Chapter Six: With Good Intention
At the unmistakable sound of the weapon going off, Francesco de la Piedra was immediately on his feet and bending over the side of the balcony.
"Nicole!" he shouted. "Quickly, get inside!"
He turned to find Nigel also stood up. All colour had fled from the Englishman's face and he unconsciously had a hand pressed against his shirt over the place where he had been shot thirty-two hours previous.
"What's going on?" Nigel asked, worriedly.
Francesco shook his head, as he hurriedly moved past him into the room. Nigel followed, but he stepped off the balcony onto the carpeted floor of his bedroom to find it empty.
"Marietta! Nicole!"
Francesco's frantic cries for his family led Nigel to him. He found the Frenchman paused at the top of the grand wooden staircase, and heard panicked running on the steps.
"Papa!"
Nicole came hurtling up the stairs, tears streaking her face, with her mother not far behind. The young girl stumbled on the last step, and Francesco quickly scooped the fallen child up into his arms. He swept down the stairs, holding Nicole close against him and catching hold of Marietta's hand with his free hand, pulling her after him.
"Jacques! Armand!" de la Piedra called, urgently.
Nigel went down the stairs after them, clutching his side, which burned with each step. His pale face was set in a grimace of pain, but he refused to rest until he'd reached the landing below, where the de la Piedra's had stopped.
On the first floor landing, Francesco was talking anxiously with two men dressed totally in black and armed with rifles. The taller of the two men handed him a pistol, which he cocked while asking them further questions. Nigel joined them as Francesco sent the other two men off and they obediently ran back down to the ground floor.
The Frenchman brushed his lips against Nicole's forehead and passed her over into Marietta's arms.
"Take her and go to the west wing," Francesco commanded. "You should be safe there. They are approaching from the north and east."
Marietta nodded, meeting her husband's eyes briefly before carrying their daughter away down the corridor.
Francesco glanced at Nigel to acknowledge his presence, then explained the situation as they quickly descended the final flight of steps together. The cracking of bullets let loose sounded spasmodically from outside.
"D'orage's guards are attacking the village, more specifically this villa. I've had my own men on lookout for such an occurrence for days." De la Piedra sighed, heavily. "Blood will be spilt tonight."
They were on ground level now and passing through a passageway that ran along the outside wall of the villa. Arched windows lined the outer wall, letting in the waning sun's rays. A thick evergreen hedge blocked the view further away than a few feet to begin with, but when this ended what Nigel saw made him freeze to the spot halfway down the long corridor. Francesco paused beside him to look as well, though he appeared not in the least phased by what he saw.
"My God," Nigel breathed. "How many guards does D'orage have?"
"Many."
.
.
In the west wing of the de la Piedra villa, Nigel Bailey was leaning back on a deep and soft sofa, his head dropped sleepily to one side. It was a few minutes before midnight and the fighting had finally stopped half an hour ago.
The army of mercenaries that D'orage had sent to destroy the threat that was Pueblo de la Piedra was defeated. They were all either dead, imprisoned or had fled. Victory was owed to the village's well-fortified design and the skill and bravery of de la Piedra's guards. A house had been burnt to the ground, many other buildings were slightly damaged, there were multiple injuries, some serious, and two men had died.
Francesco was knelt beside his sobbing daughter in the centre of the room, with his ancient sword on the floor next to him, the blade stained with drying blood. The girl clung to her father's grubby shirt with both of her little hands and buried her face.
"Aw, mon chéri, it's alright," Francesco soothed, stroking Nicole's dark hair. "It's over now."
The waning oil lamps around the room cast yellow light onto the Frenchman's pale face. He was looking severely drawn and drained by stress and exertion. A small wound below his cheek marked where the tip of a sword had caught him, and was bleeding slightly. A red drop fell onto Nicole's hand.
"Papa, you're hurt!" she cried, looking up in alarm.
Marietta, having noticed as well, approached him with a small bowl and cloth. She dipped the cloth into the water in the bowl, then reached for his face. However, Francesco drew away from her, letting go of Nicole and standing up.
"Don't fuss, Marietta!" he growled, roughly wiping at the cut with the back of his hand. "It's only a scratch."
Nicole climbed up beside Nigel on the sofa and snuggled under the crochet blanket that was draped over him. She rested her tired head in his lap, and he idly played with her long hair.
"Jean-Paul, saddle my horse," Francesco ordered, as he sheathed his sword. "I must get to Bordeaux."
Marietta, having given up trying to treat her husband, put the bowl and cloth onto the table next to Nigel. With her back to Francesco, she poured water from a jug into a glass, then picked up a small bottle of pills and dropped one into the drink. Nigel sat up straighter as the capsule rapidly dissolved, but obeyed Marietta's hand action pleading his silence.
"Will you not at least drink something before you go?" Marietta asked Francesco, as she turned towards him again.
The Frenchman sighed, but took the water she offered and quickly gulped it down. As he lowered the empty glass, his hand trembled. Startled and frightened by the weakness that suddenly swept over him, Francesco gripped hold of his wife's arm with a desperate hand.
"Marie, something's wrong…" he gasped, as he struggled to keep his balance.
"Do not be frightened, my dear," Marietta soothed, catching his other hand tightly in hers as it reached for her. "Give in and sleep…sleep…"
Marietta caught her husband as he slumped, unconscious, in her arms. Nigel got up and hurried over to help her.
"He will be very angry when he wakes," Marietta warned Nigel with a wince of anticipation, as they eased Francesco's sleeping form onto the sofa.
.
.
Late the next morning, Nigel was awoken by a ruckus outside. Pushing the sheets from him, he climbed out of his bed. He opened the French doors to the balcony and, squinting against the bright sunlight, he looked over the rail down into the courtyard.
The horse that Francesco de la Piedra had been yelling repeatedly for was hastily trotted over to him, and he swung up into the saddle.
"My own wife! Betrayed by my own wife!" he shouted down at Marietta, as his horse danced about underneath him, unsettled by his anger. "Poisoned to sleep! Don't you know what is at stake, woman?"
Marietta had been right, Nigel reflected. Francesco was furious.
With one last growl of fury, the Frenchman whirled his horse around and left the villa with a clatter of cantering hooves.
On the balcony, Nicole appeared at Nigel's side and stared the way her father had gone.
"All this for a magic stone," the girl whispered, sadly, in a tone much wiser than her nine years.
Nigel looked down at her in surprise.
"Do we need this pebble of good fortune?" she asked, scornfully, and turned her face up to meet his eyes. "Are we starving? Are the fields full of sickly crops? Are our cattle dying?" The pretty young face darkened and turned again to the tall, iron gate through which her father had gone. "No. And war only comes when Papa looks for the Stone."
*******
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The ancient disused sewers under Bordeaux were slick with slime and greasy brown-coated rats. Preston grumbled incessantly about hating sewage and rabid rodents, and, with each squelching step, Karen wished she'd worn boots instead of trainers. Sydney, however, was so caught up in searching the cracked and crumbly walls for any place that the Third Scroll could be hidden, that she barely noticed even the horrid stench coming from the putrid conditions.
Eventually, after two hours searching, Sydney found the familiar engraving of a tiger's eye set into a wall. She scooped black sludge off the ledge below the marking and revealed a strip of rotting wood. The sodden wood broke under the pushing of her fingers and Sydney reached into the slot in the stone that it had covered. She brought out the Third Scroll and unrolled it for Preston to copy the text into a pad.
"Ok, now to return a favour," Sydney said, and pushed the Scroll back into its hiding place, but left the rotting wood clear.
"I just hope these mystery guys get to it before D'orage," Karen said, worriedly.
"I hope so too," Sydney muttered, as she led them back through the sewers to the way out.
.
Hidden around the corner, a man watched as the three relic hunters walked away from the hiding place of the Third Scroll. Once they were out of sight, the man went instantly to the Scroll. Silently, he pulled it out and slipped it into the pack on his back. Then he slowly followed the way Sydney Fox had gone.
At last stepping out into the afternoon sunshine, the man found Professor Fox and the other two to have left in the car they'd rented. So, safely alone, he pulled a phone from his pocket and quick-dialled 1. The person on the other end picked up at once.
"Monsieur D'orage, I've got it."