Kate Mosse - Labyrinth

“We made sure that they did not.”

“You were there?” she said, her voice sharp with surprise.

Baillard smiled. “There are conflicts within the Noublesso Veritable,” he said, avoiding her question. “The leader of the organisation is a woman called Marie-Cecile de l’Oradore. She believes in the Grail and would regain it. She believes in the Quest.” He paused. “However, there is another within the organisation.” His face grew sombre. “His motives are different.”

“You must speak to Inspector Noubel,” she said fiercely.

“But what if, as I said, he is working for them also? It is too great a risk.”

The shrill blast of the horn split the quiet of the station. They both turned towards the train drawing into the station with a screech of brakes. The conversation was over.

“I don’t want to leave you here alone, Audric.”

“I know,” he said, taking her hand to help her up into the train. “But this is how it is supposed to end.”

“End?”

She slid open the window and reached for his hand. “Please take care. Do not gamble too much of yourself.”

All along the platform the heavy doors slammed shut and the train pulled away, slowly at first, then picking up speed until it had disappeared into the folds of the mountains.

Shelagh could sense there was someone in the room with her.

She struggled to lift her head. She felt sick. Her mouth was dry and there was a dull thudding in her head, like the monotonous hum of an air-conditioning unit. She couldn’t move. It took a few seconds for her to identify the fact she was sitting on a chair now, her arms pulled tight behind her back and her ankles strapped to the wooden legs.

There was a slight movement, a creak of the bare floorboards as someone shifted position.

“Who’s there?”

Her palms were slippery with fear. A trickle of sweat ran down the small of her back. Shelagh forced her eyes open, but she still couldn’t see. She panicked, shaking her head, blinking, trying to bring back the light until she realised the hood was back on her head. It smelled of earth and mould.

Was she still in the farmhouse? She remembered the needle, the surprise of the sharp injection. The same man who brought her food. Surely someone would come and save her? Wouldn’t they?

“Who’s there?” No one answered, although she could feel them close. The air was greasy with the smell of aftershave and cigarettes. What do you want?“

The door opened. Footsteps. Shelagh felt the change in atmosphere. An instinct for self-preservation kicked in and she struggled wildly for a moment to get free. The rope only tightened, putting more pressure on her shoulders, making them ache.

The door shut with an ominous, heavy thud.

She fell still. For a moment, there was silence, then the sound of someone walking towards her, closer and closer. Shelagh shrank back in her chair. He stopped right in front of her. She felt her entire body contract, as if there were thousands of tiny wires pulling at her skin. Like an animal circling his prey, he walked round the chair a couple of times, and then dropped his hands on her shoulders.

“Who are you? Please, take this blindfold off at least.”

“We need to have another talk, Dr O’Donnell.”

A voice she knew, cold and precise, cut through her like a knife. She realised it was him she had been expecting. Him she feared.

He suddenly jerked the chair back.

Shelagh screamed, plummeting backwards, powerless to stop herself falling. She never hit the ground. He stopped her, inches above the floor, so she was lying almost flat, her head tipped back and her feet suspended in the air.

“You’re not in a position to ask for anything, Dr O’Donnell.”

He held her in that position for what seemed like hours. Then, without warning, he suddenly righted the chair. Shelagh’s neck snapped forward with the force of it. She was becoming disorientated, like a child in a game of blind man’s bluff.

“Who are you working for, O’Donnell?”

“I can’t breathe,” she whispered.

He ignored her. She heard him click his fingers and the sound of a second chair being placed in front of her. He sat down and pulled her towards him so his knees were pressing against her thighs.

“Let’s take it back to Monday afternoon. Why did you let your friend go to that part of the site?”

“Alice has got nothing to do with this,” she cried. “I didn’t let her work there, she just went of her own accord. I didn’t even know. It was just a mistake. She doesn’t know anything.”

“So tell me what you know, Shelagh.” Her name in his mouth sounded like a threat.

“I don’t know anything,” she cried. “I told you everything I knew on; Monday, I swear it.”

The blow came out of nowhere, striking her right cheek and slamming her head back. Shelagh could taste blood in her mouth, sliding over her tongue and down the back of her throat.

“Did your friend take the ring?” he said in a level voice.

“No, no, I swear she didn’t.”

He squeezed harder. “Then who? You? You were on your own with the skeletons for long enough. Dr Tanner told me that.”

“Why would I take it? It’s worth nothing to me.”

“Why are you so sure Dr Tanner didn’t take it?”

“She wouldn’t. She just wouldn’t,” she cried. “Lots of other people went in. Any of them could have taken it. Dr Brayling, the police-”. Shelagh abruptly stopped.

“As you say, the police,” he said. She held her breath. “Any one of them could have taken the ring. Yves Biau, for example.”

Shelagh froze. She could hear the rise and fall of his breathing, calm and unhurried. He knew.

“The ring wasn’t there.”

He sighed. “Did Biau give the ring to you? To give to your friend?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” she managed to say.

He hit her again, this time with his fist, not the flat of his hand. Blood spurted from her nose and poured down her chin.

“What I don’t understand,” he was saying, as if nothing had happened, “is why he didn’t give you the book as well, Dr O’Donnell.”

“He gave me nothing,” she choked.

“Dr Brayling says you left the site house on Monday night carrying a bag.”

“He’s lying.”

“Who are you working for?” he said softly, gently. “This will stop. If your friend isn’t involved, there’s no reason for her to be harmed.”

“She’s not,” she whimpered. “Alice doesn’t know…”

Shelagh flinched as he placed his hand on her throat, stroking her at first in a parody of affection. Then he started to squeeze, harder and harder, until it felt like an iron collar tightening around her neck. She thrashed from side to side, trying to get some air, but he was too strong.

“Were you and Biau both working for her?” he said.

Just as she could feel herself starting to lose consciousness, he released her. She felt him fumbling with the buttons on her shirt, undoing them one by one.

What are you doing?“ she whispered, then flinched at his cold, clinical touch on her skin.

“No one’s looking for you.” There was a click, then Shelagh smelled lighter fuel. “No one’s going to come.”

“Please don’t hurt me…”

You and Biau were working together?“

She nodded.

“For Madame de l’Oradore?”

She nodded again. “Her son,” she managed to say. “Francois-Baptiste. I only talked to him…”

She could feel the flame close to her skin.

“And what about the book?”

“I couldn’t find it. Yves neither.”

She sensed him react, then he pulled his hand back.

“So why did Biau go to Foix? You know he went to Dr Tanner’s hotel?”