Alex Archer - The Devil's Chord

“Good King René,” she answered. “I believe René d’Anjou’s mother, Yolande, tutored Jeanne at a young age. And René and da Vinci were quite possibly known to each other as well, both being men of the Renaissance.”

“Exactly. The Duke d’Anjou, besides being a philanthropist, was literally one of the first men of his age and time who sought to share knowledge instead of suppress it. He wasn’t as close to Jeanne as was his mother, but still, there was a loose connection, we think.”

That he paused now piqued Annja’s interest even more. If ever there existed someone who knew historic details—firsthand—it was Roux. He had lived through the past five hundred years. It meant that Roux had witnessed Joan’s sword being broken beside those very flames that had ended her life. Flames were a recurring nightmare of Annja’s. She hadn’t had any bad dreams lately and wished that would continue forever.

“That’s not the reason for my call,” Roux said, sidestepping what exciting secrets Annja had hoped he would reveal to her. “You guessed right. René d’Anjou was likely associated with both our Joan and Leonardo. Are you familiar with a theft that took place six months ago at the main antiquities museum in Poland?”

Annja glanced over her shoulder. Ian strolled along the waterline, kicking stones here and there, the camera held slack at his side.

“Are we on a new topic now?” she asked. “Renaissance painters, burned saints and add to that the fact my day has been occupied by a possible selkie sighting. My brain is fried, Roux. If you’ve got a point, please get to it.”

“The stolen items from the museum were believed to have been abandoned in a Venetian canal due to a quarrel between the thieves. Both were arrested, one in Milan, the other in the States. Neither has revealed where the items were dropped into which canal. And with little evidence, they were set free.”

“So there are valuable ancient artifacts sitting somewhere at the bottom of a Venetian canal? What’s new?”

“It’s not what is new, Annja, but what was old and possibly dumped in the drink. A Lorraine cross believed to have once belonged to Leonardo da Vinci.”

There were so many styles of crosses. The Lorraine cross was a particular favorite of hers. “Right. A heraldic cross with two horizontal crossbars of the same length. Got it.”

“The Lorraine type of cross was carried into the Crusades by the Knights Templars, and later, the image was adopted by the Duke d’Anjou, but only after receiving such a cross as a gift, reputedly from Joan of Arc.”

“So what you’re saying is...” She strode over to Matteo’s inert body and leaned over him. Still out yet, oddly, smiling in his unconscious slumber. “I’m not following you, Roux.”

“It is speculated that the cross that belonged to Leonardo da Vinci was gifted to him by René d’Anjou.”

“Are you supposing that the cross stolen from the museum was originally a cross that belonged to Joan of Arc?”

“That I am.”

“Huh.” Annja stood, hand to her hip, and paced the clattering stones. Ian now sat on the grassy hillside that inclined toward the parking lot, camera on his lap. A giddy excitement stirred her from exhausted to merely semi-tired. “So, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Absolutely, Annja. What do you say to a diving excursion in Venice?”

He was inviting her to do something together? Suspicion immediately set off Annja’s warning bells. Roux was always in it for himself, and he’d step over others to get what he wanted.

On the other hand, she’d just been invited to go diving for lost treasure. And she now had a reason to stay in Italy, as she and Ian had just been discussing. And if the stay was funded by Roux, she didn’t need to bother Doug Morrell with the expenses.

“Sounds good. When were you planning this adventure?”

“Now. I know you’re in Palermo. I’ll let the other diver know to expect you at the Fondamenta della Sensa tomorrow, probably afternoon, if you allow for travel time. I have a ticket waiting for you at the Palermo Falcone-Borsellino Airport now. Can you make it?”

How Roux almost always seemed to know where she was, was a question Annja had long ago given up attempting to answer.

“Yes, I can make it, but what about the other diver? You already have someone in place?”

The fact that Roux had expected her to say yes didn’t bother Annja. He knew her well enough to realize that any artifact related to Joan of Arc would pique her interest. And she was always up for an adventure, most especially after days of tracking selkies and only coming up with a bad romance plot.

“Generally I like to gather my own team,” she said.

“This is my expedition, Annja, and I am the one gathering the team. Have a problem with that?”

“Not if you’re footing the bill.”

“I am.”

“Great. What’s the diver’s name?”

“All the information has been gathered in a dossier that will be waiting for you along with the plane ticket.”

“I’ll need two tickets. I’ve got a cameraman.”

“Oh, hmm...”

While Roux considered that one, she gave Ian a thumbs-up and asked, “You want to fly to Venice to film underwater for a few days?”

Ian jumped up eagerly. “I’m in!”

“I’d like him along,” Annja said to Roux. “We’re scouting segments for the TV show.”

“A show which has given me a few knowing smiles and a couple of laughs. Very well, two tickets,” Roux said. “I intend to fly out in a few days. I’m tied up at the moment with, er, details. But fear not. I wouldn’t miss this discovery.”

“That’s it? Just a cross?”

Much as she knew artifacts related to Joan were a love of Roux’s, Annja found it hard to believe he’d invest in a mission simply to bring up a little memento that should by rights be returned directly to the museum from which it had been stolen.

“Just a cross,” Roux replied. “Have a good rest on the flight, Annja. See you in a few days.”

He hung up, and it occurred to Annja that he hadn’t told her when the flight departed.

“Soon,” she guessed.

The airport was a good hour’s drive to the south. The flight to Venice shouldn’t be more than ninety minutes if direct.

In the parking lot behind Ian, a black limo suddenly arrived. The limo driver got out of the expensive vehicle, introduced himself and informed her he was at her beck and call.

“Leave it to Roux to control me like a puppet,” she muttered.

“You were expecting this?” Ian asked.

“Nope. But it’s not a surprise. We’ll head back to the hotel, pack and then on to the airport.”

“But what about the selkies?”

Annja glanced to Matteo. He’d curled onto his side, apparently sleeping off the effects of the alcohol as well as her punch. “We’ll swing by after Venice. But I have a feeling if there is a pelt, it’ll never be found. Too bad for Sirena.”

“Maybe we should call a women’s shelter?”

Annja ran her hands through her hair. She was dirty and tired and yet exhilarated about the new assignment that lay before her.

“Yes, good idea, Ian.”

And then she smiled widely. Sleep? She’d worry about that on the flight like Roux suggested.

“I should let Doug know about our new plans.”

Her producer would probably research every Venetian myth to see if he could come up with a good episode idea for Annja to look into. If she had the time while she was there, she’d be all for it.

The twosome slid into the back of the limo, and the driver offered champagne, which Ian accepted. Annja refused. She was already mentally preparing for the next leg of the trip. It would take five minutes to pack her things because she generally traveled simply, always ready for just such spur-of-the-moment trips.