Читать книгу Among Wolves - Nancy Wallace K. - Страница 12

After breakfast, Gaspard spent the morning in the lounge dividing his time between Sophie Christophe and Josette Rousseau. For a few minutes, Devin attempted to be equally charming, but Marcus, who took his role of guardian angel very seriously, shadowed his every move, making normal conversation nearly impossible. At last, he sought the relative privacy of the deck, his bodyguard in tow.

The day had dawned clear and cold. It seemed that the Marie Lisette had left spring behind them in Coreé. The trees along the visible shoreline were still bare and leafless. To the north, clouds clustered along the horizon, blue-black and stormy.

“We’re in for a blow,” Marcus said darkly. “That storm is probably just south of Ombria now.”

“Let me guess,” Devin teased, “your grandmother was a sailor, too.”

Marcus didn’t crack a smile. “Sorrento is landlocked,” he retorted. “But, it doesn’t take a sailor to recognize bad weather. I don’t imagine we’ll get much sleep tonight.”

Devin didn’t comment. He wondered if Marcus was aware that he had lain awake most of last night. Every footstep in the passageway had set his heart thumping. He’d always felt safe in Coreé. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t realized, especially after the incident at Verde Park, that his family would live under constant threat. But that threat had only touched him once, personally. His childhood had remained remarkably charmed and unblemished despite his father’s elevated position.

He leaned forward on the rail and watched the churning water as it rushed by the prow.

“Had it occurred to you that Dr. Rousseau might be related to Emile?” he asked, after a moment.

“Dr. Rousseau lives in Treves. His family has resided there for several generations,” Marcus responded.

“He told you that?”

“No, the Captain did. I made it clear that, for security purposes, it was imperative I know more than just the obvious things about the others on board. Besides, any good Captain makes a practice of knowing his passengers, especially, when he is entrusted with carrying the son of the Chancellor Elite.”

Devin rolled his eyes. He seemed doomed to drag his father’s title along with him, like an anchor around his neck. “Do you trust Captain Torrance?”

“Your father booked your passage. He wouldn’t have chosen this particular ship had he any qualms about Captain Torrance’s loyalty or his skill.”

Devin shrugged. He wished he could recapture yesterday’s thrill of excitement. Today, he felt jumpy and suspicious. He envied Gaspard’s carefree attitude. But now that he knew about both the political turmoil in Coreé and its potential threat to his father, they weighed on him. He thought again about his father’s abrupt reversal, the evening before he left, in allowing him to continue with his trip. Had his father wanted Devin out of the city for his own safety? Did he hope that, in fifteen months, the threat of revolution might have been averted or resolved? For the first time Devin truly considered booking his passage back to Coreé when they docked in Pireé.

The wind drove them below deck by afternoon and true to Marcus’s prediction the storm hit by nightfall. The choppy water sent half the passengers, including Gaspard, to their cabins. Dr. Rousseau was kept busy tending seasick travelers for most of the evening. Devin had to admit that the heaving floors made him feel a little uneasy himself, but Marcus seemed completely unaffected.

Devin hadn’t seen Henri LeBeau all day and was surprised when he came into the lounge after dinner. He crossed the floor and headed immediately to where Josette and Devin were seated talking in the corner of the room. Marcus detached himself from the wall and assumed a protective stance next to Devin. The room fell into expectant silence around them.

LeBeau sketched a small bow. “I wondered if I might have a word with you, Monsieur Roché.”

“By all means,” Devin said. “What’s on your mind?”

“Could I speak with you alone?” LeBeau asked.

“That’s not possible,” Marcus replied grimly.

Josette rose to her feet and smiled at Devin. “Forgive me, monsieur, but I should be going.”

Devin stood up, hoping to detain her. “Please stay a little longer. I’m certain this will only take a moment.”

She lowered her lashes and shook her head. “I’ll try to come back later, monsieur, if I can. I need to check with my father and see if there is anything I can do to help him.”

Devin watched her go with regret. With Gaspard sick in his cabin, he’d been free of any competition for Josette’s attention. Tomorrow, she would continue on with the Marie Lisette and he would begin his journey overland across Ombria. He turned in annoyance to LeBeau.

“What is it that you wanted?”

LeBeau cleared his throat. “I’d like to apologize. I drank too much wine before dinner last night. I’m afraid it tends to make me argumentative. I fear I spoiled everyone’s meal. I’m sorry.”

Devin raised his eyebrows. “Surely your political views haven’t changed overnight?”

“Of course, they haven’t,” LeBeau assured him. “But the dinner table was not the place to discuss them.”

Devin inclined his head. “On that we agree.”

“I hope you can forgive me,” LeBeau continued. “I have the utmost respect for both your brother and your father. I regret that you may have found my remarks offensive.”

It was as though Devin could hear his father’s voice in his mind: Never decline an apology that is proffered publicly. If you do, you allow your opponent to become the injured party.

“We all speak without thinking sometimes,” he remarked lightly. “This trip is almost over. Let’s put last night’s discussion behind us.”

“Thank you,” LeBeau said with relief. “My invitation still stands. In spite of everything, I would still like to show you Treves.”

“I’m sorry but our plans are not definite,” Devin answered diplomatically. “I have no idea when we will arrive in Arcadia, so it is impossible to commit to anything.”

LeBeau retrieved an envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket. “I’ve written down my address for you with directions to my summer home, just south of the city. I’d consider it a favor if you’d take the time to stop for a visit.”

When hell freezes over, Devin thought. “Thank you,” he replied, making a production of putting the envelope in his own pocket. “If we cannot take time to visit you, at least I am certain I will see you at the Académie next year.”

LeBeau laid a hand on his arm. “I hope to see you before that.”

Devin resisted the urge to shake off the offending hand, and smiled graciously. “Good night,” he murmured.

LeBeau answered only with a bow. He turned and was gone. Bertrand St. Clair followed discreetly on his heels.

Conversation started again as quickly as it had stopped and Marcus glanced at Devin.

“That was well done,” he said under his breath.

Devin shrugged. “My father would say it is bad form to call a man a liar in public but I was truly tempted.”

The rough night made sleep nearly impossible as the ship tossed uneasily on stormy waters. Both Devin and Marcus were up and dressed before dawn. Up on the forecastle, they discovered a light coating of snow covering the deck. The rigging hung thick with ice. Every movement of the ropes or sails sent glass-like shards smashing onto the deck. Stray flurries still floated down from a leaden sky.

They sailed into a harbor made ghostly with frosted spars and shrouds of mist, docking just as the sun struggled feebly to lighten the skies. They had said their goodbyes to the other passengers last night Devin had received an invitation from Dr. Rousseau to visit his home when he reached Treves. And Gustave Christophe was anxious that he stop in Tarente to meet the boy who swept his shop.

Only Henri LeBeau and Bertrand St. Clair also planned to disembark at Pireé but they had yet to appear on deck when Devin, Gaspard, and Marcus left the ship. Devin’s first steps off the gangplank were awkward and halting. His legs had grown used to the roll of the ship, and solid ground felt surprisingly odd in comparison.

The port of Pireé seemed strange and exotic. The first thing Devin noticed were the large signboards hanging in front of every shop. Instead of words, each bore a painted or carved likeness of the merchandise that was sold inside. The bright and unsophisticated images made him feel as though he had landed in some foreign port where he didn’t speak the language.

Buildings rose three or four stories along narrow streets, the simple architecture adorned by colorful shutters which bracketed windows and doors. Central gardens showed the first leaves of peas and the bright green spikes of garlic poking through dirt still dusted with last night’s snowfall.

“Where are the hotels?” Gaspard asked, looking rumpled and sleepy.

“I would imagine they are toward the central part of the city,” Marcus said, pointing at the businesses around them. “These are only small neighborhood shops: the scissors indicate a seamstress, the cake – a bakery – the horseshoe – a blacksmith.”

“And where would I find a cup of coffee and a croissant?” Gaspard asked hopefully.

Marcus turned him to face a blue shuttered shop with a steaming cup on its sign. “There I would think.”

“Thank God,” he murmured. “Do you mind if we stop?”

Devin laughed. “You could have had breakfast on the ship, if you’d gotten up earlier.”

“You and Marcus are lucky that the storm didn’t make you seasick,” Gaspard protested. “If you’d felt the way I did last night, you wouldn’t have been anxious to get up early for breakfast either.”

“You weren’t alone,” Devin assured him. “Half the ship was sick.”

“Let’s not talk about it anymore,” Gaspard pleaded, one hand held sympathetically to his stomach.

A bell jangled when they opened the door. Four small tables filled the front of the shop. The smell of fresh brewed coffee and cinnamon wafted from behind the counter. Gaspard sighed and crumpled into a chair by the window.

“I’ll have café au lait and two of whatever smells so heavenly.”

Devin threw his knapsack on a chair. He rolled his eyes and made an exaggerated bow. “Yes, monsieur. Right away, monsieur.”

Two of the other tables were occupied and several men had turned to stare at their entrance. Their eyes took in every detail of their luggage and their clothes.

Devin smiled and said, “Good morning.” But only one man echoed his greeting, the rest merely nodded or sat silently watching as he walked to the counter.

He paid for four cinnamon buns and three cups of coffee, ferrying the food back in two trips and setting it on the table. Just before he sat down, he glanced up to see Henri LeBeau talking to Bertrand St. Clair out on the street.

“I see LeBeau has departed the ship,” Marcus commented. “And that he and St. Clair have struck up a friendship.”

“It doesn’t look friendly to me,” Devin observed, as LeBeau gestured rudely at St. Clair. LeBeau’s face was flushed and angry. St. Clair made some final retort and stalked away.

“Apparently, that man can’t get along with anyone,” Gaspard said through a mouthful of cinnamon bun. “These are wonderful, by the way.”

“LeBeau actually apologized to me last night,” Devin said, “and invited me to visit him in Treves.”

Gaspard made a disgusted sound in his throat. “I hope you told him what he could do with his invitation?”

“Devin was actually very polite,” Marcus informed him.

“Then you’re a better man than I am,” Gaspard said.

Devin looked up and grinned. “That has never been in question has it?”

Gaspard threw a piece of bun which hit Devin squarely in the chest – and bounced off – landing in his coffee cup. Coffee sprayed all over the table and the front of Devin’s jacket.

Gaspard leaned back with a satisfied smile. “How clumsy of me! Please accept my apologies.”

“Remind me never to buy you a cinnamon bun again,” Devin said. He fished in his pocket for a handkerchief and pulled out LeBeau’s envelope, as well. He laid it on the table while he mopped at the brown liquid soaking into his jacket.

Marcus tapped the envelope. “Is that LeBeau’s address?” he asked.

Devin crumpled his wet handkerchief on the table. “I assume so.”

He tore open the envelope and extracted the piece of paper inside. It took only a moment to read it and react. With it still in his hand, he stood up and rushed to the door, hoping that somehow LeBeau might still be in sight. Standing on the doorstep, he could see the street had filled with people going to and from the docks. But there was no sign of either LeBeau or St. Clair in either direction.

Marcus had followed him. “What’s the matter?” he asked in alarm, grabbing his shoulder as he came back through the doorway.

“Read it yourself,” Devin snapped, throwing the paper down in front of him on the table.

Marcus unfolded the letter and read out loud: “I know who broke into your cabin. Be careful. Your life is in danger. Please come to see me in Treves.”

“Shit,” Gaspard said, straightening up. “Is there more?’

“Just directions to his house,” Devin replied, slumping down into his chair.

“Why couldn’t he have told you this last night?” Gaspard asked.

Devin shook his head. “I don’t know. He did ask to speak to me alone.”

Marcus was watching him closely. “Was there some reason you didn’t open this until now?”

Devin sighed. “I intended to throw it away without reading it at all. But I forgot it was in my jacket pocket until I pulled it out just now. I wish I’d found it ten minutes ago.”

Had LeBeau been lingering outside to speak to him just now? And what had St. Clair said to him that had made him so angry?

Marcus folded the letter carefully and returned it to the envelope, then shoved it across the table to Devin.

“You won’t be in Treves for another two months. That gives you a long time to decide what you want to do. You can either ignore it or take LeBeau up on his invitation. Besides, there’s some possibility that you may run in to him along the way and you can ask him what he meant. I wouldn’t worry about it now.”

While the others finished their breakfast, Devin sat hunched over his coffee cup, toying with his food. He methodically dismantled his cinnamon bun but didn’t eat any of it.

Gaspard gestured with his coffee cup. “I would have eaten that if I’d known you were going to destroy it.”

“Be my guest,” Devon replied, pushing his plate in front of his friend.

Outside the sky had darkened and snow was falling heavily.