The Saint-Germain Chronicles (14 page)

James had nothing to say in response, and knew that he was not very much looking forward to another round of losing at whist, but he offered no protest as he went back into the room to wait for Madame Kunst.

“Oh, thank you, Herr Comte,” Madame Kunst said listlessly over a cup of weak tea the following morning.

“It was nothing, Madame. You told me that this was your wish. I only regret that it took so long to arrange the details. But surely you understand.”

“Yes, of course I do.” She paused to cough delicately. “I am surprised that you were able to accomplish this so quickly. After what I have been through, I expected I would have to intrude on your hospitality”—again a quiet, emphatic cough—“for a much longer time.”

“It is best to act quickly in cases such as yours,” Saint-Germain said ambiguously.

“How kind,” she murmured, and achieved another cough.

“Is something the matter, Madame Kunst?” le Comte inquired politely, giving in.

“A slight indisposition, nothing more, I am sure.” She smiled apologetically.

“Good. I would not like to think that you were ill.” He rose from the chair he had taken across from her.

“Oh, I don’t believe I’m that. My throat, you know. And it has been chilly.” She said this last in a tone a bit more hoarse than when she had begun.

“It is often the case in the mountains,” Saint-Germain said by way of courteous commiseration. “I believe there is aspirin in the chateau, but little else. If you like, I will ask Roger to bring you some.”

Her hand fluttered up to her throat, lingered there artistically, then dropped once more. “I don’t think it will be necessary. If I am troubled by it still this afternoon, then I might ask for one or two tablets.”

“Very good. You may want to rest an hour or so. The drive to the coast is long and fatiguing.” He left the room to the dry sound of her cough.

“She claims to be feeling poorly,” Roger explained to Saint-Germain later that morning. “I brought her the tea she asked for and said that I was looking forward to taking her down to Nice. She claimed to be enthusiastic, but said she did not think she was entirely well, and did not know how easily she would travel.”

“She coughed for me,” Saint-Germain said. “Apparently she is not as eager as she claimed to be.”

“Give her a break,” James protested, watching the other two. “Maybe she’s got a cold. She’s been through enough.”

“No matter what she has done, it’s possible, of course, that she has caught a cold,” Saint-Germain allowed. “But if you were as anxious as she has claimed to be to be out of this country and on your way to Scotland, would you permit a cold to keep you from completing your journey?”

“She might be worn out,” James said, determined to discount anything Saint-Germain suggested. “If she’s tired enough, she might not be able to fight off a cold or any other bug that happens to be around.”

Saint-Germain’s dark eyes were wryly amused. “Is that what you thought when you tried to search her valise? Never mind, James. We’ll find out shortly what the case truly is.”

“How’re you planning to do that?” He was a little belligerent, and huffy.

“Why, I want to find out if she is really ill. I will offer her a remedy. If she takes it, I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt. If she doesn’t, then I will be extremely careful with her. As you should be.” He turned away toward the old wing where he had set up his laboratory. “And James, if you would not mind, I would like to begin this myself. You may talk to her later, if you choose, but just at first, let me.”

“You sound like you think I’d warn her…” James shot back. “I didn’t get to be good at my job by shooting off my mouth.”

“I am aware of that,” Saint-Germain said. “But you have gallantry, my American friend, and there are those who have a way of turning that virtue to their advantage. All I ask is that you remember that.”

Roger intervened before James could say anything more. “Should I get the Bugatti ready?”

“Yes. Whether Madame Kunst uses it, or one of us, it doesn’t matter: the car should be fueled, and ready.”

“You’re anticipating some difficulty other than this?” James asked, looking about him involuntarily.

“Nothing specific, but in as unsettled a situation as we are in, it might be best.” Saint-Germain gave James a penetrating, amused glance. “Do you wish to visit our patient in half an hour or so, to wish her godspeed?”

“Do you want me to?” James sounded irritable, but it was more from frustration at his own inactivity than genuine anger.

“Let us see how she responds to Roger.” He motioned toward his manservant. “And to me.”

James accepted this with a shrug, and went off to the old library to pass the better part of the morning in trying to decipher the Medieval French of the oldest volumes there. He found it intriguing and it kept him from pacing the halls like a stalking tiger.

“How are you doing, Madame Kunst?” Saint-Germain inquired of his guest as he went into her room twenty minutes after his conversation with Roger and James.

“Very well,” she said listlessly.

“I trust so; the travel permit I have been able to secure for you is dated only for the next twenty-four hours. It would not be easy to get another one.” He came to stand at the foot of her bed. “I can arrange for you to stop at the physician’s, perhaps, but you might not wish to be subjected to the questions he is required to ask.”

Madame Kunst turned blush rather than pale. “I want to keep away from officials.”

“And so you shall. It is better for me, as well, to come as little to their attention as possible. Then, if it is satisfactory to you, I will make sure you have aspirin and brandy and plenty of lap rugs in the Bugatti. It will not make you entirely comfortable, but you probably will not be so until you are in Scotland.” He gave her a sympathetic half-smile, and watched her face.

“Yes,” Madame Kunst said, her brows twitching into an expression of impatience and dissatisfaction.

Saint-Germain assumed an expression of diffidence. “My manservant has reminded me that there is another medication in the château. It is… an herbal remedy, and very efficacious, or so I have been told. I would be pleased to bring some to you.” He had made that particular elixir for more than three thousand years: it was a clear distillate that began with a solution prepared from mouldy bread. The recent discovery of penicillin had amused him.

Madame Kunst looked flustered. “A peasant remedy? I don’t know… peasants are so superstitious and some of their practices are… well, unpleasant.”

Very gently, Saint-Germain said, “In your position, Madame Kunst, I would think you would take that chance, if only to make your ship. Brandy is a help, but you will not be clearheaded. With the herbal remedy, you need not be fuddled.”

She slapped her hands down on the comforter. “But what if the remedy is worse? Some of those remedies the monks made were mostly pure spirits with a little herbal additive. This is probably more of the same thing.”

“I assure you, it is not,” Saint-Germain said.

“Oh, I don’t know. I will have to think about it.” She remembered to cough. “I have to have time to recruit my strength, Herr Comte. I will tell you in an hour or so what

I have decided.“ With a degree of quiet malice, she added, ”It was so good of you to offer this to me.“ Saint-Germain bowed and left the room.

Slightly less than an hour after this, James came bursting out of Madame Kunst’s room, running down the corridor, calling for Saint-Germain.

The response was almost immediate. Saint-Germain hastened from his laboratory as he tugged his lab coat off, wishing there were a way he could curb some of James’ impetuosity. “A moment!” he cried as he reached the foot of the main staircase.

“We don’t have a moment!” James shouted as he came into view on the upper floor. “It’s urgent.”

“So I gather,” Saint-Germain said as he flung his wadded-up lab coat away from him. “But if it is, it might be best not to announce it to the world.”

“Jesus! I forgot.” He paused at the top of the stairs, then raced down them. “I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me. It should have.”

“We will discuss it later,” Saint-Germain said. “Now, what has you so up in arms?”

“Madame Kunst.” He opened up his hands. “She’s not in her room and her valise is gone.”

“Indeed.” Saint-Germain’s brows rose and he nodded grimly.

“I went to her room, as you instructed, and it was empty. The bed was still a bit warm, so she can’t have gone far, or have left too long ago. If we hurry, we can find her.” Now that he had forced himself to be calm, all his old journalistic habits came back. “If she’s carrying that thing, she’ll have to stay on the road, and that means someone will see her, if only a farmer or a shepherd.”

“You’re assuming she’s left Montalia,” Saint-Germain said. “I doubt that she has.”

“Why?” James demanded.

“Because Roger is down at the gatehouse and he has not signaled me that he has seen her. Not that that makes it simpler,” he added dryly. “This place is a rabbit warren and it is not easily searched.”

“Especially since we don’t know what we’re looking for, right?” James said, running one hand through his silver hair.

“That is a factor.” Saint-Germain looked up toward the ceiling. “But we also know what we are
not
looking for, which is a minor advantage.”
He turned away from James, his eyes on the heavy, metal-banded door to the old
wing of the chateau. “I think she may be armed, James. Be cautious with her.
Bullet wounds are painful, and if they damage the spine or skull, they are as
fatal to us as anyone else. No heroics, if you please. Madelaine would never
forgive me.”

James did not quite know how to take this, but he shrugged. “If that’s how you want it, that’s how I’ll do it.”

“Very good,” Saint-Germain said crisply. “And we might as well begin now. First the kitchens and pantry, and then the old wing. With this precaution.” He went and dropped the heavy bolt into place on the iron-banded door, effectively locking that part of the chateau.

“Why the kitchens first?” James asked.

“Because of the weapons it offers,” Saint-Germain answered. “Knives, cleavers, forks, skewers, pokers. A kitchen is an armory on a smaller scale. If she has gone there, it will be touchy for us.”

They completed their search in fifteen minutes and were satisfied that wherever Madame Kunst was, she had not been there.

“This might not bode well. If she has panicked—which isn’t likely—it is merely a matter of finding her. But if she is acting with deliberation, it means she is already prepared and we must keep that in mind.”

“Does she know we’re looking for her, do you think?”

“Quite possibly. That is something else to keep in mind.” He was walking back toward the main hall and the barred door. “This may be somewhat more difficult. We can close off the wing, but it provides endless places to hide, to ambush.”

“Great,” James said with hearty sarcasm.

“Although some of the same advantages apply to us. I wish I knew what it was she is trying to do. If I did, then I could counteract it more effectively.” His hand was resting on the heavy bolt.

“And you won’t call the authorities,” James said.

“We’ve had this discussion already. You know the answer. We must settle this for ourselves. And for Madelaine, since she is the one who will have to live here when this is over.” He let James consider this. “You and I are transient. This is her native earth.”

“Okay, okay,” James said, then waved a hand at the door. “What do we do, once we get in there?”

“To begin with, we move very quietly. And we make every effort not to frighten her. Frightened people do foolish and dangerous things.” He lifted the bolt and drew back the door. “For the moment, keep behind me, James. If you see or hear anything, tap my shoulder. Don’t speak.”

“Right,” James said, feeling a bit silly. He had seen war and knew how great the risks were for those caught up in the deadly game, but skulking around the halls of an old château after a woman with a worn leather valise seemed like acting out a Grade B movie from Universal. When the door was pulled closed behind him, he was disturbed by it. The hall was very dark, with five narrow shafts of light coming from the high notched windows. James watched Saint-Germain start toward the muniment room, and for the first time noticed the power and grace of his movements—he was controlled and feral at once, beautiful and awesome.

At the entrance to the muniment room, Saint-Germain held up his hand to motion James to stillness. He slipped through the narrow opening, then returned several long moments later. “She is not here, but has been here,” Saint-Germain told James in a whisper that was so quiet it was almost wholly inaudible. “One of the old plans of Montalia is missing.”

The two rooms below the muniment room were empty and apparently untouched. James was becoming strangely nervous, as if unknown wings had brushed the back of his neck. He found it difficult to be self-contained and was all for hurrying up the search so that he could bring his restlessness back under control. “She’s in the upper rooms if she’s anywhere in this part of the château,” James murmured, wanting to speak at a more normal level.

“Patience, James. You and I have much more time than she does.” He made a last check around the small salon, then gestured to James to follow him. “We’ll try the tower rooms next. Be careful of the steps.”

The narrow, circular stairwell was dark at all times, but Saint-Germain carried no light. James was growing accustomed to his improved dark vision, but was still not entirely confident of this to climb without watching his feet. For once, he was the one who lagged.

The first storeroom proved empty, but Saint-Germain indicated that he wanted to make a warning trap. “Nothing complicated; a few things that will make noise if knocked over. Should she be behind us, we will have a little time,” he whispered, and set about his work.

James stood on the landing, experiencing the same unpleasant sensation he had had in the lower room. On impulse, he decided to investigate the next room himself, thereby saving them time as well as giving himself the satisfaction of doing something worthwhile. He moved close to the door, as he had seen Saint-Germain do, and then opened the door just wide enough to be able to slip inside. He was dumbfounded at the sight of the valise sitting on the floor amid the other trunks and broken chairs that were stored there, and was about to call out when he sensed more than felt another presence in the room.