Disclaimer: I do not own Broken Sword. The Broken Sword franchise was created by Charles Cecil and is owned and developed by Revolution Software Limited. All that I own are any dialogue and activity that's either altered or doesn't appear in the original games.
Author's Notes:
- I will be combining elements from both the original version and the Director's Cut.
- Some of you may notice certain events or dialogue that require something else to happen in the game appearing beforehand here, or dialogue out of order. Now, while some of these may be accidental on my part, most of them were done from me analysing the game carefully.
"Paris in the fall, the last months of the year and the end of the millennium. The city holds many memories for me - of cafés, of music, of love... and of death."
- George Stobbart
"Paris. City of love, romance, and dreams - so they say. I used to say it too. But ever since that day, the day of the murder, I have always associated my beloved Paris... with death."
- Nicole Collard
Broken Sword: The Shadow of the Templars - Novelization
Chapter 1: Death of a King
It was Nico's twelfth birthday. Her father, Thierry, handed her a wrapped gift. When she ripped off the paper, she uncovered a photographic camera. Her first camera. Nico loved it. And it was on that day she fell in love with photography.
That summer would be her last as a child. She and her father spent the days at the beach and the nights at their favourite cafés and restaurants. Before the summer ended, Thierry told his daughter how beautiful she looked, how proud he was of her.
Thierry was a pilot for the French government, and when the summer was over, he had to return to work. On that day, his plane awaiting at the end of the beach pier, he hugged his daughter goodbye before boarding his plane. Thierry and Nico had no idea what would happen next, no fear for the future... no warning.
And then it happened. As soon as the plane left the dock, the front propeller ignited, the engine exploded, taking the plane and Thierry Collard with it. And in that moment, Nicole Collard was alone.
Nicole Collard shot up from her bed, sweat and adrenaline pouring all over her body. She panted as the shock slowly subsided. She had had the nightmare again. No one who knew her would notice it, but she was used to it. Ever since that day, as every summer ended, the nightmare would return.
Nico looked at her watch. It was 7:30 am. Time for her morning bath. Most people found having a morning bath on a daily basis unusual, but then again, most people weren't Nicole Collard. For each time she had the nightmare, she had to wash away the sadness the next morning, let it dissolve and fade away. The sun always helped. And so did her work. Never a dull moment for a photojournalist.
Nico sat relaxed inside the tub of hot water, the smell of bubble bath soothing her senses. Then her phone rang. After withdrawing from the tub and wrapping herself, she answered.
"Collard! Get your ass over to the Palais Royal now!" It was her boss, Ronnie, editor of La Liberté. His tone sounded grouchy and firm - he was in a good mood this morning.
"You got an interview with Pierre Carchon."
Nico couldn't hide her surprise. "Pierre Carchon?"
"Yes. THE Pierre Carchon. No photos, so leave your gear at home. He asked for you personally."
"Personally? Me?"
"That's right. Don't ask me why. Anyhow, this could be big! So if he makes a pass, don't forget; just smile, say yes, and keep taking notes." So charming and so very apt.
"Yes, boss." Nico replied before putting the receiver down.
Suddenly, she felt the sun shining brighter than ever. This was the break she had long been waiting for. This was the assignment that could make her career. Pierre Carchon and his wife, Imelda, were just one step down from royalty. Carchon was a media king, a national hero... as well as one of the most infamous adulterers in Europe. Of course, Nico knew that, apart from the latter, everything about this guy was a falsity. And she, like she had done before, would prove this to the world.
After drying herself off and dressing smartly, Nico made her way to the Carchon residence, and set in motion a chain of events which would change her life forever.
When she reached the courtyard, she stopped. Here she was, the palace of the Media King and the Ice Queen. She took a moment to admire it, when a mime jumped out from behind the strange sculpture the Carchon's had outside their home. Nico hated mimes, but she knew that unless you humoured them, they wouldn't go away. The mime set up a Dutch door between the two of them. He managed to open the bottom half, but struggled to open the top half, which was locked. So Nico crouched down to slip under the top. She thanked the mime and continued on her way, the mime grinning with appreciation.
After finally reaching the front door, Nico pushed the doorbell on the intercom.
A woman's voice rang from the intercom. "Yes? What is it?"
"Mademoiselle, my name is Nico Collard. I am here to see Monsieur Carchon."
At first there was silence, then, "Come up. We're on the first floor."
Nico opened the doors and went up the stairs. She knocked on the door at the top, and it opened to reveal an aging woman with pale skin, light blonde hair and a white lace dress. Nico knew immediately who she was: Imelda Carchon, Media King Pierre's wife and Ice Queen of Paris. Given her appearance, it was hardly a wonder why they called her that. Even the mope on her face looked like it had been frozen solid for years.
Nico stepped into the hall and extended her hand. "Madame Carchon? It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Yes, I'm sure." Madame Carchon responded in that nationwide recognisable icy voice. She didn't even take Nico's hand. Instead, she just shut the door and led Nico down the hall. The Ice Queen was certainly living up to her reputation. Nico looked around. Everything looked like it had come from the 18th century. Even the telephone looked antique.
"Will you be... staying for the interview?"
"Mademoiselle, I know little of my husband's business affairs..." Nico thought she saw the Ice Queen manage a small smirk. "And I care even less."
Behind her, Nico saw the famed Pierre Carchon exit one of the rooms and make his way toward them.
"I certainly have no intention of watching him paw over yet another pretty little journalist."
Pretty. Little. Nico couldn't help but smirk. "You're too kind, Madame."
Pierre finally joined them. He presented Nico with that suave and charming grin he was most famous for, especially with the ladies.
"Ah! The talented - and very beautiful - Mam'selle Collard. Such a pleasure to meet you at last."
"Monsieur Carchon, I'm honoured-" Her voice was cut off as Carchon pecked her on both cheeks. Madame Carchon sneered.
"Oh, I sure you are." Even if she tried to hide her disdain, she would have failed. Nico, on the other hand, was under orders to smile, so she managed to force that fake smile she'd done many times. She'd have to put a reminder in her notebook to wash her face later.
"I'll fix some tea." Madame Carchon said, before making her way to the kitchen.
"Call me Pierre, please. But I do not flatter you idly. I was a friend of your father. He was a great man." Hearing these words took that fake smile of Nico's face, and drew a genuine one... of surprise!
"My father? He never mentioned-" Once again, Carchon cut her off.
"He and I were very close. And then his death, so tragic. I must-" This time, it was Carchon's turn to get cut off. There came a sound from the room Pierre had just left; the sound of something smashing. Carchon couldn't hide his annoyance.
"Imelda," he called out. "Your damned cat's in my study again!"
He turned to Nico and smiled again. "Excuse me for one moment, my dear girl." And he turned and made his way back to the study, grumbling something about another Ming vase.
With him gone, Nico was able to relax her face. She turned and stood at the door of the kitchen. Madame Carchon had put a couple of teabags into the teapot. Now she was proceeding to fill it with hot water. Nico was surprised the Ice Queen didn't melt from the steam, or the heat of the kettle.
"You journalists are getting younger each year."
"Perhaps it is the rest of the world getting older, Madame?"
Madame Carchon turned to fix Nico with a stare, but before she could say anything, a scream erupted. A scream from the study. Quick as a flash, Nico turned and ran toward the study. There was no cat. Just Carchon lying in a lifeless heap on the floor.
"My god! What-?! Monsieur Carchon...!"
Her voice was cut off. At first, she thought it was the pale white face of Carchon's ghost standing over his corpse, then she realised it was a mime. That same mime she encountered outside! He was pocketing a supressed pistol. Then he noticed Nico standing at the door. At first he seemed panicked, then he beckoned her toward him. Nico wasn't sure why, but she complied. Then before she had time to react, the mime connected her face with a fist made from one his his gloved hands, and she fell unconscious.
When Nico came to, her head was aching. She rubbed her head and sat up. When her eyesight returned, the first thing she saw was Madame Carchon standing over the lifeless body of her husband. She had one hand over his chest and the other over her eyes. When she withdrew her hand, she turned to see Nico stand up.
"He's dead." she said.
After shaking her head to brush off the dizziness, Nico suddenly remembered, there had been another man in the room. "There was a man... it was the mime! Do you think he-?"
Madame Carchon cut her off. "Well, I believe we can rule out suicide, don't you?" She then rose to her feet. Even with the hot tears trickling down her cheeks, her face didn't seem thawed enough to show any expression. No wonder they called her the Ice Queen.
Mimes and guns didn't usually go together. But Nico had an idea that this was no ordinary mime. She'd come across this kind of murderer before. She'd even written a story about him: The Costume Killer, as she called him at least.
"I must call the police. You had better stay here." And she left the study.
Madame Carchon would have been top of Nico's list of suspects, if she hadn't already seen the killer herself, and if she hadn't already come across couple of murders just like this. One of the most important men in Europe murdered, and here was she, Nico Collard, alone at the scene of the crime. Should she wait for the cops? Or start her own investigation? Normally, she would have waited, but in this case, it was a no-brainer.
She made her way to the corpse and kneeled over it. Some people hated searching corpses for clues. Nico, on the other hand, was OK with it. It reminded her of an old boyfriend. Before she did anything, she slipped on a pair of gloves she kept in her pocket. From being a reporter, she'd learned to always wear gloves while snooping around, for fear of leaving fingerprints.
Carchon's lifeless eyes stared blankly at nothing. Nico carefully drew his jacket to the side. Carchon had been shot, the wound visible in his left abdomen. In his inside pocket, she saw what looked a ticket. She knew that taking the ticket would mean she'd tampered with the evidence, but she needed all the clues she could find. She carefully drew the ticket from his pocket. There was no going back now. She quickly pocketed the ticket then restored Carchon's jacket.
Before standing up, Nico closed Carchon's eyes. It was the least she could do for the poor fellow. As she did this, her eye caught something on the floor next to Carchon's head. It was one of Nico's hair clips. Her favourite, in fact! It must have fallen when she was knocked down. She retrieved it before standing up.
As she got to her feet, Nico felt a small draft blowing in from the outside, even though the windows were closed. She drew the curtain back, and saw that a small round piece of glass had been cut out of the pane. This had been a professional job; it had to be the work of the mime. Nico thought about checking the glass more carefully, but she didn't want to cut herself and leave blood. You could have called her old-fashioned, but she preferred to keep her DNA to herself. Instead, she opened the window and looked out. The window was on the first floor above the ground, but Nico could see that same sculpture where she first encountered the mime. That confirmed her suspicions. The mime, the killer, must have used a ladder to reach this window. Then he must have cut the piece of glass out to reach inside and unlock the window, then broken the vase to lure Carchon into the room. Then, when the job was done, he went out the way he came in, and took the ladder with him. He was probably long gone by now. Nico closed the window again.
Before leaving the study, Nico decided to look around. Even if this so-called national hero had just been murdered, and it had been the same killer she'd come across, she had come here on another task. There wasn't much, except for the bust that was mounted just by the spot where Carchon's body fell. It was a bust of... Pierre Carchon, humble servant of La France, media tycoon and serial philanderer. There was another bust just like it in the corner. Its eyes seemed to follow her around the room. On the wall next to Carchon's writing desk was bookcase, filled with obscure first editions, rows of titles she didn't even recognize.
Upon leaving the study, Nico tried to open the door next to it, but it was locked. Around the corner, she could hear the Ice Queen talking on the phone. Just outside the study door was a magnificent antique Louis XIV table with a white antique cloth. Madame Carchon had taste at least, but then again, with a husband that rich, taste was easy. At the corner on the other side of the table was an easel with a beautifully painted landscape. She also had talent, but Nico certainly wasn't going to tell her that. Sitting in the palette of the easel was a tube of acrylic paint. French ultramarine, just the colour she was after for her bathroom. Nico picked it up.
Then she heard Madame Carchon say, "I'm sorry, I have to go. Someone is..." Then she realized that the easel was set up on the corner of the corridor that turned to the far end where the Ice Queen was sitting. She put the receiver down and turned to Nico.
"Young lady, what are you doing?"
Feeling a shred of guilt, Nico stammered, "Uh, I'm sorry. It's just that... this paint... i-it's my favourite colour, and-."
"For God's sake, keep the damned stuff." Then she buried her eyes in her hands and wept bitterly. She was clearly in shock, though still every bit as hostile. Nico almost felt sorry for her.
Despite how the Ice Queen had treated her, Nico knew how she felt. She'd felt the same way once. She walked over to Madame Carchon and sat next to her.
"Excuse me, Madame."
Madame Carchon brushed her eyes and turned to Nico. "Yes?"
Nico took a deep breath. "I-I'm so sorry for your loss, Madame."
"No, you're not. You're a journalist. Journalists don't feel sorry."
"That's not true!"
"We shall see."
"Why did your husband send for me? What did he want to discuss?"
Madame Carchon shrugged. "I have no idea. His business was his business."
"He never told you anything?"
"No. And frankly, I preferred it that way."
The Ice Queen smirked. "This must be quite a scoop for you. I suppose you're already inventing the headlines."
Nico was starting to get annoyed. "Just because I am a journalist-."
The Ice Queen snapped, "Don't patronize me! You're all cut from the same cloth! Do you have any moral sense at all?"
"Yeah. That's why I do this job."
"You do it to see your name in print."
Nico had to chortle. "As if. My editor gets the by-line. I just do the work."
"Well, don't expect my sympathy."
Nico decided to change the subject before it got ugly.
"Why would a mime want to kill your husband?"
"Who knows? Pierre had lots of enemies. Half the husbands in Paris, for a start."
This wasn't getting anywhere. The police could turn up at any minute. Somewhere in this house, there were clues to the murder, and Nico needed to find them.
"The police will be here soon, Madame. Is there anybody you would like me to contact? Family? Friends?"
"No." Madame Carchon replied, wiping away the last of her tears. "I have no other family. Pierre and I were... Well, let's just say he was all I had really."
She chuckled before continuing. "Not much was it? The dutiful wife, that was my role. He never talked, never let me in."
"Well," Nico said. "I know one thing, Madame."
"What?"
"If you want to find out who killed your husband, then you should let me do the job, not the police."
The Ice Queen looked at her, puzzled. "Why? How do I know I can trust you?"
Nico knew she couldn't lie. "Your husband invited me here today because he needed me. I think he knew somebody wanted to kill him... and he knew I could help."
"I doubt it was your database he was after."
"You're wrong. I was onto his killers already. I'm sure of it. Please. You owe to him, if not to me."
"I don't know..."
"Look, all I need is a few more minutes to look around before the police come."
The Ice Queen actually smiled. "You really do have a moral sense, don't you? I trust so few people. And perhaps Pierre really did think you could help. Of course, it wouldn't have stopped him from seducing you too."
"What makes you think I'd yield?"
"Same reason most of them did: because their boss told them to, and to pay the bills."
The two shared a good laugh. Nico knew that the Ice Queen did have a point. After the laugh died down, Madame Carchon reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a key, handing it to Nico.
"Here, take this. It's the key to the drawing room. It's at the end of the hall next to the library. It was Pierre's private room. I rarely went in there. Couldn't really. I was too scared of what I might find."
"Like the bodies of his previous wives, maybe?" Nico only thought that to herself because she knew it wasn't the kind of thing the Ice Queen needed to hear right now.
"Thank you. I promise you won't regret this."
Nico stood up, leaving the Ice Queen to hang her head in bereavement. She went back to the door at the end of the hall, unlocked it and walked in. Now she was getting somewhere.
Nico looked around. On the wall by the door was a painting, showing the Carchons together. In love.
"As the poet said: "The past is a different country."" Or had Nico read that in a fortune cookie?
In the painting, Monsieur and Madame Carchon were in the fields outside their palace, each holding a hunting shotgun. Two hunting dogs lay nuzzled at their feet.
"Noblesse oblige." Nico said to herself.
Then Nico's eyes came upon what looked like a small button hidden in the picture frame. Nico pushed it. There was the faintest of clicks, then the painting opened from the wall like a door. Behind the picture was a safe. It looked pretty secure. She tried to open it, but it was locked. She needed the key. There was no point asking Madame Carchon. She probably didn't know the safe even existed.
Nico decided to look around the sitting room. The French sofa in the middle of the room was antique. For one horrible moment, Nico had an image of a naked Carchon wriggling around on it with a young journalist.
"Ugh!"
It was the kind of sofa that Nico could do a good Marie Antoinette impression. It was very popular at parties, especially with gay guys. Don't ask her why.
She went over to the desk on the other side. As expected, the desk was yet another priceless antique. Yawn. The blotter and in-tray had clearly been placed with mathematic precision. Then her heart skipped a beat. That objet d'art at the head of the blotter. It was a carved elephant. But not just any carved elephant. It had been made by her father. Nico knew for certain because in her apartment, carved into a box he had made, she had its exact twin. So Carchon had known her father. They really must have been friends.
As soon as Nico snapped back to reality she checked the drawers. All she found were some art and stationery stuff. No sign of any key though. Dammit! Maybe he kept it in his study.
Nico left the salon, and as she was about to enter the study, something caught her eye. That beautiful cloth that had been draped over the table. She hadn't thought about it at first, but now it looked as if it has been deliberately placed in that one particular area. As she lifted it up, she noticed it was embroidered with an unusual cross. Reckoning it might just turn out to be useful, Nico pocketed the cloth. There was a tiny hole in the table top; part of the inlay had been chipped away. Even her fingernail wouldn't fit into such a small hole. So she drew her hairpin from her pocket and slipped one end in. There was a click and then... Ah-ha! A secret compartment flipped open, and there a key, a modern key, had been hidden.
"Nico, you are just so damned good at this stuff!"
Nico took the key. Its notches matched the hole in the safe. Laid out on the wall behind the table was a tapestry bearing a medieval pageant that must have cost a fortune. Original, no doubt.
Nico returned to the lounge. Instead of comforting Madame Carchon, she was ransacking her flat. Why? Well, for one thing, she had been rude to her so she had it coming. But in all honesty, it was because there was something going on here and she had to get answers before the cops arrived. She slipped the key into the hole in the safe, turned the handle, and the safe opened. And inside was... some kind of artefact. Nico removed it and looked it over. On the surface were strange symbols. It looked like the printer blocks she'd made at art school. If there was one thing she'd learned about symbols, it was that they were always important. But these symbols, scratched into the stone, were impossible to read. She needed to find a way of printing them. Sure, it was tantamount to stealing, but she knew Madame Carchon didn't know about the stone artefact, and Carchon was past caring.
Nico brought the stone to the desk and set it down. At least the stone was round. But what could she use for ink? And then she remembered the tube of paint she took from the easel. Then Nico remembered seeing a box of rubber gloves in one of the drawers.
Nico took a pair of rubber gloves from the box, carefully removing her own and slipping them on. As she did this, she looked through her options carefully. It might have been a good idea squeeze the paint onto the blotting paper, but then it would have just soaked into the paper. And then there was the in-tray. Squeezing the paint into it would ruin it. She could just put the paint straight onto the stone cylinder, but that would be too messy; the paint would go everywhere. So, there was only one option left. Nico laid the white cloth she took from the table on the blotting paper, then smeared the blue paint all over it. Whenever she did something messy, she really liked to put her heart into it. She hoped this was going to help. They didn't make lace like this anymore. She then wiped the paint-covered cloth over the surface of the stone cylinder.
With the roller ready, she pressed it down hard into the blotting paper and rolled it carefully. Doing this took her right back to art class at school. And Maurice, her gorgeous art teacher. Such a shame they had to fire him. Ah well... Concentrate, Nico! Concentrate!
Genius! The roller and the paint worked just as she'd planned! But what did it say? A secret message had been printed onto the blotting paper. It was some kind of coded message. It read, 'Sub-Judice'. Now, Nico may not have learned a lot as a journalist, but this was a term she knew well: it meant a legal case that is before the courts. Below it was a sequence of letters that made no sense - 'SDSSDSS'. It didn't take long for the blotting paper to soak up the paint and dry. Once it had, Nico removed the paper from the leather holdings, folded it up and put it in her pocket.
Nico was pretty sure she had found all that she could here. Besides, all this opulence was making her pine for her regular life of poverty. This sure was a huge story. It was also one heck of a puzzle, with a lot of pieces missing. But she was going to crack it. And if she could just remember the name of that fancy prize you got for being an ace journalist, she was definitely going to win it this time.
She removed the rubber gloves, making absolutely sure the paint was on the inside before she folded them and slipped them into her pocket. Then she put her own gloves back on. She also decided to take the carved elephant. It clearly meant nothing to Madame Carchon.
Before she left, Nico decided she had a few more things to discuss with Madame Carchon. She returned to where she was sitting in the hallway.
Madame Carchon looked up and asked, "Did you find anything useful?"
Nico showed her the elephant. "This carving, do you know anything about it?"
"It was Pierre's. What does a statue have to do with-?"
"Please. I need to know."
The Ice Queen thought carefully. "It was given to him, I think. By a friend. Something to do with Africa."
"He never explained anymore?"
"No. But I think it was important to him. Always on display. Why?"
"It was carved by my father."
Madame Carchon was clearly surprised. "Oh. I see. I didn't know."
Nico pocketed the statue. "How did your husband know my father?"
"I have no idea."
"You didn't know him? Thierry Collard?"
"Pierre knew a lot of people I didn't know. Most of them women."
"Did he say nothing to you about my father?"
"No, he never mentioned him. I'm sorry."
Nico decided to end that conversation there.
"Madame Carchon, I-"
"Please, call me Imelda. We hardly need the formalities now, do we?"
Nico smiled warmly. "Imelda, I promise I will do everything I can to find the killer."
"Thank you, my dear."
"And if the police ask-."
Madame Carchon smiled. A genuine and expressive smile. "Don't worry. You were never here."
And with that, Nico left the flat.
As she made her way across the courtyard, she wondered where she was going to go next. Then she remembered the ticket she took from Carchon's body.
As soon as she left the estate, she took the ticket out and inspected it carefully. It was a boat ticket, stamped 'Bateaux de la Conciergerie'.
Using her instincts as a journalist, Nico suddenly realised there was a connection between this ticket and the coded message. The Conciergerie on the Ile de la Cité, by the river, housed the ancient law courts. So 'Sub-Judice' could, in this case, mean literally 'under the law courts'. Below the Conciergerie!
From what she knew about him, Pierre Carchon wasn't the type for messing about on the river. He had been up to something down there. Something that got him killed. 'Sub-Judice' was the key. Nico was going to have to find a way under the Conciergerie. She decided to head straight for the quayside on the Ile de la Cité. If there was a way of getting under the Conciergerie, it would have to be from there.
Author's Note: That's the end of this chapter, and more on the way! Hope you enjoyed it! Until next time, feel free to R&R!