beatrice, on her heels along with the children and the farm’s mastiff, Tanya. Joanne wagged a finger at them. “What are you four doing, lazing about? There’s work to be done!”

  Jeremy sat up. “Uh, oh. Here comes the thousandth rung.”

  David snickered and Marcus forced a straight face as Simon cracked a smile, evidently willing to risk the pain.

  She came to a sudden halt, grimacing. “Ugh! You know you’re supposed to shovel it, not roll around in it?”

  Jeremy’s mouth fell open and his eyes widened, jabbing a finger at David. “I told you we were doing it wrong!”

  David rolled to a seated position. “Is that what those big long spoons are for? What did I hear them call it? Sho-vel?”

  Lady Joanne glared at them. “You two just might find yourselves without dinner if you keep it up.”

  The two squires bowed their heads. “Sorry.”

  “We’re heading into the village. I have business there then will be spending some time with Mrs. Leblanc and Isabelle. When I get back, I expect to see you all working.”

  Marcus rose and bowed slightly. “I can assure you, M’Lady, we will be hard at it until it is time for dinner.”

  “Good.” She stared at the squires. “And you two better give yourselves a good scrubbing before I see you again.” She eyed Marcus and Simon. “And you two as well. I thought Templars were noted for their cleanliness.”

  Marcus smiled. “We are, M’Lady, though not while we toil.”

  “Is that what you call this laziness?” She batted a hand at them. “I’m late. I’ll see you at dinner.”

  She charged off with the children, Beatrice flashing them a grin, Jeremy staring after her ample bosom. David threw a rock at him.

  “Could you be any more obvious?”

  Jeremy shrugged. “I think she likes me.”

  “What’s not to like. She’s got a great view from her rung, way above yours.”

  “Help! Fire! Fire!”

  The frivolity ended as Marcus swung toward the distant cry, spotting smoke to the east, farther out of the village. A small boy raced past the farm, shouting his warning. Marcus pointed to the barn. “Get all the buckets you can carry!” The others rushed to execute his order as Marcus hailed the boy. “Boy! Where’s the fire?”

  “Mr. Pevra’s farm. The barn is on fire! A horse kicked over a lantern!” He continued on, and Marcus sprinted toward the smoke in the distance, joining those already heading to help. This was what he loved about this place. Everyone was willing to help in times of need.

  They reached the farm to find the fire contained to the barn, though the flames threatened the nearby farmhouse. A bucket brigade had been set up from the river to the barn, water now thrown ineffectually at the blaze, the cries of panicked animals trapped inside stabbing at his heart.

  Two men dragged Mr. Pevra from the blaze as he cried out for someone to save the animals. Marcus removed his tunic and grabbed a bucket filled with water. He soaked the shirt then tied it around his head, covering his mouth and nose, the others following suit as he charged toward the barn, kicking open the doors.

  A wall of heat greeted him, the flames licking past him as he fell backward and onto the ground. David grabbed him, hauling him to his feet as Simon and Jeremy charged past. Marcus rushed after them, shielding himself with a raised hand, trying to make out the layout through the thick smoke. Animals locked in their pens cried out all around him, and he pushed to the closest stall, hauling it open and stumbling inside, smacking the horse it contained on the ass, sending it charging forward and out of the barn to safety.

  He moved to the next stall as he spotted his comrades doing the same around him, animals rushing for freedom and safety as they cleared each stall, others from the village now tossing the water directly through the doors, soaking the straw-covered ground, giving them an escape route that he feared they would need any moment.

  He swatted the behind of a squealing pig that refused to move, then gave the massive creature a shove, finally revealing the source of her reluctance.

  Six piglets, lying beside her. He grabbed them, piling them in his arms then rushed outside, the sow following, and he handed them off.

  Then he spun around at a horrendous sound and gasped as the roof began to collapse.

  “Everyone out!” he shouted, the villagers retreating as he strode forward, peering into the smoke and flame as more animals rushed past. “David! Jeremy! Simon! Get out now! The roof—”

  His heart leaped into his throat as the entire structure collapsed, starting at the back. A rush of smoke and debris billowed toward him, then he was hit by something large that knocked him off his feet.

  It was Jeremy. His squire grinned. “What’s it like on the bottom?”

  David dropped beside them, face down as Marcus shoved Jeremy off him and struggled back to his feet.

  “Simon!”

  He rushed toward the flames, but David and Jeremy held him back. Suddenly he heard s
omething, a horse, rushing toward them from the inky blackness. The beast’s head emerged from the roiling smoke, directly in front of them. Marcus shoved David and Jeremy out of the way then dropped to his knee as his sergeant, atop the animal, charged over him, the hooves missing by a hair’s breadth.

  Marcus rose and turned as Simon dismounted. “I thought we had lost you.”

  “You almost did, but I threatened to cook her over my fire tonight if she didn’t move.” He patted the animal on the neck. “That got her going.”

  Marcus smacked his friend on the back then turned to watch as the villagers gathered up the animals they had saved, Pevra rushing toward them, his hands outstretched.

  “Oh, thank you, Sir Marcus, thank you! If it weren’t for you and your men, we would have lost everything!”

  Sir Marcus shook the man’s hand. “Think nothing of it. You would have done the same for us, I’m sure.”

  The man looked away. “I’m ashamed to say I think I’d be too much the coward.”

  Marcus patted him on the back. “There’s no shame in not rushing into a burning barn. It just shows you’re not a fool like us.”

  Pevra smiled. “You are a good man, Sir Marcus.”

  “As are you.” He turned as the last wall of the barn collapsed, the villagers resuming the bucket brigade. He turned back to Pevra. “We’ll come by tomorrow to help you clear away the debris then rebuild.” He raised his voice. “If we all work together, and donate a little bit of our time despite the season, we can have Mr. Pevra back on his feet in no time.”

  Heads bobbed around him, though some seemed reluctant. It was a difficult time. Almost any other time of the year, with the exception of harvest time, would have been better. Spring planting and harvesting were the busiest times on a farm, and he was asking them to give up some of that.

  “Now, can anyone donate some barn space for these animals? We’ll take the horses, since we have expertise in that area.”

  “I’ll take the pigs!” shouted someone, and within moments, the rescued animals had new temporary homes.