Read Online TW02 The Timekeeper Conspiracy NEW by Simon Hawke - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Simon Hawke
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but it had not made the pain of her loss easier to bear. At present there was no trace of the temple. The Marais was now a residential area, the square filled with red brick and white stone buildings three stories high with window surrounds. On past la Place Royale, the carriage drove by the Bastille. The Bassin de Parsenal brought water from the Seine to the moat around the prison. Andre looked upon the massive stone walls and thought of the people rotting within them, never again to see the light of day. Hunter had told her a great deal about Paris, but seeing it for herself made her realize for the first time just how primitive she must seem to him, a man to whom
this
wondrous city would seem backward.
It was nearing noon and she decided it was time to turn back. There was still much more of the city that she had yet to see, but there was no point to trying to see it all in just one day. It would have been impossible, at any rate. As they passed the Carmes-Dechaux, Andre directed the coachman to stop for a while. Here was a small pocket of silence in the bustling city. She got out and walked slowly toward the convent, a large and windowless building surrounded by barren fields. Here, at least, there was something of the flavor of her time. She walked along the side of the building, running her hand along its wall. Curiously, although she had done nothing for the past several hours more strenuous than sitting in the carriage, she felt exhausted. She would just rest here for a moment in the peaceful silence of the courtyard of the nunnery. As she came to the corner of the building, almost to the inner courtyard, she heard the sound of running footsteps and hesitated. Foolishly, she had left her rapier behind in the carriage, along with her dagger. She was unarmed. She spun around quickly, but the footsteps were not coming from behind her. Cautiously, she peeked around the corner.
The running figure burst into the courtyard and paused a moment, out of breath. It was a young man, blond and bedraggled, wearing old and dusty clothes and a rapier that seemed far too long for him to handle. He glanced quickly around the courtyard and his gaze fell upon an older man, with a bandaged shoulder, dressed in the uniform of the king's musketeers, sitting casually atop a hitching post and picking at the mud upon his boots with his rapier.
"I trust I am not late, Monsieur?" said the blond youth.
The musketeer slowly raised his head, while he continued prodding at his boot absently. "No, you are quite punctual," he said. "I, myself, have only just arrived moments ago. I shall, however, have to beg your indulgence for a short while, as I have asked two friends of mine to be my seconds and, as you can see, they have not yet arrived."
"Ah," said the young man. "Ah. Well. I must confess that, since I am new to Paris, I have no seconds, Monsieur."
"What, none at all? Do you not know anyone in Paris?"
"Well, Monsieur de Treville...."
"Yes, well, he would hardly do, would he? The captain of the musketeers is hardly in a position to disobey the edict against dueling. Well, I must say, this is most irregular. Dueling with a youth who has no seconds, not good for appearances at all, I am afraid. I'll have the air of a boy-slayer."
"Not so much so," said D'Artagnan, bowing slightly. "After all, you do me the honor of drawing a sword against me while you still suffer from a wounded shoulder. I am afraid it is I who shall suffer from appearances, Monsieur, if I should kill a man whose wound prevented him from properly defending himself."
"Well spoken. However, I shall take the left hand," said the musketeer. "I usually do so in such circumstances. I use both hands equally well and a left-handed swordsman can be quite troublesome to one who is not used to it. I fear that the disadvantage will be yours, Monsieur. I regret that I did not inform you of it earlier."
"That's quite considerate of you, Monsieur," D'Artagnan said. "I hope my
this
wondrous city would seem backward.
It was nearing noon and she decided it was time to turn back. There was still much more of the city that she had yet to see, but there was no point to trying to see it all in just one day. It would have been impossible, at any rate. As they passed the Carmes-Dechaux, Andre directed the coachman to stop for a while. Here was a small pocket of silence in the bustling city. She got out and walked slowly toward the convent, a large and windowless building surrounded by barren fields. Here, at least, there was something of the flavor of her time. She walked along the side of the building, running her hand along its wall. Curiously, although she had done nothing for the past several hours more strenuous than sitting in the carriage, she felt exhausted. She would just rest here for a moment in the peaceful silence of the courtyard of the nunnery. As she came to the corner of the building, almost to the inner courtyard, she heard the sound of running footsteps and hesitated. Foolishly, she had left her rapier behind in the carriage, along with her dagger. She was unarmed. She spun around quickly, but the footsteps were not coming from behind her. Cautiously, she peeked around the corner.
The running figure burst into the courtyard and paused a moment, out of breath. It was a young man, blond and bedraggled, wearing old and dusty clothes and a rapier that seemed far too long for him to handle. He glanced quickly around the courtyard and his gaze fell upon an older man, with a bandaged shoulder, dressed in the uniform of the king's musketeers, sitting casually atop a hitching post and picking at the mud upon his boots with his rapier.
"I trust I am not late, Monsieur?" said the blond youth.
The musketeer slowly raised his head, while he continued prodding at his boot absently. "No, you are quite punctual," he said. "I, myself, have only just arrived moments ago. I shall, however, have to beg your indulgence for a short while, as I have asked two friends of mine to be my seconds and, as you can see, they have not yet arrived."
"Ah," said the young man. "Ah. Well. I must confess that, since I am new to Paris, I have no seconds, Monsieur."
"What, none at all? Do you not know anyone in Paris?"
"Well, Monsieur de Treville...."
"Yes, well, he would hardly do, would he? The captain of the musketeers is hardly in a position to disobey the edict against dueling. Well, I must say, this is most irregular. Dueling with a youth who has no seconds, not good for appearances at all, I am afraid. I'll have the air of a boy-slayer."
"Not so much so," said D'Artagnan, bowing slightly. "After all, you do me the honor of drawing a sword against me while you still suffer from a wounded shoulder. I am afraid it is I who shall suffer from appearances, Monsieur, if I should kill a man whose wound prevented him from properly defending himself."
"Well spoken. However, I shall take the left hand," said the musketeer. "I usually do so in such circumstances. I use both hands equally well and a left-handed swordsman can be quite troublesome to one who is not used to it. I fear that the disadvantage will be yours, Monsieur. I regret that I did not inform you of it earlier."
"That's quite considerate of you, Monsieur," D'Artagnan said. "I hope my
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