Chapter Three

1472

Stunning . . . a child still, and yet . . . something more, she thinks to herself as she watches the young man of sixteen walk along the cobblestone road. Then turning to him beside her, she asks, faking bitterness, "Why have you brought me here, my despicable King?"


He smirks and continues gazing at their oblivious subject. She grins as well, "Ah, yes! This philosopher, or so he calls himself, is for me. What a timeless beauty!"


Unable to contain herself any longer, she drives straight to the point, "And to him you wish me to give the Blood? Why not you, my reckless liege?"


After receiving a vague negative answer, she questions, "But why not simply kill him?" Then pauses before adding, "Though, you are correct. I would never allow it. You plan to give me this obsession to keep me from trouble perchance?"


Her eyes stray to the victim, who unknowingly walks closer to their hiding place in the shadows. She now notices that he is not alone. "That man in black with our poet, who might he be?" She frowns, "A priest, by the look of his dress."


Laughing, she spins to the one standing next to her. "Shame, Trouillefou! The boy will believe me a demon!" He, in turn, also laughs at this.


"I had better begin my studies," she mutters, "or for the first time I shall be outwitted by a mortal. From here in these shadows I see that his speech is one that can rarely be rivalled."


The student and teacher pass them by. She waits a moment then cries, "Ten years, Clopin! It will be torture to wait!"


He shakes his head in amusement and she implores him, "Tell me, how close may I get? May I haunt his dreams? Hang over his shoulder? Dear King of Egypt, why do you wish to make me a scholar?!"


Then, after not receiving a reply, she whispers to herself, "And I must, I know."


She laughs again and swirls about him. "Have your way, sweet brother, until your dancing gypsy has hers. Go on!" she says gaily to him. "Go on back to your Truands and let me dwell on the troubadour for the remainder of the evening."


He bows mockingly to her and heads off down the street. She calls after him, "Be gone with you, my friend!" and watches him leave.


Then turning back to face the direction in which her prey had headed, she stalks along silently after the figures. With an evil glint in her eye, she whispers to the wind and to him, "Do you know the word Anarkia, love? No? Learn it, young one, for it just played a hand in the course of your life."


She leaps onto the top of a passing carriage and lets them fade away behind her. Then, pretending to doff an invisible hat, she shouts out, "'Til then, master Gringoire!"