Read Online TW02 The Timekeeper Conspiracy NEW by Simon Hawke - Free Book Online
Authors: Simon Hawke
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learn that Doctor Jacques was in some sort of trouble."
"So would I, Moreau. So would I. Listen, if you should see him before I do, tell him that I'm staying at the Luxembourg. Ask him to come and see me on a matter of some importance."
"I will, Monsieur Laporte. And if you should see him first, you tell him that he has friends who will stand by him, eh? If there is trouble, you tell him to come to old Moreau."
Hunter looked at Moreau and smiled. The burly Frenchman had a face that looked like old leather and broad shoulders that suggested a previous trade more strenuous than being a tavernkeeper. If there would be trouble, Jack would do well to have someone like Moreau beside him.
"I'll tell him," Hunter said.
He left the tavern feeling very worried. Something was definitely wrong. Jack Bennett had disappeared without leaving behind any message whatsoever. With Jack, that sort of thing simply didn't happen, unless those men had something to do with it and he had not had time to leave a message. But then, according to Moreau, those men had been with Jack for at least a week and they would not have known the signals that Hunter and Jack had arranged between themselves. Jack should have been able to leave word if something out of the ordinary had occurred. But he hadn't.
Those "friends from Flanders" made Hunter nervous. Jack didn't have any friends in Flanders that he knew of. Then there was Moreau's description of them.
Large.
Spoke French excellently, but with an accent that Moreau, an ex-seaman, could not place. Perhaps it was because it was an accent unknown to this time.
""Where are you, Doc?" Hunter mumbled. "What have you gotten yourself into?"
He was so preoccupied, he didn't notice that he was being followed.
Andre realized that she owed Hunter a great deal, but there was a limit to any obligation. She had promised Hunter that she would learn to act like a lady, but she had never promised him to play that role continuously. Nor had she promised him to, as he had said it, "stay put" in their apartments.
He had brought her to another time, to another world, and he expected her to stay in their hotel unless told otherwise. Yes, she owed him a great deal, but she did not owe him blind, unquestioning obedience. He had developed a tendency to order her around and she didn't like it. She understood that he was only being protective, because he knew much and she knew little of this time, because he was in his element and she was in an alien environment. Still, that did not make her confinement easier to bear.
She felt herself dependent upon Hunter and she didn't like having to depend on anyone. She never had.
She liked feeling caged up even less.
In the 12th century, at least, she had known the rules. In England, she had been able to make her way alone. Hunter had spent many hours with her, teaching her to speak 17th-century French. The task was made easier by her knowledge of the Norman tongue, but it had proved bothersome when Hunter would not speak to her in any other language. He had explained that they would be in 17th-century Paris for an indefinite amount of time and that it was of paramount importance for her to know the language.
Surprisingly, even though the constant repetition and the boring drills were tiresome, she had discovered that learning a new language came easily to her, far more easily than learning "the gentle art of acting like a lady," and only slightly less easily than learning how to use a rapier. Already, Hunter was no match for her. Her progress had astonished even him. Yet what was the point in knowing all these things if she was to be denied the opportunity to put them into practice? What was the use in learning how to act like a 17th-century Parisienne if she remained constantly within the walls of the Luxembourg Hotel, seeing no one, going nowhere?
"A lady never wanders through the streets of Paris unescorted," Hunter had said.
Well, perhaps a lady didn't. But then, she had never
"So would I, Moreau. So would I. Listen, if you should see him before I do, tell him that I'm staying at the Luxembourg. Ask him to come and see me on a matter of some importance."
"I will, Monsieur Laporte. And if you should see him first, you tell him that he has friends who will stand by him, eh? If there is trouble, you tell him to come to old Moreau."
Hunter looked at Moreau and smiled. The burly Frenchman had a face that looked like old leather and broad shoulders that suggested a previous trade more strenuous than being a tavernkeeper. If there would be trouble, Jack would do well to have someone like Moreau beside him.
"I'll tell him," Hunter said.
He left the tavern feeling very worried. Something was definitely wrong. Jack Bennett had disappeared without leaving behind any message whatsoever. With Jack, that sort of thing simply didn't happen, unless those men had something to do with it and he had not had time to leave a message. But then, according to Moreau, those men had been with Jack for at least a week and they would not have known the signals that Hunter and Jack had arranged between themselves. Jack should have been able to leave word if something out of the ordinary had occurred. But he hadn't.
Those "friends from Flanders" made Hunter nervous. Jack didn't have any friends in Flanders that he knew of. Then there was Moreau's description of them.
Large.
Spoke French excellently, but with an accent that Moreau, an ex-seaman, could not place. Perhaps it was because it was an accent unknown to this time.
""Where are you, Doc?" Hunter mumbled. "What have you gotten yourself into?"
He was so preoccupied, he didn't notice that he was being followed.
Andre realized that she owed Hunter a great deal, but there was a limit to any obligation. She had promised Hunter that she would learn to act like a lady, but she had never promised him to play that role continuously. Nor had she promised him to, as he had said it, "stay put" in their apartments.
He had brought her to another time, to another world, and he expected her to stay in their hotel unless told otherwise. Yes, she owed him a great deal, but she did not owe him blind, unquestioning obedience. He had developed a tendency to order her around and she didn't like it. She understood that he was only being protective, because he knew much and she knew little of this time, because he was in his element and she was in an alien environment. Still, that did not make her confinement easier to bear.
She felt herself dependent upon Hunter and she didn't like having to depend on anyone. She never had.
She liked feeling caged up even less.
In the 12th century, at least, she had known the rules. In England, she had been able to make her way alone. Hunter had spent many hours with her, teaching her to speak 17th-century French. The task was made easier by her knowledge of the Norman tongue, but it had proved bothersome when Hunter would not speak to her in any other language. He had explained that they would be in 17th-century Paris for an indefinite amount of time and that it was of paramount importance for her to know the language.
Surprisingly, even though the constant repetition and the boring drills were tiresome, she had discovered that learning a new language came easily to her, far more easily than learning "the gentle art of acting like a lady," and only slightly less easily than learning how to use a rapier. Already, Hunter was no match for her. Her progress had astonished even him. Yet what was the point in knowing all these things if she was to be denied the opportunity to put them into practice? What was the use in learning how to act like a 17th-century Parisienne if she remained constantly within the walls of the Luxembourg Hotel, seeing no one, going nowhere?
"A lady never wanders through the streets of Paris unescorted," Hunter had said.
Well, perhaps a lady didn't. But then, she had never
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