The Templar Detective and the Unholy Exorcist Page 6

  Marcus turned toward Thomas’ house. “Simon! A word!”

  “Thank God!” muttered the sergeant as he climbed down to the street. He stretched. “Just when I was starting to enjoy myself.” His eyes narrowed when he spotted David. “What are you doing here? What’s wrong?”

  Marcus beckoned him closer. “Isabelle has been taken.”

  Simon’s eyes shot wide. “What? By who?”

  “A priest and a dozen armed monks, if David is to be believed.”

  David’s jaw dropped. “Surely you don’t think—”

  Marcus held up a hand, cutting him off. “Of course, I believe you, though I still can’t believe it, if you know what I mean.”

  David sighed with relief at the misunderstanding. “Yes, I do. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I never would have believed it. Monks with swords! It’s un-Christian!”

  Simon grunted. “We’re monks.”

  David stared at him. “Yes, but with special dispensation from the Pope, something I’m sure they don’t have.”

  Marcus brought the conversation back on track. “Did they give a reason?”

  “For taking Isabelle?”

  “No, for being armed. Surely you questioned them on this departure from the norm.”

  David nodded. “I did, of course. The priest said that they needed to defend themselves against demons and those who would serve them, or some such nonsense.”

  Marcus pursed his lips then sighed loudly. “A perfectly plausible explanation.” He tapped his chin. “Do we know why she was taken? I mean, why the priest thought she was possessed?”

  “According to Garnier, it was his fault. Apparently, the priest had asked if there was anyone possessed in the village, and that a sign of that might be uncommon beauty, saying it was the Devil’s work. The boy was jealous or angry about something he had overheard, something said by Isabelle in the presence of Lady Joanne and Beatrice, and he named her in a fit of rage.”

  Simon cursed. “Surely that wasn’t enough for the priest to accept that she was possessed!”

  “No, Garnier outdid himself. He told the priest that she had been acting differently since we arrived, and there was a suggestion that perhaps we brought some sort of evil back with us from the Holy Land that then possessed her.”

  Simon threw up his arms. “Unbelievable!”

  Marcus agreed. “Yet so ridiculously so, that it sounds plausible to those who would be blinded by fear.” He looked at David. “And what did our fellow villagers do?”

  David’s cheeks flushed with rage. “Apparently urged them on! Can you believe it? They’ve known her since the day she was born, yet with a few words, are willing to believe she is the Devil’s servant and should be taken away to have God knows what done to her!”

  Marcus sighed. “We’ve seen it in the Holy Land on too many occasions. All it takes is one accusation, genuine or false, to destroy a life.” He squared his shoulders. “We must seek her out immediately.”

  David suddenly remembered the Templar Master’s request. “Before we do, Sir Norris asked me to bring you back before you left. He might have information that could help us.”

  Marcus nodded. “Then prepare our horses. I have to tell Thomas what has transpired. I’m afraid this will break his heart.”

  12

  Durant Residence

  Paris, Kingdom of France

  Thomas worked in awkward silence with Mr. Caron’s sons as they repaired the roof the old man had damaged in his anger. The only words uttered, by the eldest, had been an appreciation of the fact their father was able to toss a torch that high. It was impressive since this was a two-story construction, but anger could sometimes give someone strength they wouldn’t normally have.

  And at the moment, he had no rage in him.

  He understood why Mr. Caron had done what he had. He was worried about his granddaughter. As he should be. Thomas wasn’t sure what he’d do if faced with a similar situation. He liked to imagine he’d do everything in his power, and that if he found whoever had taken that person so close to him, he’d tear out their throat with his bare hands.

  But he wasn’t that type of person. If he were to describe himself in one word, he’d say meek. Others might say worse, especially now that there were jealousies at play. When his father had been alive, plying his trade as an expert forger, creating documents for rich and poor alike that could fool even the King’s officials, there had been little money for luxuries. They were always fed just enough, they were always warm just enough, but there was rarely a full belly or a bead of sweat known in the Durant household.

  Now all of that had changed.

  After his father’s murder, which had left him alone and starving, he had been saved by Sir Marcus and his men, and through circumstance, gained employment with a most wretched soul who paid well. Too well. It made it almost impossible to leave her employ no matter how desperately he wanted to. He kept defending himself, to himself, by saying he wasn’t doing anything truly bad. He merely tallied the numbers. He never forced anyone to pay their debts, in fact, he rarely saw any of the debtors.

  He was a numbers man, math, along with reading and writing, skills his father had passed down to him, and all he had to offer to the world. He wasn’t a strong man, not particularly skilled at anything manual. He glanced at the three sons, working at his side, and was shamed by how swiftly and ably they worked.

  They were men.

  He wasn’t.

  They have fifteen years at least on you.

  Perhaps in time he’d fill out, become strong, become skilled at things such as roof repair, as he gained more experience and muscle on his bones, but he doubted it. He had always thrived when using his brain. Unfortunately, in this part of Paris, there was little need for brains, and the only steady work was given to those who affiliated themselves with one of the many criminal organizations in the area, who took a generous cut of anything earned.

  He had always refused, yet here he was, working for one of those gangs, tallying those shares of salaries hard earned on the backs of others desperate for work.

  You’re pathetic.

  “Master Thomas, I must speak with you!”

  He leaned over the edge of the roof and saw Sir Marcus beckoning him. He climbed down and brushed off before presenting himself to the man who had offered him a home, and to whom he had refused the offer. He still thought it was the right choice, though with the blooming romance with Isabelle, he was thinking moving to the farm might be a wise decision.

  If not inevitable.

  His eyes narrowed as he noticed Marcus’ grave expression. “What’s wrong?” He spotted David standing with Simon and frowned.

  Shouldn’t he be at the farm?

  His jaw dropped. “Something’s happened to Isabelle, hasn’t it?”

  Marcus nodded. “Yes. She’s been taken.”

  He felt a rush of blood from his head and reached out for the wall to steady himself. “By whom?”

  “A priest who claims she has been possessed by a demon, or some such nonsense.”

  He drew a deep breath, recovering his balance. “We must find her!”

  “And we will. We are heading back to the Fortress now, then will immediately begin looking for her. Jeremy is tracking her, so we will find her. We just need to find him.”

  Thomas stood as tall as he could, squaring his shoulders in an effort to look more of a man than he was. “I must go with you.”

  Marcus nodded. “Of course. We’ll collect you when we’re done at the Fortress. That way, you’ll be able to finish your roof repairs.”

  “Forget the roof. Isabelle is more important.”

  “I agree, but there’s nothing you can do to help her at this moment. Take care of your home, and we will be back in short order. I’ll leave David here to help.”

  Thomas sighed. “Fine, you’re right, of course.” He frowned. “And I guess I should send word to Mrs. Thibault that I will be away.”

  Marcus gripped Thomas’ shoulder. “You do that. I’ll be back shortly.”

  13

  Enclos du Temple, Templar Fortress

  Paris, Kingdom of France

  “You have no messages for me?”

  The sergeant manning the front desk shook his head. “I’m sorry, Sir Marcus, none have arrived for you. Nor any for your sergeant or squire.”

  Marcus sighed. “That’s unfortunate, though not unexpected. I guess we’ll have to go looking for him. We’ll need four fresh horses, provisioned for two days’ journey.”

  The sergeant snapped his fingers and a squire emerged from the shadows. “You heard him.”

  “Yes, sergeant!” The boy rushed through a set of doors toward the stables to fulfill the order without another word.

  The sergeant turned back to Marcus. “Do you have any idea where he might be?”

  “All we know is that he was last heading south out of Crécy-la-Chapelle, but that was hours ago, early evening. It’s almost midnight now.”

  “I can have a message sent to all of our outposts in the area to have our personnel watch for him.”

  “Do that, though I’m sure he’ll avail himself of any of our brothers he might encounter.”

  “And should he be found, where do you want the message sent?”

  “Send it to all the outposts in the area. We’ll check in regularly during our search.”

  “Very well.”

  “Belay that.”

  Marcus turned to see Sir Norris, the Templar Master for the Kingdom of France, swiftly striding toward them. Marcus bowed deeply, as did Simon. “Sir, I must apologize for the late hour.”

  Norris waved his hand, dismissing the apology. “No need to apologize, it was I who told your squire to have you report to me.” He turned to his sergeant. “Have any message for Sir Marcus sent here. I think he will be remaining in the city for at least the night.”

  Marcus’ eyes narrowed. “Sir?”

  Norris turned back toward the door, beckoning Marcus to follow. “Come with me. I have a private matter to discuss with you.”

  Marcus hesitated. “My sergeant?”

  Norris glanced over his shoulder, eyeing Simon. “No doubt you’ll tell him regardless.”

  Simon grinned and followed, closing the door behind him as they were offered seats in Norris’ office.

  Norris sat on the edge of his desk. “What I’m about to tell you is of a delicate nature, and few know of it.”

  Marcus leaned forward with anticipation.

  “About a week ago, the daughter of Lord Allard was kidnapped, her guards murdered. Her chaperone, however, survived, and told of a priest and a group of monks who might have been involved.”

  Marcus’ eyebrows shot up and he exchanged an excited glance with Simon. “That sounds too similar to be a coincidence. What else can you tell us?”

  “Not much, I’m afraid. The report I had was very brief. The Court has asked us to keep a lookout for anything throughout the Kingdom, and we have agreed to help in the search, as Lord Allard is a friend to the Order, one of the few we have in King Philip’s court.”

  Simon shifted in his chair. “I find it difficult to believe these two abductions could be related. Lord Allard’s daughter is nobility. Isabelle Leblanc is a simple farm girl.”

  Norris nodded. “While I agree they seem impossible to link, it was the mention of a priest accompanied by monks, armed monks, that made me think they might be connected.”

  Marcus scratched his chin. “While I find it almost impossible to believe they are connected intentionally, I too find it too much of a coincidence to ignore the possibility.”

  “Agreed.”

  “With your permission, we’ll talk to Lord Allard and the survivor. They might have valuable information.”

  “Do that.”

  Marcus rose, quickly followed by Simon. “Oh, one more thing, sir. Have you heard of any other abductions in the city?”

  Norris’ eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  “Well, a friend of ours who lives nearby, said a young woman is missing, a quite beautiful girl, and I’m wondering if there is a pattern here.”

  Norris sighed, shaking his head. “I hate to say this, but I’ve been in Paris a long time, and I’ve lived in other large cities before this. Unfortunately, beautiful young women disappearing is not a rarity.”

  “But why would they be taken?”

  “I’m afraid we must assume they have been taken for carnal reasons, or other sinful purposes. It is a blight on our society that these things happen, and we can only pray that your friend Isabelle, Lord Allard’s daughter, and your friend’s neighbor, were taken for other, less depraved reasons.”

  Marcus frowned. “I fear the worst. Was Lord Allard’s daughter comely?”

  “I believe she was.”

  Marcus tensed. “If she was kidnapped by the same person who took Isabelle, then I fear it is likely they have been abducted for the same reason, and that has nothing to do with demonic possession.”

  14

  Lord Allard’s Residence

  Paris, Kingdom of France

  “Please, we must see your master. We might have information on his daughter.”

  The man stared through the Judas hole at Marcus, the distrusting eyes and annoyed expression unchanged. “And what might that be?”

  Marcus shook his head. “I’m afraid that is for Lord Allard’s ears only.”

  “He and her Ladyship are in prayer, and cannot be disturbed. Unless you actually have their missing daughter with you, I cannot let you enter.”

  The Judas hole snapped shut and Marcus slammed a fist against the thick gate blocking their way.

  Simon cursed. “Now what?”

  Marcus mounted his horse, staring at the large estate that perhaps contained valuable answers to the myriad of questions he had. “We must speak with him somehow.”

  “Not if that little troll has anything to say about it.”

  Marcus thought for a moment then turned his horse around. “I have an idea.”

  Simon grunted. “You always do. Care to share?”

  “Sir Denys de Montfort lives not far from here. As a member of the court, perhaps he’ll have more sway than us.”

  Simon nodded. “It’s worth a try, I suppose. But wouldn’t he still be considered a disgrace after that affair?”

  Marcus shrugged. “Perhaps. I’m not one to keep up with the goings on at the King’s Court, though I’m certain no matter his current situation, he will see us, and at a minimum, be able to advise us.” He stared up at the sky, the clouds thickening, the stars already gone, the moon fading. “Let’s hurry. It’s getting very late and that storm is getting close.”

  A short gallop had them at Sir Denys’ home, this neighborhood on the finer side of the Seine, home to much of the aristocracy that ruled the Kingdom of France. There was more wealth here than he had ever seen, areas like this rare in the Holy Land, or at least in the realms he patrolled.

  As expected, they were quickly shown in, but the man they were presented to was a pale imitation of the proud man they had met only months before. Seated behind his desk, disheveled and evidently soaked in alcohol, Sir Denys brightened slightly at their arrival. He rose, stumbling and almost losing his feet before catching himself with a well-placed hand.

  He hiccupped.

  “I must apologize for my condition. If I had known you were coming, I would have made certain I was presentable.”

  Marcus strode forward and shook the man’s hand. “No need to apologize.” He eyed the man for a moment. “May I ask if you are well? You appear…”

  “A mess? An embarrassment?” Denys gestured toward two chairs then dropped back into his own. “While things may have ended well for you and your friends, I nearly lost everything, despite being innocent and having helped bring the perpetrators to justice.”

  Simon grunted. “You did think you were having an affair with Lady Joanne.”

  Denys frowned. “Yeah, that’s what they said.” He sighed. “I managed to escape with my lands and title, but little else. Certainly any respect has been lost.” He cursed. “It’s ridiculous. If the public only knew the level of depravity that occurs among the Court, there would likely be a revolution, and the entire lot of them would find themselves beheaded.”

  Marcus folded his arms. “I’m sure you’re correct.”

  Denys apparently sensed some urgency in Marcus’ demeanor. “I’m sorry, enough about me. What brings you here, my friends? Dare I hope that it is a simple visit?”

  Marcus frowned. “I’m afraid not.”

  Denys sighed, clearly dejected. “I suspected as much. What can I do for you? Anything I have is yours. If it weren’t for you, I would have probably been drawn and quartered. I owe you my life.”

  Marcus shook his head. “We were doing God’s work. There is no debt owed.”

  “Of course you were.” Denys straightened himself as best he could, though was still slightly off-kilter. “Tell me what I can do for you.”

  “You, of course, know Lord Allard?”

  Denys’ eyebrows rose slightly. “Of course, of course. He and I were good friends until the scandal. He, umm, like all my former friends, have distanced themselves from me.” He grunted. “Until they need my vote, then we’ll all be dining together soon enough.”

  “You heard of his daughter?”

  “Annette? I did. A tragedy, though I know few details. Abducted on her way to their estate in Chantilly.” Denys shook his head. “It’s terrifying how unsafe the roads have become these days.” His eyes narrowed. “But why do you ask? Have you become involved somehow?”

  “It is an unfortunate possibility. You may have heard us speak of a young woman from Crécy-la-Chapelle named Isabelle?”

  Denys nodded. “Yes, I believe so.” He smiled. “If I’m to understand your squires, she has quite the thing for you.”

  Marcus shifted in his chair and Simon snickered. “Umm, that is, umm, no longer true. Another has caught her eye, thank God.”