C. Palov - Templar's Quest

‘How many times do I have to tell you? His name is Cædmon Aisquith. ’

‘Whatever.’

On the verge of informing her travelling companion that she despised that dismissive expression, she instead gazed out of the window. It’d been nearly two decades since she’d last been in Paris, fabled city of wine, art, gargoyles and some of the best darned ice cream she’d ever eaten. Although she seriously doubted that a trip to the Berthillon ice-cream shop was on Finn McGuire’s itinerary.

As their taxi made its way along the heavily trafficked Quai de la Tournelle, Finn craned his neck to peer out of the side window. His first sign of interest in the passing scenery.

‘Is it just me? Or do those flying buttresses make the old dame look like a carcass that’s been picked clean by the buzzards?’

‘Are you always so irreverent?’ Kate retorted, wondering if there was anything that Finn McGuire deemed sacred.

‘I don’t laugh at funerals, if that’s what you’re asking.’

It wasn’t.

‘I asked the question because you seem immune to the beauty of Paris,’ she clarified. ‘Most people are rendered awestruck at seeing Notre-Dame for the very first time.’

Clearly not one of those people, Finn shrugged. ‘I boogie to my own tune. So why Japan?’

‘I beg your pardon?’ She shook her head, wondering if something had got lost in translation.

‘You mentioned that your folks had taken a trip to Japan.’

‘I mentioned that two days ago. You’re only now getting around to asking the follow-up question?’

The retort elicited another shrug. ‘What can I say? Been busy.’

‘To answer your belated question, my parents are participating in the annual Shikoku Hachijuhakkasho .’

‘What the hell is –’

‘It’s a Japanese pilgrimage,’ she interjected, beating him to the punch. ‘It’s a two-month-long walking tour of eighty-eight different Shingon Buddhist temples. When I was a kid, we used to go every summer.’

His big shoulders noticeably shook, the man barely able to contain his mirth. ‘So let me make sure I got this straight: you fly in an airplane more than five thousand miles so you can walk for sixty days. And I thought we had it bad at Catholic Teen Retreat.’ Finn’s umber-brown eyes twinkled merrily.

‘I never said I enjoyed it. In fact, every summer I pleaded with my folks to go to Disneyland.’ But she always ended up on Shikoku Island, attired in white cotton garments and a straw sedge hat, the traditional garb of a Shikoku pilgrim.

‘I take it your folks are Japanese?’

‘My mother is half-Japanese.’ The product of an interracial marriage at a time in America’s history when the Japanese were persona non grata.

‘So, you’re – what? – a Buddhist?’

‘I used to be a Buddhist.’

Disinclined to answer any more ‘follow-up’ questions, Kate swung her knapsack on to her lap and busied herself with rummaging through its contents. As she did so, she quietly counted her breaths, focusing on each inhalation and exhalation. Right concentration . Refusing to let her mind wander to that horrific night when her Buddhist beliefs regarding ‘acceptance’ were utterly and irrevocably shattered, when she learned firsthand that there are some things that the heart can never accept.

‘Hey, Kate. You okay?’ Reaching across the seat, Finn lightly grasped her by the wrist. ‘You look like you just chugged a glass of sour milk.’

‘I’m fine.’ Although it sounded like her voice, it was as if someone else was speaking the words for her.

‘Well, you don’t look fine.’

The cabbie peered over his shoulder. ‘ C’est rue de la Bûcherie. Quelle est l’addresse? ’

Grateful for the diversion, Kate said, ‘ Je ne sais pas. Arrêtez-vous ici .’ Turning towards Finn, she translated the exchange. ‘Since I don’t know the exact street address, I told him to let us out here.’

Fare paid, they got out of the taxi. Peering over the top of her blue-tinted granny glasses, she could see that the Left Bank neighbourhood was a medieval warren of tiny one-way streets.

Finn glanced up from the Paris street map that he’d earlier purchased at the train station. ‘The rules for survival in the city are no different than those for the jungle, or the mountains, or the desert. Blend in with the environment. And no sudden moves. If you see a cop, hear a cop, or smell a cop, act natural. Don’t give ’em a reason to question you.’

Her breath caught in her throat. ‘Wh-why would the police want to question us?’ she stammered. ‘Do you think the authorities have tracked us to Paris?’

‘No, I don’t think that. But it’s always good to be cautious, right?’

About to nod her head, she caught herself in mid-motion, uncertain if a nod constituted a ‘sudden move’.

They’d gone approximately one block when Kate spotted a brightly painted shop sign with the name ‘L’Equinoxe’ in gold lettering. Beneath that was an image of the Fool, the first card in the Tarot deck. The age-old symbol for infinite possibilities.

‘There’s Cædmon’s bookstore, just a few doors down.’

Several moments later, standing at the entryway, Kate frowned. A small white placard with the word ‘Fermé’ hung crookedly on the other side of the glass door. Behind that, a green curtain had been drawn, preventing her from seeing inside the shop. Turning the door knob, she verified that the shop was, indeed, closed.

‘Do you wanna come back when the bookstore opens?’

Unsure, she glanced at her Seiko watch: 9.26 . Local time.

‘Actually, I think it’s best if we seize the bull –’ she banged on the wooden door frame with a balled fist – ‘by the proverbial horns.’

Several moments passed. Again, Kate banged on the door. A bit more forcibly this time.

‘The bookshop is closed!’ a distinctly English voice boomed from the other side of the locked door.

‘It’s important that we speak with you,’ Kate said through the glass.

‘ Je m’en fou! La librairie est fermé! Casse-toi maintenant! ’

Worriedly biting her lower lip, she glanced at Finn. ‘He insists that the shop is closed.’ She didn’t bother to translate the profane preface and postscript that bracketed the announcement.

‘Are you sure that’s even Engelbert standing on the other side of the door?’

‘Oh, yes, I’m sure.’ She’d recognize that well-articulated voice anywhere. Refusing to call retreat, Kate again rapped on the pane. ‘Cædmon, please open the door. It’s important that I speak with you.’

The entreaty worked, the deadbolt lock was released and the shop door swung open. A man, nearly as tall as Finn, with shoulder-length red hair, filled the entryway. Not only was his stained shirt completely unbuttoned, the tails limply hanging against a pair of corduroy trousers, but his feet were bare.

‘ Kate? Is that you?’

‘Hello, Cædmon.’ She pasted a cordial smile on to her lips. A vision of grace under pressure.

Blood-shot blue eyes narrowed. ‘You have some bloody nerve, showing up on my doorstep.’

20

‘May we please come inside, Cædmon?’

Mockingly sweeping his arm aside, the red-headed Brit gestured for Finn and Kate to enter the bookshop. ‘By all means. Mi casa, su casa .’

As he stepped across the threshold, Finn sized up their ‘host’, instantly pegging the guy for a prick of the first order. Cædmon Aisquith. Hell, he could barely say it, let alone spell it. Standing approximately six foot three, Aisquith had the lean, rangy build of a long-distance runner. And the ashen, hollow-eyed look of an insomniac. That or the English dude was coming off one helluva bender.