Read Online [Fools' Guild 08] - The Parisian Prodigal by Alan Gordon - Free Book Online Page A

Abbess, senhor,” she replied, returning the courtesy.
    “An abbess? Is this a convent, then?”
    “It is a place of retreat from the harshness of the world,” said the Abbess. “As for its holiness—well, I can only say that we often hear God’s name invoked. Are you on a pilgrimage?”
    “I am hoping to have a religious experience,” said Baudoin.
    “Excellent,” she said. “Then—“
    We were interrupted by a thumping of footsteps, and suddenly, Raimon Roger filled the doorway, blinking in surprise.
    “Well, if it isn’t the prodigal brother,” he said. “Domina Abbess, is there a fatted calf anywhere in the house? Slay it immediately.”
    “Ah, my dear count,” purred the Abbess. “Was everything to your satisfaction?”
    “To mine and, I am happy to say, to hers,” he replied. “I see that you have attracted a pair of wandering Parisians.”
    “Good evening, senhor,” said Baudoin in langue d’oc, bowing as he did.
    “Will you listen to that?” praised Raimon Roger in langue d’oïl. “Fool, you have made excellent progress.”
    “He is an apt and willing student,” I said.
    “I must get you to teach me something,” he said. “I have already hired someone here to instruct me in something new. I do so enjoy broadening my mind.” He turned his attentions back to Baudoin. “Now, senhor, since you are a visitor, you must permit me to make you a recommendation.”
    “I am guided by you in all things, senhor,” said Baudoin. “You are a man whose liberty to enjoy the pleasures of life depends on a count who, although I love him like a brother, is unpredictable in his whims,” said Raimon Roger. “If you should find yourself back in a dungeon tomorrow, it should be with the best possible memory of our fair city. You must have La Rossa.”
    “If she is as remarkable as you say, then you have my gratitude in advance,” said Baudoin.
    “Not at all,” said Raimon Roger. “After all, you’re family now. Almost family, anyway. Well, my sainted Abbess, I must bid you a lucrative evening and be off.”
    He bowed to her, nodded to the rest of us, and heaved his bulk out of the house.
    “It seems that I must have La Rossa,” said Baudoin. “Then have her you will,” said the Abbess. “I shall return with her.”
    She glided out.
    A dancer, I thought. She must have been a dancer. I remembered a sultry Egyptian dancer who had enticed me when I was a young fool in Alexandria. I knew she was untrustworthy from the start, having been warned about her by colleagues I did trust and by my own observations, all of which I promptly ignored when I saw her dance, which ultimately led to a disastrous outcome in that particular mission, but not before it led to—
    “I’ve heard about La Rossa,” commented Sancho. “Never had the chance to have her.”
    The dancer disappeared in a puff of smoke, a taunting smile on her lips.
    “You did it again,” I muttered, snapping back to the present.
    “Did what?” he asked.
    “Never mind.”
    “Senhors,” said the Abbess. “May I present—La Rossa!”
    The color red overwhelmed us. A bright red gown, clinging to a body that wanted nothing more than to be rid of it. Red stockings peeped out from the bottom, red talons stabbed menacingly from each finger, glistening red coated a pair of lips curved into a smile that welcomed anything and everything, and a curly torrent of red hair cascaded from her head, floating about a pale white neck that invited, no, demanded to be bitten.
    Baudoin looked at her appraisingly while Hue gawked. Her smile subtly shifted to a smirk as she returned their gazes.
    “Have you come all the way from Paris just for me?” she said, her voice a rippling brook in summer.
    “Had I known what glories awaited me here, I would have made the journey long ago,” said Baudoin, bowing.
    “A gallant,” she said. “You put our local courtesy to shame. But perhaps this is merely a veneer. Are you this gallant all the