Alex Archer - The Devil's Chord

“The man traveled to places far and wide in his quest for knowledge,” Roux provided. “Did you meet him here in Milan?”

“Yes, we spent some time together. As you’ve said, his quest for knowledge was immense. That man possessed an amazing mind, and I did enjoy listening to one who could speak with such confidence.”

“So this cross—” Roux gestured at the drawing “—it was once René’s?”

Leonardo nodded. “Indeed, but before he owned it, it had belonged to Jeanne d’Arc. She’d gifted it to him. D’Anjou implied it was the very cross she clutched to her breast as she prepared to die in the flames.”

The old man winced and bowed his head. Indeed, it was a terrible scenario to imagine.

“Once I had the cross,” Leonardo said, “I immediately knew I had to fashion it into something more spectacular. As you can see by the notched surface here—” he tapped the card that revealed the back surface of the cross “—it fits a specific lock, of which— That is a secret. Did you know the Maid of Orléans?”

Roux’s fingers traced the edge of the card, as if his focus was elsewhere instead of what was in front of him. Leonardo quickly sketched the change in his irises, softening the surrounding whites with a smudge of his finger.

“I did know her, yes,” Roux muttered.

Had Leonardo not been sitting so close to the man, he would not have heard the quiet admission.

Possessed of an insatiable need to learn and to experience, Leonardo could not resist the unknown. “What can you tell me about her?”

The old man looked thoughtful for several minutes. He was choosing his words with care. His attention seeming to rise from some distant chasm as he met Leonardo’s eyes. “I was one of the soldiers who rode alongside her into battle. I was with her on many occasions. I was there as she was led to the stake.”

Leonardo swallowed hard. To have witnessed such a travesty surely was a cruel burden to have to bear and one that would be difficult for a man to erase from his memory. “So you...”

“Yes, I witnessed it all. She was brave to the end. Such a tragic, senseless accusation of heresy.”

“She fought for Charles VII. For all of France. Bravely.” He leaned on his elbows, curiosity making him bold. “If you were there, by her side, did you believe she was hearing messages from God?”

“I never had reason to question her sincerity,” the man answered bluntly.

Leonardo nodded. He longed to explain many things in this world, but some did seem unexplainable.

“If I wanted to do a study, possibly a painting of her, perhaps you could provide me details of the event?”

Roux swiped up his stein. The ale ran down his chin and neck, wetting the silver-trimmed doublet that he’d tied neatly before his throat. “No,” he said and abruptly slammed the stein on the wood table.

“I understand it must be a sensitive event to recall—”

“Paint her as an innocent woman who was wronged by those whom she thought to trust.”

Sensing the man’s ingrained anger for the topic, Leonardo didn’t want to push. If he asked of the woman herself, that might restore the right mood. “She was dark of hair, yes?”

Roux slid the sketch of the cross toward Leonardo. “Do you want more ale or am I to up and leave?”

“No, please don’t leave. I’ll— I’m sorry. Perhaps some other time we can continue this discussion. I do have something else of hers I value. It came from D’Anjou. I traded a sketch for it, a piece. It is one of my prized possessions.”

“A piece?” Roux asked.

“Yes. Of Jeanne d’Arc’s sword.”

* * *

Venice, sixteen months ago

THE GONDOLA GLIDED through gentle waves. Here in the northernmost sestiere of the city, the canals glistened as moonlight added the appropriate silver highlights.

Everything should have been perfect for a romantic cruise through the city before they headed to the mainland to catch a flight home to the States. Once at JFK Airport, they would shake hands, perhaps even share a lingering kiss and then go their separate ways.

“I expected more,” the woman said, pulling away from the embrace her partner assumed she had wanted. “You lied to me.”

“Sweetie.” The man caught the gondolier’s sad look and subtle headshake. Been there, done that, buddy. “I never actually said we’d get married after the heist. I said I’d consider it. And I’ve done that. I have given it as much thought as I have our escape plans. I don’t think it’s the right time.”

“The right time?”

He always worried about her temper—it could flare at a moment’s notice. Now her agitation sent a chilling prickle along the back of his neck. Off-putting and yet so familiar. These days he should have sensed it before it hit him.

“Can we not get into this here?” he tried. “Look around. The city is beautiful. The lights are—”

“I do nothing for you until you apologize.”

He sighed and pushed away from her on the padded bench. Another gondola approached, a red-and-white-striped canopy shading the happy couple who couldn’t seem to take their eyes off one another. The woman was clutching a bunch of roses. Hey, look, a romantic couple, he wanted to point out.

Romance and roses? Hell, he’d forgotten the roses, too. That was the first thing she’d said when they’d boarded the gondola. No flowers? The woman had an exquisite bead on what buttons to push to make him feel lacking.

And when the marriage proposal she was expecting had actually been his suggestion for a two-week vacation apart while he plotted their next robbery? Her upper lip had disappeared and her mouth tightened. Her silence made him worry more than her usual anger.

Bending forward, he cracked open the cooler cover. They’d brought it along with the steel attaché case. The attaché they’d not let out of their sight for two days. The cooler he’d filled with beer, not wine. And he was pretty sure he’d be reprimanded for that oversight, as well. Did it matter anymore? There was no saving this night.

“I want to get off at that landing up there,” she said. “Tell the gondolier. I’ll walk to the hotel.”

“But we have reservations at that fancy restaurant, sweetie. You insisted.”

“Don’t sweetie me. I’m done with you. No more of this.” She shoved the cooler with a foot. “Get another safe cracker. I’m going out on my own.”

“Would you keep your voice down?” He suspected the gondolier could speak English, even though he’d shrugged and shook his head when they’d initially asked him. “Sweetie,” he said in a harsh whisper, “you know you are a terrible planner. You need me to plot the details of the job and manage the getaway. We’re a perfect team.”

The gondola slowed near the landing.

“Not this one,” the man said over his shoulder to the gondolier.

“Yes, this one,” the woman insisted. She stood as they neared the dock. “Ciao, sweetie.”

He reached for her leg as she stepped up onto shore, but it slipped through his grasp. She was an expert at folding her body into tight spots, which came in handy during a heist. And she could glide under a security laser with ease. He always marveled at how she could squeeze those generous breasts under a few inches of clearance.

“Do not call me. Ever,” she said with a definite finality. She marched into the crowded outdoor café half-filled with patrons.

Perfect escape, he thought. With people around, she wouldn’t expect him to cause a scene. Not that he was a scene causer. She didn’t want to work with him? Fine. He had the goods from their recent heist. He didn’t need her.

Bowing his head over the beer bottle, he slapped his hand onto the hard metal surface of the attaché—but his palm landed on the floor of the gondola. He checked under the padded bench seat where he’d told her to stash the case when they’d boarded.