Among Wolves

Book One of The Wolves of Llisé

NANCY K. WALLACE

HarperVoyager

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street,

London SE1 9GF

www.harpervoyagerbooks.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperVoyager 2015

Copyright © Nancy K. Wallace 2015

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015.

Cover photographs © Shutterstock.com

Nancy K. Wallace asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Digital eFirst: Automatically produced by Atomik ePublisher from Easypress.

Ebook Edition © May 2015 ISBN: 978-0-00-810358-3

Version: 2015-04-08

Among Wolves is dedicated to my family.

My husband, Dennie: without his love and support I would never have become a writer. My daughter, Mollie, who provides technical assistance, and my daughter, Elizabeth, the most tireless and dedicated proofreader ever! I cannot thank you enough for believing in me even when I didn’t believe in myself

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

CHAPTER 1: The Beginning

CHAPTER 2: Leaving Viénne

CHAPTER 3: The Marie Lisette

CHAPTER 4: Allies and Adversaries

CHAPTER 5: Rough Seas

CHAPTER 6: Revelations

CHAPTER 7: Snow in Ombria

CHAPTER 8: The Stones of Ombria

CHAPTER 9: Night in Briseé

CHAPTER 10: Divided Loyalties

CHAPTER 11: Suspicion

CHAPTER 12: Armand Vielle

CHAPTER 13: Inconsistencies and Allegations

CHAPTER 14: “Lisette’s Lament”

CHAPTER 15: A Bard’s Life

CHAPTER 16: Mäìte

CHAPTER 17: Night Terrors

CHAPTER 18: “Emeline”

CHAPTER 19: The Forêt d’Halatte

CHAPTER 20: Among Wolves

CHAPTER 21: The Beast of Gévaudan

CHAPTER 22: Unavoidable Delays

CHAPTER 23: Family Secrets

CHAPTER 24: The Quest for Truth

CHAPTER 25: Armand

CHAPTER 26: Secrets

CHAPTER 27: News from Home

CHAPTER 28: The Edge of Sleep

CHAPTER 29: Acquainted With Death

CHAPTER 30: Investigation

CHAPTER 31: Aftershocks

CHAPTER 32: The Storyteller’s Sack

CHAPTER 33: High Stakes

CHAPTER 34: Undercurrents

CHAPTER 35: Sticks and Stones

CHAPTER 36: Solutions

CHAPTER 37: “Remi Reynard”

CHAPTER 38: Celebration

CHAPTER 39: Admonitions

CHAPTER 40: Bishops and Blacksmiths

CHAPTER 41: Death and Secrets

CHAPTER 42: The Last Supper

CHAPTER 43: Changes

CHAPTER 44: Unexpected Visitors

CHAPTER 45: Lac Dupré

Epilogue

About the Author

About the Publisher

CHAPTER 1
The Beginning

“There’s an urgent message for you, monsieur,” Isaac La Salle said, handing Devin a rolled parchment sealed with the gold signet of the Chancellor Elite. The proctor’s whispered message boomed in the compulsory quiet of the examination hall.

Devin nodded silently, aware of the handful of other graduate students still bent feverishly over their exams. He squared the edges on his sheaf of examination papers and retrieved his jacket from the back of the bench. His friend, Gaspard, glanced desperately his way, eyes rolling, his exam barely started. Shooting him a sympathetic grin, Devin walked to the back of the room. La Salle now sat propped against the Académie’s stone wall, the seventh volume of Blade’s Laws spread across his lap. Devin handed the proctor his completed papers and left without comment.

Devin pocketed the parchment. It was so like his father to think nothing of interrupting final exams with an urgent missive to report home. He knew without reading it what it required of him. He’d already planned a visit to his parents into the flurry of tonight’s activity but it would have to be brief. His ship sailed at dawn and he doubted he would even find time to sleep.

He crossed the wide entrance hall, with its two elegantly curving stairways. One led to the Archives, the other to the lecture halls. He mounted neither but walked through the massive double doors into the late spring sunshine. Spray from the central fountain dampened his hair and shirt as he passed through the courtyard. He welcomed the sprinkle of cool water after the stuffiness of the examination hall. Blossoming trees and early bulbs in bloom flanked the perimeter of the cobbled expanse. The fragrance of flowers hung heavy in the air. The sun lying low in the west silhouetted the trees lining the street before him. Horses and buggies hugged the curb, their drivers soliciting fares. He passed by them, content to walk.

Today marked the completion of his first two years of apprenticeship in Llisé’s Historic Archives. His Third Year was his own – to explore optional careers – or to rethink his decision to become an archivist. If he returned for the Fourth, and final, Year at the Académie, his choice of profession would be sealed and there could be no changes.

He didn’t anticipate any alteration of his plans. He had never been happier than studying Llisé’s ancient documents, recopying those whose condition was deteriorating, and compiling meticulous chronological records.

When he reached Independence Square, the clock high on the cathedral arch, chimed seven. He quickened his pace. The windows of the houses bordering the square already glowed softly with candlelight. His family would be waiting and tardiness on his part would only lead to teasing about his possible lack of proficiency in exams.

The Chancellor’s mansion dominated the western end of the square, its pillared gates lined by a dozen guards, in blue and silver uniforms. They waved Devin through as he climbed the front steps in the fading light.

Girard, his black suit and white shirt immaculate, opened the door.

“How did it go, monsieur?” he asked, with a smile. “Did you pass your exams or should I inquire about a post in the provinces for you?”

“I did well,” Devin assured him. “I finished first. The others are still up to their ears in essays.”

Girard laughed. “Your father will be pleased.” He pointed to the right. “They’re in the petite parlor. They’ve been waiting.”

Devin crossed the threshold expecting to have a quiet dinner with his parents. But all five of his older brothers had gathered to see him off. He was not surprised to see that none of their wives had been invited. That was his mother’s doing. She actively sought time alone with her sons, where she could claim their complete attention without any distractions.

His father had neatly slotted his first five sons into every branch of the powerful government he controlled. As the youngest, only Devin had been free to pursue his own interests.

His brothers stood clustered in the parlor, waiting for him. Their expressions ranged from anxious to grave, as though they had gathered to stage an intervention.

“It’s a celebration not a wake!” Devin exclaimed, clapping his oldest brother on the shoulder. Jean was a district judge; staid and solemn, already tending toward plumpness around the middle. A few gray hairs highlighted his dark temples.

“We’re just concerned,” Jean replied. “This plan of yours seems ill-conceived.”

“Ah,” Devin laughed, “and your Third Year was a model of convention? I’ve heard stories about the places you visited!”

“A few wild oats are understandable…” Jean sputtered. “You, on the other hand, seem to have taken this quest to heart.”

“Hello, dear,” his mother said, extending her hand to pull him closer. “I think it’s a shame to waste this opportunity, that’s all. The Third Year is intended as a carefree time. You should spend it with friends or traveling before you lock yourself away in the Historic Archives for the rest of your days.”

Devin bent to kiss her on both cheeks. “I will be spending my time traveling and with friends, Mother. Gaspard’s agreed to go with me, if he can finish his exams in time.”

“Oh well, Gaspard,” she commented, one hand falling languidly to the side. “Why didn’t you choose someone more…” Words apparently failed her.

“Intelligent?” André asked with a laugh. He was already Head of the Department of Sciences at the Académie; well-liked and highly respected. “Gaspard will be good fun, Mother. He tempers Devin’s bookishness.”

“I don’t understand your motivation, Devin,” Ethan said, stalking to the table to refill his wine glass. “You’re a trained historian, why would you want to spend your Third Year gathering Chronicles in the provinces?”

Ethan, a Colonel in Llisé’s army, was most like their father, though he lacked Vincent Roché’s humor. Devin suspected that he, too, might be Chancellor one day.

Devin extended a glass to his brother to fill. “The current process of preserving the Chronicles seems so fragile,” he explained. “Did you hear the Master Bard, who held the Perouse Chronicle, died suddenly last month? He didn’t have time to pass on even half of the information to his apprentice. Those stories are lost forever.”

“Well, you can’t write them down,” Jean told him. “Canon Law forbids it.”

“I’m well aware of that,” Devin answered. “They can’t be recorded as historical data.”

“You can’t record them in any manner,” Ethan clarified, his index finger stabbing Devin’s chest. “Your degree lends credibility to anything you write. I wouldn’t want to see you brought up on charges over this. It could ruin your chances of ever working in the Archives again.”

“I know that,” Devin assured him. “I only plan to memorize them.”

Jacques, an under-secretary in their father’s cabinet, hoisted himself from a chair by the fireplace. “Only?” he said with a chuckle. “Devin, no one has ever memorized the Chronicles from all the provinces – no one – in over a thousand years.”

Devin, his defenses beginning to crack, took a gulp of wine before answering. “Perhaps, no one has ever tried.”

“Give him a chance,” his father said from the doorway. “Devin memorized the first volume of Bardic Songs before he was six.”

“But the Chronicles are of little importance, darling,” his mother protested to her husband. “The work Devin will be doing here, in the capital, is so much more valuable. Surely, the Chronicle of Perouse is only of value to the people who live there.”

Devin sighed. He’d fought this battle before and he wasn’t about to repeat the arguments over and over again. The Chronicles were not officially sanctioned history but they recounted the important events in each province. They deserved a better means of preservation than to be passed down orally from one generation to the next. He patted his mother’s shoulder, knowing she would never understand. “I intend to go, Mother. Tonight’s my last night here. Let’s not argue.”

“Let’s not,” his father said, “Besides, I’ve brought you a present.”

Money, Devin thought, even though his Third Year stipend would be more than sufficient in the remote areas he intended to travel to. His father would think it necessary that he carry half the treasury along, just in case. “That’s not necessary,” he protested.

“Ah, but it is,” his father continued, “and I must exact your promise that you will take my gift with you.”

Devin bowed his head, acquiescing, knowing the futility of attempting to argue with the most powerful man in the empire. “Thank you,” Devin murmured. “I’ll take it, if you insist.”

“I do,” his father replied. “Stand just there, if you don’t mind, while I make the presentation.” Something about the curve of his mouth told Devin he’d been conned.

His father motioned to someone in the hall and then Marcus, his father’s bodyguard of some years, loomed into sight. Devin waited expectantly, anticipating some sort of package or little ritual, until the chuckles began behind him.

“You’re not serious!” he cried, when the full realization hit him.

“Oh, I’m quite serious,” his father replied, putting an affectionate arm around him. “Marcus will accompany you for the full fifteen months that you’re gone, or until you’re safely home.”

Devin ducked out of his embrace, furious. “I won’t take him! I’m not going to travel the empire with the Chancellor Elite’s bodyguard trailing behind me!”

“Then you won’t leave the city,” his father said quietly. “I’ve been sympathetic to your wishes so far, Devin. I even think I understand your motivation but I won’t allow my gentle, scholarly son to travel the provinces with no protection but his scatter-wit friend.”

“Gaspard’s not a scatter-wit!” Devin protested. “And I’m going to be memorizing stories, for God’s sake! Who would want to harm me?”

“Your naiveté astounds me,” Ethan murmured, finishing his wine in one gulp, and reaching for the decanter.

“My empire is certainly not immune to cutthroats and thieves,” his father said tightly.

“And if we’re traveling students, no one will think we have anything worth stealing! A bodyguard implies wealth and valuables. You might as well put a sign around my neck, proclaiming that I’m your son!”

“Believe me, I considered it,” his father replied. “Marcus isn’t negotiable, Devin. Should he come back alone, because you’ve ditched him in some backwater, I’ll issue a warrant for your arrest in all fifteen Provinces. I’ll have you brought back in irons if necessary.”

“Vincent, please!” his mother protested.

Anger had momentarily hardened his father’s face. He had not, after all, reached his elevated position by compromise, nor was he about to negotiate on this issue.

“That’s my final word on it, Devin.”

“Well, you’ve ruined dinner!” his mother said. “How do you expect Devin to eat after all this? And who knows what kind of meals he’ll get for the next year!”

“People eat in the provinces too, Mother,” Devin replied.

“Then we’ll call it settled,” his father said, taking his wife’s hand and pulling her to her feet. “Let’s sit down to dinner and forget this unpleasantness.”

Mathieu, an attaché in the diplomatic service, passed Devin without speaking, but landed one hand sympathetically on his younger brother’s shoulder.

Devin jockeyed for a position next to his father as they left the room and walked down the hall toward the dining room.

“Marcus will jeopardize my work, Father,” he pleaded. “People are suspicious of the government in the provinces. A man in uniform will make them think I’m conducting some kind of investigation. They won’t speak as freely.”

“I have no problem with Marcus wearing casual clothing,” his father said. “That should solve the problem.”

“But he still looks and acts like a soldier,” Devin complained. “It’s in his nature, he can’t help it.”

Marcus towered over him, a massive wall of toned muscle. Weapons strained the seams of his uniform.

His father stopped dead, tucking his wife’s hand into the crook of his oldest son’s arm.

“Jean, take your mother to the table, please. I’ll only be a moment.” He smiled cordially, as the rest of his family passed them by.

Devin cringed when his father placed both hands on his shoulders and pushed him back against the wall. For a moment, he felt as though he were seven again, facing a spanking for breaking his mother’s favorite vase. He stood quietly in his father’s grip. He was a man now, and he’d done nothing wrong.

“I want no further discussion on this matter,” his father said, his voice held well below the level which might be overheard further down the corridor. “Either you accept my offer of a bodyguard or you do not go at all.”

“I’m just asking you to see this from my point of view.” Devin begged.

“And I’m asking you to see it from mine,” his father retorted. “This quest of yours has ruffled some feathers. Your intentions have been misunderstood. Four council members took me aside last night. They fear you are trying to elevate the Chronicles to the same level as the documents in the Archives. There’s some resentment. You are Académie educated, and besides, you are my son. That lends an official tone to your trip whether you intended it or not.”

“It has nothing to do with you,” Devin protested.

“It has everything to do with me,” his father continued. “If Marcus goes with you, it extends my sanction to your undertaking. You can’t be censored if I have given you my approval.”

“Surely, your approval could come without attaching Marcus to it,” Devin grumbled.

“It’s a fine line, son, perhaps you can’t see it. Marcus’s inclusion implies you will be reporting to me.”

Devin felt the first shadow of misgiving. “And will I be?”

His father avoided his eyes. “I think it would be best, Dev. This isn’t a pleasure trip, and you know it.”

“But I’m not going as your representative,” he objected. “This trip was my idea from the first.”

“And after you gather the Chronicles, what do you intend to do with them? These stories require retelling to keep them fresh in your memory. You cannot set yourself up as a bard, not in your position.”

Devin winced at the disapproval in his tone. His prejudice was evident. “I simply want to see them preserved,” he answered. “Can’t you see that oral records have value just as written ones do?”

His father lowered his voice as a servant passed, a tray of canapés in hand. “The law states that oral records have no validity, Devin. You are in no position to question or change it.”

“But you are,” Devin pointed out.

His father shook his head. “Oddly enough, at the moment, I am not, and I ask you to leave it at that. It is my job to uphold the law, and yours to obey it. Even in my position, I cannot save you if you choose to disregard it.”

Devin sighed. “I know.”

His father laid a hand on his arm. “Have you considered that, by learning the Chronicles and not passing them on, you will only preserve them for your lifetime? How will that help the situation?”

Devin’s eyes sought the floor. “Gaspard’s thinking of becoming a folklorist.”

His father’s astonishment was obvious. “That’s not an Académie-level position! As a folklorist, he’ll be barred from the Archives for life. Is he out of his mind?”

Devin sighed. “He can’t keep up with his studies. He barely scraped by last term, even with my help. He doesn’t expect to pass his exams.”

His father shook his head. “What a disappointment for his father. I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“I hope this trip will give him another focus.”

His father grunted as the connection became apparent. “I guess I understand this better now. You’re planning to pass the songs and ballads on to him and he’ll record them. Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“Because none of you credit Gaspard with having a brain in his head,” Devin replied.

“Devin, the music is one thing, if that’s truly what you have in mind. There are already a few existing pamphlets of provincial songs. But you mustn’t ever ask Gaspard to compile any of the Chronicles in written form,” his father said. “They’ve hanged men for less. Be very, very careful what you are doing here. This is dangerous.”

Devin clenched his hands. “I would never put Gaspard’s life in danger,” he protested.

“God,” his father murmured, “I’m thinking of your own life, Devin.” His face softened. “I know how obsessed you can become with a project. From the time you were a child you have been fascinated by the bards’ brown cloaks. Where would you wear one, Dev? They’re barred from the Archives!”

“Why would you care what I do with the cloak?” Devin protested. “If I earn an embroidered symbol for all fifteen provinces, I’ll be the first man to have a complete set!”

“It’s a formidable task, son,” his father said quietly. “Don’t set yourself up for defeat.”

“Can’t you understand?” Devin pleaded. “The cloak represents an accomplishment; something no one else has ever done! It would be no different than the trophies you still display from your Académie days!”

His father’s face sobered. “Perhaps, you’re right. But my trophies didn’t put me in any physical danger.”

“So, broken bones don’t count, then?” Devin asked. His father still walked with a slight limp from a leg that had been broken during a polo match.

“Touché,” his father replied, stepping back. The distance between them indicated that he’d allowed Devin to score a point, but he considered the argument had already been won. “Look here, I’m sure dinner is getting cold and your mother is fretting. Let’s finish this, son, and agree not to discuss it again. Either you abide by my wishes or the trip is canceled. Which will it be?”

“You know which,” Devin replied sulkily. He’d planned too long to allow this dream to end on the night of its inception.

“Good,” his father said, relief evident in his voice. “You’ve made the right decision. As of tomorrow morning, you’ll be included on the Council’s payroll, under my direct authority. I’ll expect a full report from each province – I’m not interested in the number of tales you’ve gathered, of course – but your reflections on them, and observations of the provinces themselves. Marcus will arrange to have them delivered to me. Besides, your mother will want to know where you are and how you are faring. And as always, my resources are available if you need them, Devin, wherever you are. You have only to ask.”

“I know that,” Devin replied, allowing his father to direct him toward the dining room.

“And, don’t be concerned that Marcus will interfere with your plans. I assure you, he will be very discreet. You and Gaspard can feel free to enjoy yourselves. That’s what the Third Year has always been about.”

Not my Third Year, Devin thought miserably, I’ll be tracked, followed, and reported on, make no mistake about it.

His father detained him, a hand still on his arm. “And Devin, I appreciate your being reasonable after receiving my message. I expected you to overreact and yet, when I walked in tonight, I found you calmly stating your case to your brothers. It shows maturity.” He smiled. “And courage, too. I’m proud of you and glad we’ve worked this out.”

Devin’s hand dropped automatically to the message in his pocket. He’d never even read it. “Thank you,” he murmured, inclining his head. He stood for a moment, uncertain what to do. “Could you excuse me, please? I’d like to wash my hands before dinner.”

“Of course,” his father replied.

He walked quickly down the hall to the gentlemen’s lavatory. Wall sconces lighted the huge room designed to handle the needs of the Chancellor’s constant entertaining. A bank of porcelain sinks, their brass taps gleaming, covered one wall. He’d come so very close to revealing his entire plan tonight and then he would never have been permitted to leave. Devin retrieved his father’s message and broke the seal, spreading it out on the sink in front of him. The note was brief and to the point:

Devin,

Under no circumstances are you to leave the city without speaking to me first. There is strong opposition to your trip and I think it would be wise to cancel it. I hate to disappoint you but you’ll have to trust my judgment in this. Come to the house after exams, we’ll discuss it then.

Affectionately,

Your Father

He read the message twice. Had his father truly intended to call off his trip? And if so, at what point had he reconsidered? Obviously, the decision had been made before Devin arrived: he’d had Marcus waiting in the hall. He stood a moment wondering whether to admit he hadn’t read the message before he came, and decided against it. His hands shaking, he folded the parchment and jammed it back into his pocket. After one quick look in the mirror, he walked back down the hall to the dining room.

CHAPTER 2
Leaving Viénne

Devin turned down his father’s offer of a carriage to take him back to the dormitory. The cool moonlit walk offered a quiet end to a hectic day. He strolled beneath the budding trees, marking his progress by the luminous pools the gas lights left on the sidewalk. The Académie buildings looked formidable against the dark sky. Only the Archive’s windows were still illuminated as first year apprentices labored to shelve the massive quantity of materials which had been used to study for final exams. The examination hall had closed at ten and it was now well past midnight.

The dormitory lobby reeked of pipe tobacco, its table and chairs littered with crumpled study notes, crumbs, and empty glasses. Devin mounted the stairs without seeing another student. An eerie quiet marked the darkened halls. Some students had already departed for the three month summer holiday. Others were celebrating or drowning their sorrows down at Antoine’s. Final exams sparked either high spirits or despair. The essays were excruciatingly specific with little room for fabrication. Rarely did a student leave the Examination Hall without knowing for certain he had secured a place in next year’s class, or that he would have to return home in disgrace.

Gaspard was not in his room. None of his clothes had been packed and his bed remained rumpled and unmade. Devin packed the contents of his own closet in the large trunk at the foot of his bed, reserving only a few items to put into his knapsack. He intended to take only what he could conveniently carry. He folded his itinerary and placed it flat on the bottom, and then a few shirts and trousers, a warm jacket and blanket, thick socks, and a pocket knife. Only because his father required him to make reports did he include paper and ink. Either item might be misconstrued by the Council members who disapproved of his journey. Whatever else he needed could be purchased along the way. The larger job was to strip the room of his belongings. Next year he would be assigned an apartment in the Archives. He would never return to this dormitory again.

It was after three when he finished marking the boxes of books and the trunk with instructions to be taken to his parents’ house. There was still no sign of Gaspard, and their ship sailed at five. He threw his roommate’s clothes into another knapsack and started to pack his other belongings.

He was so tired; even the thin, bare, mattress tempted him. The past two weeks he’d had little sleep, spending half the night studying for his own exams and the other half tutoring Gaspard. He gave into temptation, slumping down on the bed and closing his eyes.

A moment later, he heard running feet on the stairs.

“Devin?” Henri Ferrare, a first year student, hung on the doorframe, his breath coming in gasps. “It’s Gaspard. Can you come?”

Devin dragged himself up off the bed. “What’s the matter? Is he hurt?”

Henri shook his head. “No, just drunk…and Antoine needs to close up.”

Devin quelled his annoyance. It was typical of Gaspard to go on a binge when he needed to concentrate his energy elsewhere. He clattered down the stairs and out the front door after Henri, feeling a chill as the night closed in around them. The sky was as clear and starry as midwinter, and Devin wished he’d brought his jacket. A spring peeper piped his bell-like solo from the edge of the fountain. Behind them a cabbie shouted anxiously for a fare, but they kept on going.

“Antoine sent for Gaspard’s father,” Henri confided as they hurried along.

“God,” Devin murmured. “I hope we get there before he does!”

At Antoine’s, candles burned on every table, though the sign by the front door said “closed.” Devin stopped just inside, realizing he’d never seen this room empty before. Its cozy warmth faded without the camaraderie of dozens of students and scholars clustered around the bar and sitting at the tables. The silence seemed jarring, bereft of the sound of laughter and the clink of glasses.

They found Gaspard on the floor under a corner table, a cut oozing blood across his right cheekbone. Antoine knelt beside him, a wet cloth in hand.

“How badly is he hurt?” Devin demanded.

The barman shrugged and stood up. “It’s nothing. The cut will heal without a scar.”

Devin leaned down to see for himself. Gaspard’s breathing was smooth and regular, his parted lips emitting an occasional snore.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I sent for his father,” Antoine replied. “I thought you’d gone home.”

“I went home for dinner but I had to come back to pack,” Devin answered. He had barely a month to spend in each province. He needed every moment of his summer holiday plus his entire Third Year to complete his project. He couldn’t have lingered a few days with his parents even if he had wanted to.

“Monsieur Forneaux came himself,” Antoine continued, “and Gaspard was not glad to see him.”

Gaspard’s father was René Forneaux, a high ranking Council member. He must have been very angry or very worried to have come himself to drag his son out of a bar in the middle of the night.

“Monsieur Forneaux tried to take him home,” Antoine continued. “Gaspard told him he hadn’t finished his exams. He said, when he turned them in, Isaac La Salle told him he need not return to the Académie next fall.”

Devin’s breath wheezed out in exasperation. The least Gaspard could have done was to finish his exam and not leave it half completed. The implication was that he didn’t care if he was ruining his chances at the Académie.

“This is not true?” Antoine asked.

“True enough, unfortunately,” Devin murmured. “And then, what happened?”

“Monsieur Forneaux said he would hire tutors for the summer so that Gaspard could be reinstated. Gaspard told him that all the tutors in the world wouldn’t help him graduate. He said if his father couldn’t accept that, he could go to hell. Then Monsieur Forneaux hit him.”

Devin winced, glancing at his friend on the floor. “He knocked him out cold?”

“No, no!” Antoine explained. “Gaspard passed out. He drank a whole bottle of wine after his father left.”

Devin rolled his eyes. “Can you help me carry him back to the dormitory, Henri?”

Antoine grabbed his sleeve and pointed. “That won’t be necessary. I think your father sent his carriage.”

“What?” Devin said in disbelief. He turned to see Marcus’s formidable bulk standing in the doorway.

“I’ll take care of this,” his bodyguard said, bending to pull Gaspard from under the table. “Go back and get your things and his. I’ll meet you at the bottom of the dormitory steps.”

“How did you hear about this?” Devin asked.

“Your father had me follow you. I called to you from outside the dormitory when you ran down the steps. You must not have heard me.”

So the protection his father had assigned him had started immediately, even before he’d left the city of Coreé. Devin found it odd.

Marcus paused, Gaspard slung over his shoulder like a sack of grain. “You’re certain Gaspard still wants to go?”

“We haven’t spoken since this morning…” Devin said, suddenly unsure he was doing the right thing.

Marcus made the decision for him. “We’ll take him with us. If he decides to return, your father will pay his passage back. Go now. You’ll be late.”

“What time is it?” Devin asked.

“Nearly five,” Marcus told him.

“The ship…”

“Will wait,” Marcus replied “You father’s seen to that.”

Devin smiled. This morning there seemed to be some advantages to being the Chancellor’s son.

Even though the sun had yet to rise, the docks in the harbor swarmed with activity. The Marie Lisette sat low in the water, her hold filled with Sorrento wine bound for the Northern Provinces. Marcus carried Gaspard aboard while Devin gathered their belongings from the carriage. He turned to see his father ride up on his dappled gray gelding.

“I decided to see you off,” Vincent Roché said, drawing his coat closer around him. “It’s a cold morning to be heading north, son. You’ll keep an eye on the weather?”

“Of course. But we have to visit the Northern Provinces first; they’ll be snowbound again by the first of September,” Devin said, even though he’d left his father their proposed itinerary.

“Just be careful and listen to Marcus. He’s got a good head on his shoulders.”

“I will,” Devin replied. “I hadn’t expected to see you this morning.”

“I have a small gift,” his father said, extending a package.

Devin laughed, pleased that he’d come. “I thought you’d already given me Marcus.”

“Marcus is going with you to ease my concerns.” He held the package out again. “Open it.”

Devin tore the brown paper away to reveal a cloak of russet suede.

“A storyteller’s cloak?” he gasped in surprise.

“You’ve always wanted one,” his father said, guiding his horse in closer as a wagon pulled by to unload. “You’ll need it if you’re going to collect all fifteen symbols.”

“Thank you,” Devin murmured. “I’d planned to purchase one in Arcadia but this will mean so much more.”

His father smiled. “It’s a peace offering. I didn’t want you to think that I agreed with the Council members who would have prevented this trip.” He glanced around them. “Where’s Gaspard?”

Devin sighed. “In his cabin. Marcus has already proven invaluable.” He told him briefly what had happened.

“I’d better let René know, Dev. You can’t go, and let him think his son has disappeared. I won’t mention that he didn’t leave under his own power. That’s between the two of you.”

They both glanced up at the same time and saw the Captain waiting at the top of the gangplank. “You’d better go, son, we’ve held your ship up long enough.”

Devin nodded, suddenly reluctant to leave. “Give Mother my love.”

“I didn’t tell her I was coming to see you off. She’s feeling quite fragile this morning. She would have begged you to stay.”

“It’s difficult to say ‘no’ to her.”

“I’m well aware of that!” his father said with a laugh, backing his horse away. “Have a good trip, Devin. Stay safe.”

“You too,” he called after him. He turned then, not wanting to watch him go, and walked toward the Marie Lisette.

The Captain welcomed Devin aboard himself, first bowing then shaking his hand.

“I’m sorry I’ve given you a late start,” Devin apologized, before he’d stepped off the gangplank.

Captain Torrance smiled, handing Devin the key to his cabin. “Don’t worry. Your father made it worth my while. I hope your friend will feel better by this evening. We put him in the cabin next to yours.”

Devin couldn’t shake the nagging doubt that, perhaps, he’d forced Gaspard to accompany him when he’d decided otherwise. Obviously, Gaspard had made the decision to walk away from any chance of passing his exams and staying on at the Académie. Perhaps, he’d changed his mind about visiting the provinces, too. Devin carried his knapsack down into the hold, passing by the cabin the Captain had assigned to him, and going into Gaspard’s instead.

His friend lay sound asleep, snoring loudly. His face had been washed, the cut doctored and bandaged. Someone had even strapped him in his bunk, a basin in easy reach on the table. The Northern channel of the Dantzig was notoriously rough when the snow melt had swelled its course. They weren’t in for an easy ride.

The door opened behind him and Devin stepped aside in the tiny space.

“Gaspard’s fine,” Marcus assured him. “Go up on deck and get some fresh air! When he starts to puke, he won’t want you hanging around. Let the man have a little privacy.”

Devin nodded, secretly glad to escape sickroom duty. He’d been planning this departure for months. But last night his father’s concern and Gaspard’s irresponsibility had dampened his enthusiasm. Here with the ship bobbing under his feet he felt the rush of excitement return. He stopped to drop his knapsack on the bunk in his own cabin and went back up on deck.

In the first flush of dawn, the lines were being untied and two tug boats were moving into place to tow them out into the main channel. The wind pulled at the edges of the furled sails and ruffled the water. Whitecaps topped the waves. He stood at the prow, with the wind in his hair, and laughed. This was what he’d waited for, Devin thought. This was the beginning of an adventure!

CHAPTER 3
The Marie Lisette

The first mate tapped his shoulder.

“Move to the forecastle if you want to watch, monsieur. When we hoist the sails, these booms will start to swing. You could be knocked overboard before anyone has a chance to warn you.”

Devin nodded, embarrassed that he hadn’t known better. He’d had no experience with ships and he had sought out the first deck available. He found steps to another level, and stationed himself out of harm’s way on the upper deck with a good view of their course.

Devin had the forecastle to himself. The Marie Lisette only carried seven travelers besides himself, Marcus, and Gaspard. The others must have boarded last night, he thought, and were still lingering below deck, sleeping through their departure. Devin enjoyed the solitude, watching as the huge ship made its way out of the harbor. They might have been on the eastern coast of the empire. The Dantzig’s waters stretched beyond the horizon in three directions, dividing Llisé nearly in half. Six provinces bordered the eastern side of the Dantzig, separating them from its culture and learning as effectively as an ocean. The Rhine provided almost as great a barrier for the eight provinces to the west. Only Arcadia connected by land to Viénne, the capital province, but the mountain ranges between proved a formidable impediment even in the summer months.

To the south, a scattering of ships negotiated the Dantzig’s channels, their sails billowing in the strong east wind. To the north, the river lay cold and deserted. The Marie Lisette’s course into the channel carefully avoided ominous white water, where rock and debris threatened to snag ships unfamiliar with the river’s shallows.

The wind went right through Devin’s jacket, chilling him to the bone, and yet he wouldn’t have moved for the world. His father’s position had kept them close to Coreé in the past. There had been no seaside holidays for the Chancellor’s family even though summers in the capital were uncomfortably steamy and hot. Devin’s mother had felt her place lay at her husband’s side and she never allowed herself the luxury of a summer cottage on the coast of Tirolien or Cretois. Ironically, Devin had been named for just such a seaside resort where his parents had spent a month celebrating his father’s rise to power. Devin had been born nine months later; the sixth and final son of the new Chancellor Elite of Llisé.

Travel, a pleasure denied to Devin in the past, had today become a reality and he was relishing every minute of it. The smell of the harbor, hanging like a stinking cloud over the docks behind them, dissipated as they moved farther from the shore, giving way to the clean scent of wind over open water. Coreé faded to a distant smudge on the horizon once the sails unfurled. The ship leaped forward like a stallion, hurtling through the waves. The stinging force of the wind brought tears to Devin’s eyes and he turned his back to wipe them, startled to find someone standing behind him.

A tall middle-aged man held out his hand. “I’m Henri LeBeau, Department of Sciences. I work with your brother.”

Devin nodded. The man looked familiar. Perhaps, he’d seen him at the Académie. Although, much to Andre’s disappointment, he had no classes in that department.

“Of course,” he said, extending his own hand. “I’m sure André has mentioned your name.”

“How long have you been out here?” Henri asked, covering Devin’s hand with both of his. “You’re freezing.”

It was an overly familiar gesture and Devin extricated his hand, shoving it into the warmth of his pocket instead. “It’s the wind,” he murmured, turning back to the view ahead. “But I can’t tear myself away long enough to go down to my cabin.”

“I understand the fascination,” Henri replied. “Unfortunately, I’m too late to see the sun rise over the water.”

Devin resisted the urge to point out the sun had risen hours ago. To his right, he saw Marcus lounging casually against the rail. He wondered when he’d come up on deck.

“I’m traveling for a few months,” Henri continued. “I have a small summer home in Arcadia but I plan to stay a month in Ombria and another in Tirolien on the way.”

That was odd. Devin’s plans took him along the same route.

“And where are you headed?” Henri asked.

Devin shrugged, affecting a nonchalance he didn’t feel. “Well, after all, this is my Third Year. My friends and I plan to tour all fifteen provinces and still make it back before classes begin next September.”

Henri laughed. “An ambitious undertaking! So, you’re not alone?”

“No,” Devin replied, cocking his head at Marcus. “There are three of us.”

Henri’s eyes met Marcus’s and then slid off. “I see. Well, I’m sure you’ll have a good time. Do you plan to stop in Treves?”

Arcadia’s Master Bard lived in Treves. Of course, they’d stop there but Devin didn’t like where this questioning seemed to be headed. He shook his head. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

“I could show you the sights. The healing springs are world famous.”

“I haven’t any complaints,” Devin murmured. “Perhaps, when I’m your age, I’ll pay them a visit.” The remark was rude and pointed but his companion refused to be offended.

“The east side of the city is a warren of caves and hot springs. Most are still in their natural state, dripping with ferns and cascading waterfalls. It’s worth seeing. Why don’t we set a date?”

Devin gave an exaggerated shiver. “You know, I think I will go below decks. I’m really chilled. It’s nice to have met you.”

But their parting wasn’t so easily accomplished. “I’ll come with you,” Henri offered, tagging along as though they were the best of friends. “Would you like to stop in the galley for coffee or chocolate? Something hot would warm you.”

“Not right now,” Devin replied, glad to see Marcus following them closely down the steps. “I didn’t sleep at all last night. Perhaps I’ll nap awhile and go back up on deck later.”

“I’ll save a chair for you at dinner, then,” Henri offered, giving Devin’s shoulder a proprietary pat. “Enjoy your rest.”

Devin ducked inside his cabin, fuming as he saw Henri jotting the cabin number down on a piece of paper from his pocket. The man was almost enough to make him change his itinerary. A moment later, Marcus knocked and Devin let him in, half expecting to see Henri lurking behind him but the passageway was blessedly empty.

Marcus closed the door and leaned against it.

“Henri LeBeau,” he said. “Councilman, Alexander LeBeau’s oldest son. His father is a constant thorn in your father’s side, and he is also one of the Council members who threatened to file a complaint about your trip.”

“Shit,” Devin muttered.

“And then some,” Marcus agreed.

Devin sat down on his bunk. “He wants to be my best friend, apparently.”

“I would discourage that.”

“I tried! The man wouldn’t leave me alone. I was blatantly rude and he just smiled.”

Marcus snorted. “Perhaps, I will be rude myself. I’ve had more practice at it than you have.”

Devin laughed, releasing the tension that had threatened to spoil the morning. “Perhaps you could just push him overboard.”

Marcus’s face was impassive. “I will consider it.”

“I was only kidding,” Devin said, rummaging through his knapsack.

“I was not,” Marcus replied.

Devin turned his bag over and dumped the contents on his bunk, carefully separating his belongings.

“What’s the matter?” Marcus asked.

“My itinerary is missing.”

“Perhaps you misplaced it,” Marcus suggested.

“I haven’t taken anything out of my knapsack until now.”

Marcus bent over the bunk to help him look. “Are you certain you packed it? You left the dormitory in a hurry.”

“It was the first thing I put in my knapsack!” Devin protested.

He’d spent months preparing that itinerary, estimating travel time and allowing for bad weather, always trying to set aside the maximum number of days to memorize each province’s Chronicles. He was attempting something that apprentice bards took years to accomplish. There wasn’t a spare moment built into that schedule once they set foot in Ombria. The only other copy was in Coreé, on his father’s desk. Suddenly, the whole project seemed hopelessly doomed.

Marcus turned to look at the door. “Did you lock your cabin when you went up on deck?”

“Of course,” Devin snapped, and then wondered if he had actually locked the door. The Captain had given him a key but he couldn’t remember having used it. His hand fumbled in his pocket. With a sinking feeling he pulled out the brass key with the numbered fob. “Maybe not,” he amended dully.

Marcus sighed. “I don’t suppose you have a second copy?”

Devin shook his head.

“You can ask your father to send you one. Until it comes, can you recreate your plan for the first two provinces?”

Devin laughed. This whole scheme rested on his ability to memorize a great deal of information. If he couldn’t even remember the itinerary, they might as well turn around now and save everyone a lot of aggravation.

“Yes, I’m sure I can,” he answered. “I’ll work on it after dinner. It just makes me angry that someone stole it out of my cabin!”

“The fact that it’s the only thing that’s missing worries me more,” Marcus said. “Why is it important that someone knows exactly where you’re going? Do you think Henri LeBeau…?”

“LeBeau said he was spending a month in Ombria and Tirolien before going to Arcadia. That’s my plan, too. He could have stolen the itinerary before he talked to me on deck. But if he did, why did he write down my cabin number just now?”

“To divert suspicion?” Marcus suggested.

“Perhaps,” Devin answered, refolding his clothing and laying it on the bunk. “But, it seems a funny way of doing it. Who else is on board?”

“I already asked the Captain.” Marcus raised his hand and counted off on his fingers. “A merchant and his daughter from Tirolien, a young man who plans to spend his summer in Cretois with his aunt and uncle, another merchant from Coreé who is going to buy Arcadian lace for his shop, a physician returning to Treves with his daughter, and a soldier on a three month leave.”

“Counting LeBeau, that’s eight people,” Devin pointed out. “I thought there were only seven, in addition to us.”

Marcus raised his eyebrows. “You’re right. That’s what I was told. Perhaps LeBeau is the latecomer. I’ll go and find out.” He turned, with his hand on the door. “And Devin, if you actually plan to sleep, bolt this door when I leave and don’t open it for anyone but Gaspard or me.”

Devin stood up. “I should go and check on Gaspard.”

“I have already done that several times. I was planning to stop again on my way to see the Captain.” Marcus gestured at the mess on the bed. “Maybe you should go through your belongings one more time to make sure nothing else is missing. And, lock the door as soon as I leave.”

Devin threw the bolt after Marcus went out into the passageway. He found the whole concept of locks distasteful. He’d never lived where he’d had to worry about stealing. Dormitory rooms were never locked. The thought that scholars would steal from each other negated the entire idea of academic freedom and intellectual collaboration.

He spread out his things on the bunk again but nothing else seemed to be missing. It made the theft seem more sinister and pointed. There would be no reason to steal such a thing unless someone intended to follow him. He repacked the knapsack and stowed it underneath the narrow bunk before lying down. The problem of the missing itinerary lingered to worry him only a few minutes. The gentle roll of the ship was hypnotic and before he knew it, he fell asleep.

CHAPTER 4
Allies and Adversaries

When Devin wakened a few hours later, a piece of paper had been shoved under the door. He picked it up, recognizing Marcus’s untidy scrawl: I am on deck. M. Devin washed his face and straightened his clothes. The single porthole in his cabin showed the sun already lay low in the sky. He glanced at his watch. It was almost 7 o’clock; nearly time for dinner. He hadn’t meant to sleep that long. After he locked his cabin, he knocked softly on Gaspard’s door and received a muffled response. The knob turned easily in his hand.

Gaspard sat on the edge of his bunk, his hands clasped between his knees, his dark hair rumpled and standing on end. He glanced up at Devin with bloodshot eyes.

“Ah, my kidnapper shows himself at last.”

Devin’s stomach clenched. “Had you decided not to come with me?”

Gaspard regarded him icily another moment and then laughed, shaking his head back and forth. “Of course, I meant to come with you, you idiot! Did you think I wanted to stay in Coreé with my father ranting on about my irresponsibility? I hope you didn’t tell him I was going with you. It will do the old bastard good to worry about me for a change.”

“I’m sure he does worry about you,” Devin said. “My father came down to the docks to see me off. He insisted on going to tell your father, personally, that you’d gone.”

Gaspard rolled his eyes. “It’s more than the old man deserves.”

Devin sat down on the bunk beside him. “What did he say to you?”

Gaspard leaned his head against the wall, one arm propping himself upright. “After I gave up on my exams, I went down to Antoine’s to get seriously drunk. The next thing I knew my father was in my face, telling me how I had failed him and the entire Forneaux family. He insisted that I spend the summer under a tutor, of his choosing, and attempt to be reinstated at the Académie in the fall.”

Devin ran a hand through his hair. “God, I’ve made things so much worse. I’m sorry.”

“Worse?” Gaspard said with a hollow laugh. “How could things be worse than a summer in Coreé with my father breathing down my neck?”

“But he must have forbidden you to go with me.”

“Oh, he did. He threatened me, in fact, said if I went on this trip he’d disown me.”

“Gaspard!” Devin protested. “My father knew none of this when I talked to him. He’ll be furious at me for dragging you along.”

Gaspard grunted. “I’m afraid that is your problem, mon ami. I have enough of my own at the moment.”

“But I’ve complicated the whole thing! Maybe you should take the first ship back to Coreé when we reach Friseé. I’ll write a letter to your father and explain what happened…”

Gaspard straightened abruptly. Grabbing Devin’s lapels, he shook him.

“You’re not listening, Dev! I don’t want to go back! I need this time away to decide what I’m going to do with my life. Fifteen months is a long time, my father may relent by then and if he doesn’t…so what? I can’t be responsible for his happiness as well as my own.”

Devin shook off Gaspard’s hands and stood up, pacing the tiny room. “There must be something I can do to help.”

“Pay attention!” Gaspard shouted. “You have done the best thing possible! I can’t thank you enough! Now drop it!” He lay back on the bunk, his feet still on the floor and stared at the ceiling. “All the tutors in the world wouldn’t have gotten me through those exams. You did what you could for me; spent hours going over all the information.”

“What happened?” Devin asked.

“With my exams?” Gaspard replied. He shrugged. “I froze, Dev. I looked at those examination questions and it was as though there wasn’t one scrap of information left in my head. I couldn’t have told them how old I was let alone who founded the archives!”

“Pierre Gaston,” Devin murmured involuntarily.

“I know that!” Gaspard snapped, then his voice softened. “I know it…now. But I couldn’t have told you then. My mind doesn’t work like yours, Dev. I get so on edge about taking an exam that when I sit down with the papers in front of me anything I ever knew just flies out the window.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I can’t thank you enough for getting me out of there, honestly. Fifteen months away from school – away from Father – sounds like heaven to me. I don’t know that I will ever go back. Maybe you could leave me on some deserted beach in Andalusia. I’ll spend the rest of my days in seclusion.”

“I’ve heard seclusion isn’t much fun,” Devin said.

Gaspard laughed. “That from you! You lock yourself up for days at a time, studying ancient documents.”

“I enjoy it.”

“Well, thank heavens you have other attributes that are more appealing!”

Devin pulled his watch from his pocket. “Can you eat? It’s time for dinner.”

Gaspard sat up. “A couple of hours ago, I wouldn’t have welcomed that suggestion but I could eat something now. Did you pack me a change of clothes or will I have to spend the next year in these ratty things?”

Devin dragged Gaspard’s knapsack up onto the bunk. “I packed very light. We’re going to be doing a lot of walking. If there’s anything you need that I left out, I’ll replace it when we get to port.”

Gaspard sat for a moment, his hand on his knapsack. “There’s one other issue…”

Devin twisted to look at him. “What?”

Gaspard turned out his pockets. “I’m penniless. I spent the last of my money at Antoine’s.”

Devin shook his head. “That’s not a problem. You had no time to pack.”

“You did kidnap me,” Gaspard pointed out.

“I did,” Devin agreed. “To be frank, I couldn’t quite face going without you.”

Gaspard snickered. “You didn’t think Marcus would show you a good time?”

Devin laughed. “Absolutely not! Believe me, when I say that I never expected to have a bodyguard assigned to me.”

Gaspard’s face sobered. “Marcus may be an asset. My father’s a dangerous man, Dev. He is furious with me but now he will be angry at you, too.”

“He was already angry at me. My father said he was one of the Council members who objected to this trip. We’re on our way. Let’s put that behind us. And as far as money is concerned, this is my trip and I’ll take care of the expenses.”

Devin was also on the Council’s payroll now, but something kept him from sharing the information. Now wasn’t the time or the place.

Gaspard’s smile was pensive. “Thank you,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’ve always thought I should be the responsible one. I’m three years older than you. I should be like your big brother; instead, you are always bailing me out.”

Devin laughed. “I have far too many big brothers! I’m much happier to be traveling with a friend. I’ll go find Marcus while you change. We’ll meet you in the dining room.”

Devin passed no one in the passageway. Down the hall he could hear the clink of glasses and silverware and the low murmur of voices. Henri LeBeau laughed louder and longer than necessary and Devin cringed as he went up the staircase.

He braced himself as he crossed the deck. Lowering purple clouds filtered the sun’s rays, sending bright shafts of light to illuminate the water. Feathered fringes glowed gold and orange in a glorious display, unencumbered by the clutter of land, trees, or buildings. Their appetites and the rising wind had apparently discouraged any other passengers from admiring the view. Only Marcus stood on the forecastle, his arms resting on the rail. Clutching his jacket around him, Devin stopped beside him.

“It’s quite a bit colder but that sunset is spectacular,” he commented. “What did Captain Torrance say?”

Marcus turned to face him, the wind blowing his hair into his craggy face. He swiped at it with a massive hand.

“The soldier is the only one who booked passage just before we left. His name is Bertrand St. Clair and he is stationed in Coreé, a member of the Militaire de l’Intérieur.”

Devin raised an eyebrow. “Does that qualify him as a thief?”

“Not ordinarily,” Marcus replied. “But his haste to come aboard makes him suspect.”

“Perhaps René Forneaux sent him.”

“Perhaps, but I imagine Monsieur Forneaux didn’t know for certain where Gaspard was until your father told him this morning. I think St. Clair’s plans were made earlier. He pretends to be on leave but he doesn’t act like a man on a holiday.”

“I think it’s possible that René Forneaux may have had Gaspard followed,” Devin said, and then filled him in on what Gaspard had told him.

Marcus sighed. “You’ve left your father with a pretty mess to sort out.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Devin said. “But there is nothing I can do about it now. I’ll write him a letter tonight and send it back on the first ship. Surely he knows I wouldn’t have brought Gaspard if I’d known he was forbidden to go?”

“Oh, he’ll realize it once he’s calmed down but I doubt he’ll be very happy with either of us. I wish I hadn’t encouraged you to bring Gaspard along,” Marcus admitted. “The best thing would be for him to go back and face his father.”

“He won’t go,” Devin assured him. “If I book him passage on another vessel, he’ll simply disappear. There’s nothing we can do now but proceed as we had planned.” They stood a moment at the rail in silence. “Did you tell the Captain that I’d had something stolen from my cabin?”

Marcus shook his head. “I decided not to. He would have said it was your own fault for leaving it unlocked. Besides, there might be some advantage to letting the thief think you haven’t missed it yet.”

“I still think he should know,” Devin protested. “His other passengers may be at risk too.”

Marcus bowed his head, acquiescing. “Then feel free to tell him, monsieur. You’ve heard my advice on the matter.” He crossed the deck and disappeared down the stairway.

Devin watched him go. Marcus had made it clear that Devin was in charge but he felt out of his depth. He was facing issues he had never expected to deal with. And now, the missing itinerary seemed less important in light of their other problems. Had he and Gaspard come alone, would he have sacrificed this trip to persuade him to go home? Should he tell the Captain that his itinerary had been stolen or keep the information to himself? He lingered for one more look at the smoldering sunset and followed Marcus below deck.

CHAPTER 5
Rough Seas

The dining room was far more elegant than Devin would have imagined for a ship the size of the Marie Lisette. Paneled in dark wood and trimmed in gleaming brass, the room could have seated forty. But only one table had been lit with burnished oil lamps and set for the inopportune number of thirteen.

“Ah,” Devin murmured, coming up behind Marcus and Gaspard, “which of us makes it unlucky thirteen?”

“You, I would think,” Gaspard commented mercilessly. “You arrived last and have kept everyone else waiting.”

The Captain turned to grace Devin with a smile. “At last, our honored guest has arrived. Ladies and gentlemen, may I present our Chancellor Elite’s youngest son, Devin Roché.”

Devin saw at once that he had dressed too informally. The rest of the company had donned evening attire for dinner. Only he, Marcus, and Gaspard stood clad in casual traveling clothes. Oh well, it couldn’t be helped. He gave a slight bow.

“Good evening. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. Please sit down.” The notoriety annoyed him but he tried not to let it show on his face.

The Captain ushered Devin to the chair on his right and seated Henri LeBeau next to him; Marcus and Gaspard were placed across from each other, further down the table. He quickly introduced the rest of the passengers. The merchant, Gustave Christophe, and his pretty daughter, Sophie, sat toward the end of the table. Across from them, Captain Torrance had put the other merchant, Frederic Putton, and his wife, Margot. Bertrand St. Clair, the soldier they suspected of ulterior motives, had been seated next to Marcus. Devin wondered if perhaps the Captain had done that intentionally. Thomas Reynard, a boy of about fourteen, sat alone at the end of the table. Dr. Lucien Rousseau and his daughter, Josette faced Devin and Henri, completing the company.

St. Clair slid his chair away from Marcus as he sat down. Perhaps, it was only a courtesy – giving Marcus the extra space his huge frame demanded – but Devin saw a momentary look of distaste cross the man’s face as well.

The Captain seized his soup spoon to sample the first offering.

“So tell us all the news from Coreé, monsieur,” he demanded of Devin. “What is troubling hearts in the capital this spring?”

“My friend Gaspard and I are students at the Académie,” Devin replied. “We haven’t had much time for political intrigue.”

“And what are you studying?” the Captain asked, taking a noisy slurp of his fish chowder.

“I’m a certified historian but I am training to work in the Archives,” Devin replied.

“Apparently, you don’t crave excitement, then,” the Captain said with a laugh. His gaze fell on Gaspard. “And you are René Forneaux’s son, are you not?”

Gaspard crooked an eyebrow. “Only if you catch him on the rare day that he will admit it.”

Sophie giggled and Gaspard rewarded her with a wink.

“You and your father are not on good terms?” Henri LeBeau asked.

Gaspard shook his head and downed a spoonful of chowder. “On the contrary, Monsieur LeBeau, we are on excellent terms, as long as we aren’t forced to spend any time together.”

St. Clair’s spoon hit his plate with a sharp report. “Your pardon,” he remarked hastily.

Devin cleared his throat. “Surely, dinner discussion shouldn’t center on such private matters. Mr. LeBeau, since you are a professor at the Académie, perhaps you could tell us about some of the courses you teach?”

The Captain laughed, elbowing Devin. “I see your father raised a diplomat, monsieur. Perhaps your talents will be wasted in the Archives.”

“Surely not,” LeBeau said. “Llisé is always in need of scrupulous historians to guard our written records. After all, our history defines us as a people. Wouldn’t you agree, Monsieur Roche?”

“I would,” Devin said with a nod. “We cannot safeguard our future without venerating the past.”

“Well said,” Dr. Rousseau chimed in. “I wish more young people shared your sentiments.”

“I know you and Monsieur Forneaux plan to visit all fifteen provinces in the next year,” LeBeau began. “Of what value will such a trip be to an archivist, monsieur?”

Devin chose his words carefully before he spoke. “It is something I have always wanted to do. Coreé has its libraries; the history and literature of a thousand years. The provinces have their Chronicles. Each province, including Viénne, has a unique character, and yet together they form Llisé. How can I understand the whole without understanding the parts that comprise it?”

Dr. Rousseau nodded his head approvingly. “Perhaps our Captain is right. Your skills may be wasted in the Archives. We need more young men like you on the Council. My God, written language is still forbidden in the provinces. A man can only be educated if he is recommended by the village elders, and then he must find a sponsor to provide the financial backing to reach Coreé and attend a school. How many intelligent individuals are languishing in the provinces that might serve us better if they could read and write?”

“You verge on heresy,” LeBeau said coldly.

“And yet, we are all human beings, LeBeau,” Dr. Rousseau retorted. “Some of us were simply fortunate enough to be born into families where education is taken for granted, not regarded as a privilege for the chosen few.”

“My family has personally sponsored a number of bright young men from Tirolien,” LeBeau replied. “As I am certain Chancellor Roche’s family has done in Sorrento. Every family that holds estates in the provinces recognizes the responsibility to instruct those unique individuals who can tolerate the demands of education.”

“A child is a child whether he is born into poverty or privilege,” Devin said quietly. “Who are we to determine who can and will be educated?”

“The determination is made by the wisest men of the village. Who is a better judge of a boy’s worth than his own people?” LeBeau retorted.

“I am not familiar with the actual process,” Devin replied, dipping his spoon into his chowder. “How are potential candidates identified?”

Gustave Christophe raised his hand tentatively. “My own son will receive schooling so he can carry on my business. But a father may also recommend his son to the elders if he shows exceptional promise.”

“What if the child is an orphan?” Devin asked.

“The men of the village can speak for him,” Gustave replied. “There is such a boy in my own village. His parents died when he was ten years old. He sweeps my shop in exchange for room and board. He shows skill in numbers and counting. I spoke for him to the elders.”

“And is he attending school?” Devin asked.

“He has no sponsor, monsieur.”

“Where do you live in Tirolien?”

“Tarente, monsieur.”

“I plan to travel through there in July,” Devin told him. “I would like to meet this boy, if you will give me directions to your shop. Perhaps my father can sponsor him.”

“Thank you very much, monsieur,” Gustave replied, bowing.

Marcus shifted uncomfortably but Devin ignored him. This was exactly the kind of thing he intended to include in his report to his father. How many other bright young children lacked sponsors to pay for their schooling? It was a problem that needed to be addressed.

LeBeau fixed Devin with a grim stare. “I had heard that there is an ulterior motive for your trip.”

“And what is that?” Dr. Rousseau asked.

“It is rumored that Monsieur Roche intends to memorize the Chronicles in as many provinces as he can,” LeBeau said. “Is that true?”

Devin placed his spoon carefully on his soup plate. Conversation had stopped. All eyes were on him.

“That was my original intention,” he admitted.

A slight gasp escaped from the lower end of the table. Devin suspected St. Clair but didn’t risk confirming it by a glance.

“And your objective has since been amended?” LeBeau continued.

“Not entirely,” Devin replied, aware of Marcus’s guarded expression. “I do intend to memorize some of the Chronicles. I cannot and would not record them in any kind of written document. My position as a historian precludes that.”

“Then what is the point of your project?” LeBeau demanded.

“It is only for my own information,” Devin answered. “I would like to understand our realm better. I am only familiar with our written history. Surely the vast treasury of story and song that makes up the tradition of the provinces is of value, too?”

“Legally, it is of value only to those who live in the provinces,” LeBeau pointed out. “Anything of historical importance has been officially recorded in Coreé. The rest is merely hearsay. Why would a man of your education and training waste his time on such a task?”

Devin held a palm up. “Monsieur, I will admit I am at a loss as to why this concerns you.”

“You are the son of our Chancellor,” LeBeau remarked sternly. “Are the sentiments you have voiced his as well?”

God, Devin thought. He apparently had no diplomatic skills what so ever or he would never have allowed the conversation to have gotten this far.

Gaspard’s wine glass smacked down on the table. “Don’t be an ass, LeBeau! You have children of your own. Does every one of them share the exact same interests and opinions you do?”

“Of course not,” LeBeau stammered. “That’s hardly the point!”

Gaspard raised his wine glass and gestured. “I think it is, monsieur. My friend Devin is merely a scholar. Unlike his brothers he holds no position of authority in his father’s government. His influence on any current policy is as negligible as your own. Why do you care what he thinks or does?”

“His actions reflect badly on his father!” LeBeau protested. “He shows a disregard for authority!”

Dr. Rousseau interrupted. “I disagree! I think that it is time the provinces were recognized for the contributions they make to Llisé. We would starve without their produce and wine. Viénne’s business would grind to a halt without provincial horses to pull our carriages and our supply wagons. Their mills provide the paper for every official document that is written in the capital and yet the makers of that paper could be thrown in prison for using it to record their own business!”

“Dr. Rousseau, your opinions could land you in prison, as well. I advise you to keep them to yourself!” LeBeau snapped.

Devin stood up and addressed those at the table. “Excuse me, please. Courtesy requires that meals remain free of political and religious discussion. I, personally, find it difficult to eat with all this shouting. Please continue without me and my companions.” He turned to the Captain. “Would it be possible to have our dinners served in my cabin?”

The Captain rose, clutching his napkin, his face the color of the setting sun.

“Of course, monsieur, I am so sorry. Please accept my apologies.”

Marcus pushed his chair back and crossed the room to wait, glowering, in the doorway.

“Thank you,” Devin said with a little bow. “Please enjoy the rest of your meal, if you can.”

Gaspard snagged the wine bottle from his end of the table and followed Devin out the door.

They went down the passageway in silence. Devin fumbled with the key and then waited until the others preceded him into the room. When he closed the door, his hands were shaking.

“Well,” he said, turning to Marcus. “I suppose you think I handled that badly.”

“On the contrary,” Marcus replied. “I thought you handled it quite well. You left LeBeau looking very much like the ass Gaspard reported him to be.”

“I wasn’t expecting him to try to embarrass me publicly.”

Gaspard collapsed on Devin’s bunk and uncorked the wine. “He embarrassed himself. I doubt that anyone else agreed with him, Dev.”

“St. Clair seemed quite pleased with LeBeau’s opinions,” Devin pointed out. “He was glowering at me through most of the meal.”

Marcus folded his arms and leaned against the wall. “St. Clair bears watching and so does LeBeau. LeBeau accomplished what he intended to do tonight. If only one of the other passengers repeats this conversation to someone else, the rumor could spread quite quickly that your father favors education for the masses and elevating the Chronicles to Archival status.”

“I never advocated either of those things!” Devin protested.

“No, you didn’t but LeBeau made certain that those views entered the conversation. Whether you actually voiced them or not has little to do with it,” Marcus said.

“I’ll admit I find it difficult to support a system which educates a merchant’s son enough to carry on his father’s business but denies him the right to become a physician or priest unless he finds a sponsor to encourage his scholarship.”

“Apparently, Dr. Rousseau agrees with you.”

Gaspard leaned back against the window and grimaced. “Why don’t you put your stuff away?” he grumbled, pulling Devin’s knapsack out from behind him.

Devin just stared it. “I put it under the bunk when I left.”

He and Marcus grabbed for it at the same time, spreading the drawstring at the top to reveal a sheaf of folded papers.

“Your itinerary?” Marcus asked.

“It appears to be,” Devin replied. He unfolded it, thinking it seemed thicker than before. Something dropped to the floor from between the pages: two twigs tied with red colored thread that formed a miniature cross. He stooped to pick it up but Marcus grabbed his wrist.

“Don’t touch it,” he warned.

“Why?” Gaspard asked, bending over to see it better.

“It carries a curse,” Marcus replied.

“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Devin said.

“You would never learn about such things in the Archives,” Marcus said, “but cursed crosses are quite common in the rural provinces. Superstition claims that the curse will come true for the first one who touches it.”

“What kind of a curse?” Devin asked.

“It depends on the color of the thread,” Marcus explained. “A blue center promises misfortune, a yellow one – illness, gray – disappointment, and red symbolizes death.”

“So, someone wants me dead?” Devin asked incredulously.

“It would seem so.” Marcus stooped to slide the offending object onto a piece of paper but it eluded him, skittering across the polished wooden floor.

“For God’s sake!” Gaspard protested, picking the thing up between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s only two twigs and some thread. What possible harm could it do?”

Devin watched with a shiver of apprehension as Gaspard unlatched the tiny window and flung it out into the sea. Whoever wished him ill, had entered his locked room and tampered once again with his belongings. The theft and return of the itinerary no longer seemed quite so trivial.

Gaspard turned from the window with a grin. “There, it’s gone. Put it out of your head, Dev. You never touched the thing so the curse can’t come true!”

“But you touched it,” Marcus pointed out darkly.

Gaspard tipped the wine bottle to his lips. “What are friends for?”

CHAPTER 6
Revelations

Gaspard chattered constantly during dinner. The clink of silverware provided a subtle counterpoint to his monologue. Despite his apparent good humor, Devin realized that the incident with the twine-wrapped cross had shaken Gaspard deeply. He simply wasn’t about to admit it to anyone.

They had no clue as to who had broken into Devin’s room. Gaspard and Marcus had entered the ship’s dining room just before Devin, and all the other passengers were present. So, it was impossible to tell who might have been responsible for placing the cross inside the itinerary. Obviously, whoever had done it, either had access to the Captain’s master key, or was a trained thief. No one they had met so far seemed a likely suspect, and Devin was tired of speculation. They’d sat for hours over the little folding table littered by fish bones piled on dirty dishes and greasy, discarded napkins. Devin and Gaspard had perched on the bunk, giving Marcus the only chair in the tiny cabin.

Gaspard lifted the wine bottle to refill Devin’s glass, but he covered it with his hand.

“I’ve had enough,” he muttered irritably, “and so have you.”

“Lighten up,” Gaspard demanded, topping off his own glass. “Why don’t we just forget about the whole thing? No one’s been hurt. It was probably just a childish prank. Someone is simply trying to scare you. If they’d intended to kill you, they could have laced the cross with poison. All you would have had to do was pick it up, and you’d be dead.”

“No, you’d be dead,” Marcus pointed out. “Devin had sense enough not to touch it when he was told not to.”

“So, I’d be dead,” Gaspard conceded. “But I’m not, so that proves my point.”

Devin grinned. “Maybe it’s a slow acting poison and tomorrow when I try to waken you…”

“Enough,” Marcus said. “This is a serious matter. That symbol represents both a warning and a threat.”

“How do you know that?” Devin asked. “I’ve never even seen one of those before.”

“My family has its roots in Sorrento,” Marcus answered. “Those curse symbols are common there. I remember my mother showing me one once. A disgruntled customer had left a blue one on someone’s stall at the market.”

“And people actually fear them?” Gaspard asked.

“Oh, yes,” Marcus said. “They are taken quite seriously. My grandmother used to tell the story of a man who was feuding with his neighbor. One morning he left a red cross in the middle of the road so that his neighbor would step on it when he took his vegetables to market. The neighbor packed up his donkey and started to town, never even seeing the cross lying in the road. The donkey stepped on it instead. That evening on the way home, the donkey tripped along the cliff road. It fell into the sea and drowned.”

Gaspard grimaced. “Shit, Dev, you owe me.”

“Apparently,” Devin agreed, his eyes on his bodyguard. “Marcus, were you raised in Sorrento?”

“No, I was born in Coreé.”

“And when did you decide to go into my father’s service?”

Marcus shrugged. “I don’t remember ever being given a choice. My family has served your family for generations both in Coreé and on your father’s estate in Bourgogne.”

“That’s hardly fair to you, is it?” Devin said.

“Your father has been good to me. Not only did he give me a responsible position in his household but he taught me to read and write.”

“He taught you himself?” Devin asked in astonishment.

Marcus nodded. “Every evening for several years.”

Devin laughed. “That surprises me. I wish I had known before.”

Gaspard savored another sip of wine. “Wasn’t he breaking the law by teaching you?”

“Gaspard,” Devin cautioned.

Marcus extended a placating hand. “It’s a legitimate question. Monsieur Roche said that my position as his bodyguard required me to carry correspondence, and it was necessary that I learn to read and write.”

“And yet, he didn’t sponsor you and send you to school which he could have done legally. He taught you himself,” Gaspard pointed out.

Marcus shrugged again. “I was already in his employ. He’s a good man. He treats his people with respect, both in Coreé and in Sorrento.”

“So, perhaps Henri LeBeau wasn’t so wrong in his assessment of Vincent Roché?” Gaspard remarked thoughtfully.

Devin glared at him. “So, you think my father was wrong to educate Marcus?”

Gaspard’s hand flew to his chest. “I didn’t say that! God, you’re touchy tonight! I am actually questioning LeBeau’s motives. I was wondering if someone had started a movement to discredit the Chancellor.”

Marcus was silent for a moment. “We had the first indications of that several months ago. Unfortunately, we suspect that your father may be one of the instigators.”

Gaspard rolled his eyes. “That’s hardly a surprise.”

“Why didn’t Father tell me?” Devin asked. The Chancellor Elite was elected by the Council. The position was normally held for a lifetime, as long as the candidate remained powerful and respected. Only twice in the past thousand years had a Chancellor been deposed by a political coup, and that had been in the early years of the empire.

“There was nothing you could have done,” Marcus replied.

“I could have stayed home.”

“And what would that have accomplished?” Marcus asked.

“My visit to the provinces wouldn’t have sparked controversy which put my father in a difficult position.”

“Well, now that your trip is underway, conduct yourself in a manner that won’t worsen the problem,” Marcus answered curtly.

“Obviously, it is already worse!” Devin said. “LeBeau is intent on starting rumors, and someone is trying hard to deter me from going.”

“But the Council’s objections and our little folk symbol seem to be at cross purposes,” Gaspard pointed out.

“What do you mean?” Devin asked.

Gaspard leaned back against the wall and drained his wine glass before answering. “It seems to me that this trip plays right into my father’s hands. Why would he try to discourage you from going, if he intends to use your visit to the provinces to discredit your father?” He fumbled for the bottle on the floor, only to find it empty.

“Maybe your father professes one view publicly and works privately to further the opposite position,” Devin said.

“Or perhaps there are two factions working independently,” Marcus suggested.

“At least, I see now why your father didn’t want you coming with me,” Devin said. “Perhaps his plan to hire tutors was just a pretense.”

“Well, I’ll be happy if I’ve helped to ruin his plan,” Gaspard said, yawning. “He can hardly use you to disgrace your father without admitting I’ve done the same to him.” He stood up unsteadily. “I’m going to bed. Why don’t you two figure this out and tell me in the morning.”

“Wait here a moment, Gaspard, while I take the dishes to the galley,” Marcus said. He turned to look at Devin. “You’d better turn in, too.”

Devin snorted. “Who can sleep? There’s far too much to think about.” He watched the door close behind Marcus, glad to see the last of the debris from dinner.

“The day after tomorrow we’ll be off this damn ship,” Gaspard reminded him. “And anyone following us will be far more obvious on land.”

“A sharp shooter doesn’t have to be close to be effective,” Devin muttered.

Gaspard shook his head. “It’s not like you to be so maudlin.”

“I’m just annoyed that a simple trip could be used as a political weapon. I wish my father had been completely honest about why he wanted me to stay home,” Devin said.

Gaspard grunted. “And would you have listened to him?”

“Maybe, if I’d known what was at stake and I’d have to watch for assassins at every turn.”

“Let me do that,” Marcus said, as he slipped back through the door. “That’s why your father sent me.”

“See you in the morning,” Gaspard said, giving him a crooked salute and stumbling out into the passageway.

“Goodnight,” Devin said, making no move to get up. He noticed the satchel in Marcus’s hand and frowned. “You’re not planning to sleep in here, are you?”

“Your father entrusted me with your life,” Marcus replied, putting his satchel on the opposite bunk. “Locks are no deterrent to this intruder, so I’m not going to leave you alone.”

“But your cabin’s just next door,” Devin pointed out.

“I’ve learned only too well that an instant can mean the difference between life and death,” Marcus replied. “Gaspard may scoff at that red cross but I take it very seriously.”

Devin took off his shirt, pulled off his boots, and lay down. He stared at the ceiling, thinking how little he really knew about the man who was sharing his room. His first memory of Marcus was the day after his seventh birthday. His father was dedicating a new park along the Dantzig. The entire family had accompanied him for the celebration. Clouds had scudded across a brilliant blue sky and sailboats dotted the broad river.

They were standing near the new fountain. His father had just finished addressing the crowd when a man suddenly darted forward, a knife in his hand. Andre, already a graduate assistant at the Académie, had grabbed Devin, shielding him with his own body. But the assassin had only targeted the Chancellor. From the protective folds of Andre’s jacket, Devin had heard a startled cry, a scuffle, and the dull thud of a body hitting the cobblestones.

Afraid for his father, Devin had pulled away in time to see Marcus pinning the attacker to the ground. The abandoned knife skittered across the pavement. His father was safe and unhurt, thanks to Marcus’s quick action. Oddly enough, after all these years, two things still troubled Devin about the incident. The first was Andre’s selfless disregard for his own safety. The other was the haunting image of a single tear running down the cheek of Marcus’s prisoner as he lay prostrate on the cobblestones.

Devin turned to look at Marcus sitting on the bunk across from him.

“The day my father was attacked in Verde Park, why did the man cry when you caught him? Was he hurt or simply frustrated that he wasn’t successful?”

Marcus stopped unpacking his belongings. On the table between them he had laid out two pistols, three knives, and a lethal looking coil of wire. He looked up at Devin.

“I wouldn’t have thought you’d remember that. You were only a baby at the time.”

“I was seven,” Devin corrected him.

Marcus closed his satchel and shoved it under the bunk. He loosened the buttons on the neck of his shirt and lay down, his hands folded behind his head.

“Your father was attacked by Emile Rousseau, a stone cutter from Sorrento. Emile had made three requests for sponsorship for his son, Phillippe. The boy was bright but not very strong physically. Emile felt he deserved to be educated. He was anxious that his son be removed from working in the stone quarries. Your father had a great many other things to deal with at the time. He had already sponsored a number of boys, and for one reason or another he postponed his decision about Emile’s son. About three months later, there was an accident at the quarry; Phillippe was crushed between two slabs when a cable broke. Emile blamed your father. He traveled for nine days on foot to reach the capital and kill him.”

Devin found it difficult to breathe. “What happened to him?” he asked.

Marcus extinguished the oil lamp on the table between them.

“He was executed,” he answered. “Now get some sleep.”

CHAPTER 7
Snow in Ombria

After breakfast, Gaspard spent the morning in the lounge dividing his time between Sophie Christophe and Josette Rousseau. For a few minutes, Devin attempted to be equally charming, but Marcus, who took his role of guardian angel very seriously, shadowed his every move, making normal conversation nearly impossible. At last, he sought the relative privacy of the deck, his bodyguard in tow.

The day had dawned clear and cold. It seemed that the Marie Lisette had left spring behind them in Coreé. The trees along the visible shoreline were still bare and leafless. To the north, clouds clustered along the horizon, blue-black and stormy.

“We’re in for a blow,” Marcus said darkly. “That storm is probably just south of Ombria now.”

“Let me guess,” Devin teased, “your grandmother was a sailor, too.”

Marcus didn’t crack a smile. “Sorrento is landlocked,” he retorted. “But, it doesn’t take a sailor to recognize bad weather. I don’t imagine we’ll get much sleep tonight.”

Devin didn’t comment. He wondered if Marcus was aware that he had lain awake most of last night. Every footstep in the passageway had set his heart thumping. He’d always felt safe in Coreé. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t realized, especially after the incident at Verde Park, that his family would live under constant threat. But that threat had only touched him once, personally. His childhood had remained remarkably charmed and unblemished despite his father’s elevated position.

He leaned forward on the rail and watched the churning water as it rushed by the prow.

“Had it occurred to you that Dr. Rousseau might be related to Emile?” he asked, after a moment.

“Dr. Rousseau lives in Treves. His family has resided there for several generations,” Marcus responded.

“He told you that?”

“No, the Captain did. I made it clear that, for security purposes, it was imperative I know more than just the obvious things about the others on board. Besides, any good Captain makes a practice of knowing his passengers, especially, when he is entrusted with carrying the son of the Chancellor Elite.”

Devin rolled his eyes. He seemed doomed to drag his father’s title along with him, like an anchor around his neck. “Do you trust Captain Torrance?”

“Your father booked your passage. He wouldn’t have chosen this particular ship had he any qualms about Captain Torrance’s loyalty or his skill.”

Devin shrugged. He wished he could recapture yesterday’s thrill of excitement. Today, he felt jumpy and suspicious. He envied Gaspard’s carefree attitude. But now that he knew about both the political turmoil in Coreé and its potential threat to his father, they weighed on him. He thought again about his father’s abrupt reversal, the evening before he left, in allowing him to continue with his trip. Had his father wanted Devin out of the city for his own safety? Did he hope that, in fifteen months, the threat of revolution might have been averted or resolved? For the first time Devin truly considered booking his passage back to Coreé when they docked in Pireé.

The wind drove them below deck by afternoon and true to Marcus’s prediction the storm hit by nightfall. The choppy water sent half the passengers, including Gaspard, to their cabins. Dr. Rousseau was kept busy tending seasick travelers for most of the evening. Devin had to admit that the heaving floors made him feel a little uneasy himself, but Marcus seemed completely unaffected.

Devin hadn’t seen Henri LeBeau all day and was surprised when he came into the lounge after dinner. He crossed the floor and headed immediately to where Josette and Devin were seated talking in the corner of the room. Marcus detached himself from the wall and assumed a protective stance next to Devin. The room fell into expectant silence around them.

LeBeau sketched a small bow. “I wondered if I might have a word with you, Monsieur Roché.”

“By all means,” Devin said. “What’s on your mind?”

“Could I speak with you alone?” LeBeau asked.

“That’s not possible,” Marcus replied grimly.

Josette rose to her feet and smiled at Devin. “Forgive me, monsieur, but I should be going.”

Devin stood up, hoping to detain her. “Please stay a little longer. I’m certain this will only take a moment.”

She lowered her lashes and shook her head. “I’ll try to come back later, monsieur, if I can. I need to check with my father and see if there is anything I can do to help him.”

Devin watched her go with regret. With Gaspard sick in his cabin, he’d been free of any competition for Josette’s attention. Tomorrow, she would continue on with the Marie Lisette and he would begin his journey overland across Ombria. He turned in annoyance to LeBeau.

“What is it that you wanted?”

LeBeau cleared his throat. “I’d like to apologize. I drank too much wine before dinner last night. I’m afraid it tends to make me argumentative. I fear I spoiled everyone’s meal. I’m sorry.”

Devin raised his eyebrows. “Surely your political views haven’t changed overnight?”

“Of course, they haven’t,” LeBeau assured him. “But the dinner table was not the place to discuss them.”

Devin inclined his head. “On that we agree.”

“I hope you can forgive me,” LeBeau continued. “I have the utmost respect for both your brother and your father. I regret that you may have found my remarks offensive.”

It was as though Devin could hear his father’s voice in his mind: Never decline an apology that is proffered publicly. If you do, you allow your opponent to become the injured party.

“We all speak without thinking sometimes,” he remarked lightly. “This trip is almost over. Let’s put last night’s discussion behind us.”

“Thank you,” LeBeau said with relief. “My invitation still stands. In spite of everything, I would still like to show you Treves.”

“I’m sorry but our plans are not definite,” Devin answered diplomatically. “I have no idea when we will arrive in Arcadia, so it is impossible to commit to anything.”

LeBeau retrieved an envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket. “I’ve written down my address for you with directions to my summer home, just south of the city. I’d consider it a favor if you’d take the time to stop for a visit.”

When hell freezes over, Devin thought. “Thank you,” he replied, making a production of putting the envelope in his own pocket. “If we cannot take time to visit you, at least I am certain I will see you at the Académie next year.”

LeBeau laid a hand on his arm. “I hope to see you before that.”

Devin resisted the urge to shake off the offending hand, and smiled graciously. “Good night,” he murmured.

LeBeau answered only with a bow. He turned and was gone. Bertrand St. Clair followed discreetly on his heels.

Conversation started again as quickly as it had stopped and Marcus glanced at Devin.

“That was well done,” he said under his breath.

Devin shrugged. “My father would say it is bad form to call a man a liar in public but I was truly tempted.”

The rough night made sleep nearly impossible as the ship tossed uneasily on stormy waters. Both Devin and Marcus were up and dressed before dawn. Up on the forecastle, they discovered a light coating of snow covering the deck. The rigging hung thick with ice. Every movement of the ropes or sails sent glass-like shards smashing onto the deck. Stray flurries still floated down from a leaden sky.

They sailed into a harbor made ghostly with frosted spars and shrouds of mist, docking just as the sun struggled feebly to lighten the skies. They had said their goodbyes to the other passengers last night Devin had received an invitation from Dr. Rousseau to visit his home when he reached Treves. And Gustave Christophe was anxious that he stop in Tarente to meet the boy who swept his shop.

Only Henri LeBeau and Bertrand St. Clair also planned to disembark at Pireé but they had yet to appear on deck when Devin, Gaspard, and Marcus left the ship. Devin’s first steps off the gangplank were awkward and halting. His legs had grown used to the roll of the ship, and solid ground felt surprisingly odd in comparison.

The port of Pireé seemed strange and exotic. The first thing Devin noticed were the large signboards hanging in front of every shop. Instead of words, each bore a painted or carved likeness of the merchandise that was sold inside. The bright and unsophisticated images made him feel as though he had landed in some foreign port where he didn’t speak the language.

Buildings rose three or four stories along narrow streets, the simple architecture adorned by colorful shutters which bracketed windows and doors. Central gardens showed the first leaves of peas and the bright green spikes of garlic poking through dirt still dusted with last night’s snowfall.

“Where are the hotels?” Gaspard asked, looking rumpled and sleepy.

“I would imagine they are toward the central part of the city,” Marcus said, pointing at the businesses around them. “These are only small neighborhood shops: the scissors indicate a seamstress, the cake – a bakery – the horseshoe – a blacksmith.”

“And where would I find a cup of coffee and a croissant?” Gaspard asked hopefully.

Marcus turned him to face a blue shuttered shop with a steaming cup on its sign. “There I would think.”

“Thank God,” he murmured. “Do you mind if we stop?”

Devin laughed. “You could have had breakfast on the ship, if you’d gotten up earlier.”

“You and Marcus are lucky that the storm didn’t make you seasick,” Gaspard protested. “If you’d felt the way I did last night, you wouldn’t have been anxious to get up early for breakfast either.”

“You weren’t alone,” Devin assured him. “Half the ship was sick.”

“Let’s not talk about it anymore,” Gaspard pleaded, one hand held sympathetically to his stomach.

A bell jangled when they opened the door. Four small tables filled the front of the shop. The smell of fresh brewed coffee and cinnamon wafted from behind the counter. Gaspard sighed and crumpled into a chair by the window.

“I’ll have café au lait and two of whatever smells so heavenly.”

Devin threw his knapsack on a chair. He rolled his eyes and made an exaggerated bow. “Yes, monsieur. Right away, monsieur.”

Two of the other tables were occupied and several men had turned to stare at their entrance. Their eyes took in every detail of their luggage and their clothes.

Devin smiled and said, “Good morning.” But only one man echoed his greeting, the rest merely nodded or sat silently watching as he walked to the counter.

He paid for four cinnamon buns and three cups of coffee, ferrying the food back in two trips and setting it on the table. Just before he sat down, he glanced up to see Henri LeBeau talking to Bertrand St. Clair out on the street.

“I see LeBeau has departed the ship,” Marcus commented. “And that he and St. Clair have struck up a friendship.”

“It doesn’t look friendly to me,” Devin observed, as LeBeau gestured rudely at St. Clair. LeBeau’s face was flushed and angry. St. Clair made some final retort and stalked away.

“Apparently, that man can’t get along with anyone,” Gaspard said through a mouthful of cinnamon bun. “These are wonderful, by the way.”

“LeBeau actually apologized to me last night,” Devin said, “and invited me to visit him in Treves.”

Gaspard made a disgusted sound in his throat. “I hope you told him what he could do with his invitation?”

“Devin was actually very polite,” Marcus informed him.

“Then you’re a better man than I am,” Gaspard said.

Devin looked up and grinned. “That has never been in question has it?”

Gaspard threw a piece of bun which hit Devin squarely in the chest – and bounced off – landing in his coffee cup. Coffee sprayed all over the table and the front of Devin’s jacket.

Gaspard leaned back with a satisfied smile. “How clumsy of me! Please accept my apologies.”

“Remind me never to buy you a cinnamon bun again,” Devin said. He fished in his pocket for a handkerchief and pulled out LeBeau’s envelope, as well. He laid it on the table while he mopped at the brown liquid soaking into his jacket.

Marcus tapped the envelope. “Is that LeBeau’s address?” he asked.

Devin crumpled his wet handkerchief on the table. “I assume so.”

He tore open the envelope and extracted the piece of paper inside. It took only a moment to read it and react. With it still in his hand, he stood up and rushed to the door, hoping that somehow LeBeau might still be in sight. Standing on the doorstep, he could see the street had filled with people going to and from the docks. But there was no sign of either LeBeau or St. Clair in either direction.

Marcus had followed him. “What’s the matter?” he asked in alarm, grabbing his shoulder as he came back through the doorway.

“Read it yourself,” Devin snapped, throwing the paper down in front of him on the table.

Marcus unfolded the letter and read out loud: “I know who broke into your cabin. Be careful. Your life is in danger. Please come to see me in Treves.”

“Shit,” Gaspard said, straightening up. “Is there more?’

“Just directions to his house,” Devin replied, slumping down into his chair.

“Why couldn’t he have told you this last night?” Gaspard asked.

Devin shook his head. “I don’t know. He did ask to speak to me alone.”

Marcus was watching him closely. “Was there some reason you didn’t open this until now?”

Devin sighed. “I intended to throw it away without reading it at all. But I forgot it was in my jacket pocket until I pulled it out just now. I wish I’d found it ten minutes ago.”

Had LeBeau been lingering outside to speak to him just now? And what had St. Clair said to him that had made him so angry?

Marcus folded the letter carefully and returned it to the envelope, then shoved it across the table to Devin.

“You won’t be in Treves for another two months. That gives you a long time to decide what you want to do. You can either ignore it or take LeBeau up on his invitation. Besides, there’s some possibility that you may run in to him along the way and you can ask him what he meant. I wouldn’t worry about it now.”

While the others finished their breakfast, Devin sat hunched over his coffee cup, toying with his food. He methodically dismantled his cinnamon bun but didn’t eat any of it.

Gaspard gestured with his coffee cup. “I would have eaten that if I’d known you were going to destroy it.”

“Be my guest,” Devon replied, pushing his plate in front of his friend.

Outside the sky had darkened and snow was falling heavily.

CHAPTER 8
The Stones of Ombria

Devin’s itinerary called for them to leave the harbor and walk the twenty miles to Briseé to spend the night but Marcus immediately vetoed that because of the weather.

“This isn’t Viénne,” he told Devin, as they left the cafe. “These spring snowstorms can be deadly. I’m not running the chance of being caught far from shelter and having to spend the night out in the open. We’ll stay tonight in Pireé. If the weather has improved by morning, we can go on.”

“But if we stay here tonight,” Devin protested, “we’ll be behind schedule already and we’re only three days into our trip!”

“Then I would say the man who planned our itinerary was a fool not to take bad weather into account.” Marcus responded harshly. “Use your head, Devin!”

Devin had, in fact, taken bad weather into account. He just hadn’t anticipated it being a problem so early in their journey. It was later, as they made their way through the most Northern Provinces, that he had built extra time into their schedule. Apparently, Ombria was having a late spring; he’d had no way of knowing until they’d arrived here this morning. He threw his knapsack over his shoulder and followed Marcus, tight-lipped and furious. Snow blew into his face and melted down the neck of his jacket. A few steps ahead of him, Gaspard’s dark hair was already powdered with white, and snowflakes plastered Marcus’s hat and shoulders.

“This is nasty,” Gaspard said, stopping to let Devin catch up. “You don’t want to walk all day in a snowstorm. We’ll rent a room at one of the hotels and get a hot bath and a good meal. Besides, it’s a shame not to see the capital of Ombria while we’re here.”

Devin stalked straight ahead without commenting while Gaspard kept pace beside him.

“We could walk around the city this afternoon and then go to the theater tonight. The plays are all unscripted, did you know? Most of the dialogue is improvisation. The director gives the actors a specific plot and they act it out. They claim it’s never the same twice.”

Receiving no response, Gaspard stopped in front of Devin, placing a hand on each of his shoulders. “You can’t control the weather, Dev. You’ve waited two years for this trip. Lighten up and enjoy it!”

Devin shook off his hold. “It’s just that one thing after another has gone wrong. I feel as though the entire project is unraveling and there isn’t a blessed thing I can do to stop it!”

“But surely losing one day won’t make that much difference,” Gaspard insisted.

“It’s not the delay,” Devin answered. “I’m beginning to have second thoughts about the whole thing.”

Marcus turned to face them, sheltering his eyes from the snow with one hand. “Are you two coming or not? I don’t intend to stand out here and freeze, while you whine about a change in plans!”

Gaspard grimaced. “God! What’s gotten into him?”

“I don’t know,” Devin answered. “Come on. We can talk later.”

They found a large hotel that fronted onto the square. The staff was solicitous and efficient, and except for the strange pictorial signs, they could have been in Coreé. After they took their bags to their room, Devin considered canvassing the other hotels in the area to see if he could find Henri LeBeau. But the heavy snowfall kept them inside the rest of the day. When they went down to dinner, Devin glanced around the large dining room, but he saw no familiar faces.

The theater faced the hotel on the other side of the square. They walked quickly on slush-filled sidewalks, their collars turned up against the huge snowflakes which had begun to mix with rain. Ice coated the street lamps and glittered on the cobblestones and the ironwork that ornamented the front of the theater.

The play was well done and expertly costumed. Devin was fascinated by how the same oral tradition that had produced the Chronicles had also spawned this alternative form of drama. The director proved to be a local storyteller who had turned to theater production. And best of all, the evening’s play was based on one of the lesser known tales from Ombria’s Chronicle.

“There,” Marcus pointed out later as they sipped brandy in the hotel dining room before going up to bed. “You see, the day wasn’t a total waste, after all. And I can guarantee that you will sleep better here under an eiderdown quilt than in some snowy hollow along the road to Briseé.”

Devin allowed his brandy to slip slowly down his throat, enjoying the fiery sensation that drove away the chill of clammy boots and damp clothes.

“I actually wouldn’t mind seeing another production sometime,” he admitted. “I didn’t realize that the theater would be so closely tied to the Chronicle here.”

“I heard the man behind us say that some directors are actually bards,” Gaspard said. “Apparently, it’s important that the plot always remain accurate even though the actors have the flexibility to modify the individual scenes.”

The stringed quartet that had played for the evening in the hotel dining room began to pack up their instruments. Across the room, a waiter extinguished candles on the empty tables. Only one other table remained occupied, where a young couple sat talking quietly. Devin stood up.

“We’d better go and let them close for the night.”

Marcus pushed in his chair. “Remember, you need to leave the letters to be sent to your father at the Hall of Records in the morning. Is there anyone else you need to write to? I assume your fiancée knows about your trip?”

“I told Bridgette at Christmas,” Devin explained.

Gaspard snorted. “Whoa, that’s cold, Devin. Haven’t you seen her since then?”

Devin avoided their eyes. “No, there hasn’t been time. I’ve been too busy with my studies.”

From the time he was seven, Devin had been engaged to Bridgette Delacey, the daughter of a prominent Councilman. They had exchanged tokens, carefully chosen by their mothers, at birthdays and Christmas. For the past few years, they had been paired for dancing at summer soirées and winter galas. There had never been anything remotely romantic between them, at least, not on Devin’s part.

Devin turned to leave, hoping to avoid further discussion. Marcus sighed behind him.

“Well, I also need to register our route with the local authorities in the morning.”

Devin wheeled to look at him, afraid of another setback. “I want to get an early start tomorrow,” he reminded him.

Marcus pointed a finger. “Our departure still depends on the weather, Devin. An ice storm is far worse to deal with than a snowstorm.”

“We can’t afford any more delays…” Devin began.

Gaspard finished off the last of Devin’s brandy and laid a hand on his shoulder, the glass still dangling from his finger.

“Don’t worry,” he predicted, his words slightly slurred, “tomorrow will be beautiful.”

Devin wakened to the sound of water dripping off the eaves outside his window. The sky was cloudless and the slushy accumulation of snow had melted overnight. He was surprised to find Marcus already dressed.

“The snow is all but gone and the cold weather seems to have cleared off to the east,” Marcus said. “I’ll go now and deliver your letters and register our itinerary at the same time. You and Gaspard can have breakfast. Be ready to leave when I get back.”

“You’re leaving me alone?” Devin asked in surprise.

“I’m leaving you with Gaspard,” Marcus clarified. “See that you don’t get into trouble while I’m gone.” He held out his hand. “Where are your letters?”

Devin rummaged through his knapsack and pulled out two envelopes. One was still unsealed. He’d been reluctant to include everything that had occurred since he left but there was every possibility that Marcus was filing his own report. Late last night, he’d included the details of LeBeau’s note. This morning, he regretted adding it to his father’s worries.

He glanced up at Marcus. “Have you written to him as well?”

Marcus raised his eyebrows. “Do I need to?”

Devin shook his head and sealed the envelope. “No, I just hate to worry him.”

Marcus slipped on his jacket. “You’ll worry him more if you don’t report all the information available to you. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Devin and Gaspard had a leisurely breakfast and packed their few belongings, but it was nearly noon before Marcus returned.

“The wheels of our government grind very slowly here,” he said, in answer to their questions. “We’ll be lucky to reach Briseé by nightfall. Let’s get going.”

The air had warmed considerably by midday and the sun was welcome on their backs as they left the city. Soon, cobbled streets gave way to unpaved country roads. Wooded areas still sheltered remnants of snow, and deep hollows and valleys harbored pockets of air so cold they could see their breath. Before long, the dirt roads deteriorated into little more than beaten paths threading their way between cow pastures.

They stopped to rest on a high knoll, surveying miles of dry stone walls snaking off into the distance. Clouds raced across the sky casting constantly changing shadows that chased each other across the fields. Grass along the stream beds was already vibrantly green as spring stubbornly advanced, despite yesterday’s weather. Coffee-colored cows dotted the landscape.

“Cheese,” Gaspard remarked suddenly.

Devin turned to look at him. “Cheese?”

“That’s what Ombria is famous for,” Gaspard explained. “I was trying to remember last night after I went to bed. Every province has its own food specialty; I just couldn’t remember Ombria’s.”

“You could have asked,” Devin said.

“I’d rather have figured it out for myself,” Gaspard replied. “When I admit my stupidity, it only makes you look smug.”

“That’s not true!” Devin protested.

Gaspard grinned. “I’m not holding it against you. I’m just trying not to give you any more opportunities to prove your superior intellect.”

Devin ignored him, sliding from his perch on the top of the stone wall to the pasture on the other side. He walked a few feet forward and bent to unearth a rectangular stone pillar covered by grass and ivy.

“Do you think this could be a monolith, Gaspard?”

Gaspard dropped down beside him. Together they pulled away the vegetation, revealing a cut stone, about eighteen inches square and nearly nine feet in length. Inscribed halfway up on the two visible sides was a solid circle surrounded by four consecutively larger rings.

“What does it mean?” Gaspard asked.

Devin shrugged “I don’t think anyone knows for certain. I’ve read about these. There are supposed to be hundreds of them from Ombria clear to the western coast of Perouse. In the southern part of Arcadia, dozens are still standing, two by two, in perfect alignment, from east to west.”

Gaspard traced the circular symbol with his finger. “Surely, there must be some legend or folktale that explains their origins?”

“I hope the Chronicles will shed some light on them,” Devin replied. “Viénne’s archeologists have traditionally ignored any contribution they might add to their historic data.”

Marcus scowled down on them from the wall. “If you two are done excavating, we need to move on. By my calculations, we’re only halfway to Briseé.”

Devin stood up and dusted his hands off on his trousers. “Give me a minute. I just want to take a rubbing of this design.” He scrambled back over the wall and retrieved paper and a piece of charcoal from his knapsack.

Marcus glowered. “Just be quick about it. Do I need to remind you that the symbol of Ombria is a wolf? Unless you relish being eaten tonight, we need to be on our way!”

It was dusk by the time they sighted the first lights of Briseé. The town was built around a community garden with common grazing land around it. Cottages, constructed of the same limestone as the familiar stone walls, stood snug and cozy in the fading light. Some windows were already shuttered against the night but the tavern windows were still bright. Devin didn’t miss the furtive look Marcus threw back along the road as he shepherded them inside.

It was there in the public room that Devin saw the first storyteller’s cloak. It had been thrown carelessly across the back of a bench and its owner had gathered his audience close by the hearth. He stood with his arms flung wide, his face reddened by the light from the flames. But it was the light in his eyes and the pitch of his voice that attracted Devin. He was inexorably drawn to him, though the story was already in progress. Discarding his knapsack and his jacket on the nearest chair, he fell in with the group gathered in spellbound silence at the storyteller’s feet.

CHAPTER 9
Night in Briseé

Devin listened as the mesmerizing voice continued:

“And so, Gaêtan stood alone in the village square. All around him the windows of the cottages were dark and shuttered. The chimneys stood stark against the forest, not a puff of smoke emerged from their tops. He realized then that the people of Rameau were gone. Not one man, woman, or child remained to welcome him home. He fell to his knees in the overgrown gardens and wept.”

For a moment no one spoke and then appreciative whispers rippled through the crowd. Devin joined in the enthusiastic clapping that followed. Unfortunately, he had arrived at the end of the recitation. The storyteller smiled and bowed, accepting both congratulations and monetary tributes, and made his way to the bar. Devin ducked in and out of the crowd to reach him. He saw Gaspard and Marcus seated farther down the battered wooden counter finishing their first drink of the evening.

Devin secured a stool next to the storyteller.

“I’m sorry I missed the beginning of that tale. What happened to the people of Rameau?”

The man turned to face him. Dark curly hair framed a face that was young and unlined.

“No one knows,” he answered. “An entire village of people disappeared and the only one left to tell the story was Gaêtan.”

Devin felt a thrill of excitement shoot through him. “Really?” he asked. “And no one has ever solved the mystery?”

The storyteller inclined his head. “If they have, monsieur, it has never been added to the Chronicle of Ombria. Do I know you?”

“I’m sorry,” Devin apologized, extending his hand. “I’m Devin Roché.”

“Adrian Devereux,” he replied. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“We arrived in Pireé yesterday,” he explained. “I had expected to spend last night in Briseé but we were delayed by a snowstorm.”

Adrian nodded sympathetically. “Spring has been late in coming this year. Our cows were calving in deep snow. We lost a lot of little ones.”

“You live close by?” Devin asked.

Adrian smiled. “Does a bard ever really have a place to call home? My parents are from Briseé but I spend most of my time traveling. I’m back in town for a family wedding. It seems I’m always expected to put in a few local performances while I’m here.”

Marcus interrupted their conversation, placing a heavy hand on Devin’s shoulder.

“There are no rooms available here,” he growled. “Perhaps, if you invoke your father’s name…”

Devin gave a quick shake of his head. The last thing he wished to do was drag his father’s position into this situation. Any progress he’d made toward ingratiating himself with the village residents would be lost in a veil of suspicion and contempt.

“I’ll take care of it,” he murmured, dismissing Marcus with a handful of coins. “Go order something to eat for yourself and Gaspard.”

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