Checkmate - Dorothy Dunnett [16]
‘Blown through a metal tube. An old stephanois custom,’ said Lymond, and turned to the men at arms nearest him. ‘You two, to that parapet. You two, to this. Round up all those boys and girls under twelve and tell them they are being taken back to the Hôtel de Ville for sucketts. Have we a priest?… Yes? Perhaps, monseigneur, you would go for reassurance with them. M. le capitaine, I wish the march to proceed slowly until the children are taken away, and then halted until the Grand’ Rue is also made safe ahead.’
Danny got out his handkerchief. When the orders ceased he said, ‘Children?’
Lymond glanced at him. ‘It seems so, from the angle of trajectory. An adult on his knees with a blowpipe would be apt to astonish his neighbours. In any case, I saw one of them.’
‘How?’ said Danny. ‘You weren’t looking towards me.’
‘I beg your pardon. My attention wandered,’ said Lymond. In his palm lay now not one steel barb, but two. ‘Death with a dart in his hand. It struck the brooch in my cap. Whoever paid those children,’ said Lymond, ‘was hoping for more than a stampede, a number of unnecessary deaths and a storm of animosity towards this delegation and its purposes.… I suppose, M. le Prévôt, that arrangements can be made to entertain these little ones when they arrive at the Mairie?’
The master merchant, bewildered, stared at him. ‘Assuredly. I imagine so. That is, I shall give instructions.… You wish to question these children?’ asked the Prévôt.
‘And antagonize the parents? There would be no evidence,’ said Lymond. ‘All the blowpipes would long since have been thrown in the river. It is for you, messieurs, to hunt not children, but those among you who still wish to shame your city and kill its defenders. I shall not report this to His Majesty, in case he should conclude that the premier town in this kingdom is a dunghill upon which the blood of loyal men should not be squandered.’
Behind his gore-drenched handkerchief, Danny Hislop dispatched a thought, hopefully, to wherever Adam Blacklock might be. ‘One hundred thousand more, interest-free, my boy. And if someone actually kills M. de Sevigny, they’ll make an outright gift of their wives into the bargain.’
On the way along the Grand’ Rue he had a second thought, and delivered it aloud, to his commander. ‘I thought you said you saw one of the children.’
‘He shall,’ said Lymond, ‘ben lyk the lytel bee That seketh the blosme on the tre And souketh on the primerole. You want me to look for him?’
‘It would seem obvious,’ Danny said. From experience, this kind of talk made him wary.
‘It would seem obvious,’ Lymond agreed peaceably, ‘if I ever expected to know him again. Can you dispose of your swaddling band, or do I have to introduce the top of your head and your chin to the wife of the Governor?’
They had arrived. Danny, inhaling, removed his handkerchief. The idea had been conveyed to him, he noticed, that M. de Sevigny had observed one of the murdering brats, but not closely enough to identify him.
He distrusted, for some reason, that implication.
He went further. He was perfectly sure that his lordship had lied to him.
Chapter 3
Et Ferdinand blond sera descorte
Quitter la fleur, suyvre le Macedon
Au grand Besoing defaillira sa routte
Et marchera contre le myrmidon.
Danny Hislop had been warned about the Governor’s wife, and when he saw her waiting with her staff and her ladies in the upper courtyard of the Hôtel de Gouvernement he believed every word of it.
The Governor, rich, gallant and lifelong friend of the monarch, was in Picardy, fighting Lord Grey and King Philip with the Constable’s army. His wife, Madame la Maréchale de St André, was a woman of the Court and unlikely therefore to repine over or even notice the absence of her brilliant husband; particularly if the stories Adam told about her were true.
That the other stories were also true was more than borne out by her manner. Madame la Maréchale resented the presence of Mr Crawford of Lymond and Sevigny as a guest under her roof.