Kate Mosse - Labyrinth

“But if they are not, Messire ? What if something happens to you?”

Alais broke off, fear catching in her throat.

“All may yet be well,” he said, but his voice was dead.

“But if it is not?” she insisted, refusing to be soothed. “What if you do not return? How will I know when to act?”

He held her gaze for a moment. Then he searched in his pouch until he’d found a small package of cream-colored cloth.

“If something happens to me, you will receive a token like this.”

He laid the package on the table and pushed it toward her.

“Open it.”

Alais did as she was told, unfolding the material section by section until she had revealed a small disc of pale stone with two letters carved on it. She held it up to the light and read the letters aloud.

“NS?

“For Noublesso de los Seres .”

“What is it?”

“A mere,. a secret token, which is passed between thumb and forefinger. It has another, more important purpose also, although you need not know of it. It will indicate to you if the bearer is to be trusted.” Alais nodded. “Now turn it over.”

Engraved on the other side was a labyrinth, identical to the pattern carved on the back of the wooden board.

Alais caught her breath. “I’ve seen this before.”

Pelletier twisted the ring from his thumb and held it out. “It is engraved on the inside,” he said. “All guardians wear such a ring.”

“No, here, in the chateau. I bought cheese in the market today and took a board from my room to carry it on. This pattern is engraved on the underside.”

“But that’s impossible. It cannot be the same.” I swear it is.

“Where did the board come from?” he demanded. “Think, Alais. Did someone give it to you? Was it a gift?”

Alais shook her head. “I don’t know, I don’t know,” she said desperately. “All day I’ve tried to remember, but I can’t. The strangest thing was that I was sure I’d seen the pattern somewhere else, even though the board itself was not familiar to me.”

“Where is it now?”

“I left it on the table in my chambers,” she said. “Why? Do you think it matters?”

“So anyone could have seen it,” he said with frustration.

“I suppose so,” she replied nervously. “Guilhem, any of the servants, I cannot say.”

Alai’s looked down at the ring in her hand and suddenly the pieces fell into place. “You thought the man in the river was Simeon?” she said slowly. “He is another guardian?”

Pelletier nodded. “There was no reason to think it was him, but yet I felt so sure.”

“And the other guardians? Do you know where they are?”

He leaned over and closed her fingers over the merel. “No more questions, Alai’s. Take good care of this. Keep it safe. And hide the board with the labyrinth where no prying eyes can see it. I will deal with it when I return.”

Alai’s rose to her feet. “What of the board?”

Pelletier smiled at her persistence. “I will give it some thought, Filha .”

“But does its presence here mean someone in the chateau knows of the existence of the books?”

“No one can know,” he said firmly. “If I thought there was any question of it, I would tell you. On my word.”

They were brave words, fighting words, but his expression gave them the lie.

“But if-”

“ Basta ,” he said softly, raising his arms. “No more.”

Alai’s let herself be enveloped in his giant embrace. The familiar smell of him brought tears to her eyes.

“All will be well,” he said firmly. “You must be brave. Do only what I have asked of you, no more.” He kissed the top of her head. “Come bid us farewell at dawn.” Alai’s nodded, not daring to speak.

“ Ben, ben . Now, make haste. And may God keep you.”

Alai’s ran down the dark corridor and out into the courtyard without drawing breath, seeing ghosts and demons in every shadow. Her head was spinning. The old familiar world seemed suddenly a mirror image of its former self, both recognizable and utterly different. The package concealed beneath her dress seemed to be burning a hole in her skin.

Outside the air was cool. Most people had retired for the night, although there were still a few lights shining in the rooms overlooking the Cour d’Honneur. A burst of laughter from the guards at the gatehouse made her jump. For a moment, she imagined she saw a person silhouetted in one of the upper rooms. But then a bat swooped in front of her, drawing her gaze, and when she looked again the window was dark.

She walked faster. Her father’s words were spinning around in her head, all the questions she should have asked and had not.

A few more steps and she started to feel a prickling at the back of her neck. She glanced over her shoulder.

“Who’s there?”

Nobody answered. She called out again. There was malice in the darkness, she could smell it, feel it. Alais walked faster, certain now she was being followed. She could hear the soft shuffle of feet and the sound of heavy breathing.

“Who’s there?” she called again.

Without warning, a rough and callused hand, reeking of ale, clamped itself over her mouth. She cried out as she felt a sudden, sharp blow on the back of her head and she fell.

It seemed to take a long time for her to reach the ground. Then there were hands crawling all over her, like rats in a cellar, until they found what they wanted.

“ Aqui es .” Here it is.

It was the last thing Alais heard before the blackness closed over her.

Pic de Soularac

Sabarthes Mountains

Southwest France

MONDAY, 4 JULY 2005

“Alice! Alice, can you hear me?”

Her eyes flickered and opened.

The air was chill and damp, like an unheated church. Not floating, but lying on the hard, cold ground.

Where the hell am I? She could feel the dank earth rough and uneven beneath her arms and legs. Alice shifted position. Sharp stones and grit rubbed abrasively against her skin.

No, not a church. A glimmer of memory came back. Walking down a long, dark tunnel into a cave, a stone chamber. Then what? Everything was blurred, frayed around the edges. Alice tried to raise her head. A mistake. Pain exploded at the base of her skull. Nausea sloshed in her stomach, like bilge water at the bottom of a rotting boat.

“Alice? Can you hear me?”

Someone was talking to her. Worried, anxious, a voice she knew.

“Alice? Wake up.” She tried to lift her head. This time, the pain wasn’t so bad. Slowly, carefully, she raised herself a little.

“Christ,” muttered Shelagh, sounding relieved.

She was aware of hands beneath her arms helping her into a sitting position. Everything was gloomy and dark, except for the darting circles of light from the torches. Two torches. Alice narrowed her eyes and recognized Stephen, one of the older members of the team, hovering behind Shelagh, his wire-framed glasses catching in the light.

“Alice, talk to me. Can you hear me?” said Shelagh.

I’m not sure. Maybe.

Alice tried to speak, but her mouth was crooked and no words came out. She tried to nod. The exertion made her head spin. She dropped her head between her knees to stop herself passing out.

With Shelagh on one side and Stephen on the other, she edged herself back until she was sitting on the top of the stone steps, hands on her knees. Everything seemed to be shifting backward and forward, in and out, like a film out of focus.

Shelagh crouched down in front of her, talking, but Alice couldn’t make out what she was saying. The sound was distorted, like a record played at the wrong speed. Another wave of nausea hit her as more disconnected memories came flooding back: the noise of the skull as it fell away into the dark; her hand reaching out for the ring; the knowledge that she had disturbed something that slumbered in the deepest recesses of the mountain, something malevolent.