Chapter 37
Ste. Genevieve
The convent school of Ste. Genevieve was definitely a strange one, Alisaunne had decided. Oh the nuns she'd met were very much like the nuns at Academie de Sacre Coure, but it was the school itself that seemed so different. Alisaunne had the odd feeling that it was the children who were in charge in this place.
There were only five of them... the boy Ian was about her age, and the others ranged down to the wide-eyed four-year-old Denara... a child who lisped with a child's voice but who had attempted to console Alisaunne about her fears and the loss of her teacher.
Alisaunne was sitting in the flower garden listening to the music and just enjoying the natural beauty and quiet of this place.
Nearby she saw the giant of a man the others called Ursa, the bear. He didn't seem bear-like to Alisaunne... instead he seemed like a great child with a child's wonder at all he saw. Sometimes, as now, he stood near the stone wall of the chapel and sang Gregorian chants in a voice that might have been an angel's. His singing seemed to belong in this place.
Alisaunne had asked about newspapers, television, radios, and been told they had no place here. She had pouted slightly... for she had truly wanted to know if the man who had killed Monsieur Maillot had been caught. Duncan... he'd told her to call him Duncan... had promised to return for her as soon as it was safe. Still, Alisaunne wondered why this place was safe and Paris wasn't. It was far too open here. She could see for miles in any direction.
The girl knew people would be worried about her. Duncan had said he would let the authorities know she was safe... but still Alisaunne wanted to be certain for herself that her friends and teachers were all right. For some reason she was worried that perhaps that madman had also killed someone else besides Monsieur Maillot. Why else had Duncan and his friend spirited her safely out of the way.
A soft step on the grass made Alisaunne glance back at the approaching form of Ian. She grinned and flashed her best smile. Marisol and Lisabet would be so jealous that she had spent time with such a handsome young man.
"May I sit with you?" he asked in that lilting voice he had.
"Out of class already?"
"Oh... our hours here are a bit irregular sometimes." Ian sat beside her on the stone bench... facing back the way he had come. Alisaunne leaned back on her outstretched hands and continued to grin. "Are you flirting with me Alisaunne de Pres?"
"Maybe."
"Have you ever been kissed?"
Alisaunne's breath caught in her throat. "Now why would you be asking me that... Were you thinking of kissing me, Ian Daffyd." She kicked her feet out and crossed her ankles.
"I was thinking about it."
"Actions speak louder than words," she teased, then leaned toward him.
Gently he kissed her. Alisaunne thought she had never felt anything so special or so perfect in her life. "Nice," he said as he pulled away. "Have you done that before."
"No!" she grinned. "You were my first... didn't it show?"
"No." Ian shook his head.
"How many girls have you kissed?"
"None like you," Ian said honestly.
Nearby Ursa continued his chant... only adding to the magic of the moment. Then Ian leaned forward and a look of great sadness crossed his face.
"What's wrong?" Alisaunne wanted to know... wondering if she had said or done something to upset him.
"Just thinkin' about life and death," he said somberly. "What they are and what they mean... for all of us."
"You are far too young to be thinking of things like that!"
"Do you think so?"
"I do!" Alisaunne attempted to get him to smile and finally was rewarded. "Besides... it's too pretty a day to worry about such things."
Ian chuckled and grinned. "Aye... a pretty day it is, then, if you say so."
"I do!"
"You better watch with the 'I do's' or someone will be thinkin' you're sweet on someone."
"Maybe I am." Alisaunne took a deep breath refusing to let the memory of Monsieur Maillot's death cast any shadows here. Her uncle had once told that life goes on... and that she should always face the future with a smile. She could barely remember him any more... she'd been so young when he died. But somehow... she seemed to remember things he had taught her... even if his face was no longer clear in her mind. Alisaunne did not even have a photo of her uncle... just her memories of his visits. So here she was, flirting a bit with a boy she hardly knew, while in Paris... Monsieur Maillot lay dead... and Duncan MacLeod was off to find the killer.
Ursa stopped chanting and smiled at the young couple on the stone bench. Then he returned to his gardening... carefully weeding the small patch of wildflowers at the edge of one of Marie-France's natural plots. He missed the sister and hoped she would soon return. Before she'd left... Marie-France had warned him to be on guard against intruders. Ursa had nodded. He was always on guard against intruders. Matthias and Darius had told him that this was to be his place. He was to remain here and watch the small ones. He did not know why. Ursa did not care. He was here. It was a nice place. They let him garden. They let him sing. They asked nothing of him. Ursa was happy here.
He watched as Ian and the new girl walked back to the refectory hand in hand. The girl was different from the others. Ursa was not certain how she was different... but she was. He shrugged. It was no matter to him. He continued his weeding.
Paris
Duncan scrambled from his bed, instantly on alert... his katana in his hand. He'd driven most of the night and had returned here only by mid-morning. Methos had still not returned his calls so, as he'd needed to catch a few hours sleep, he'd dropped into his bed still clothed.
An immortal was outside... on the barge. There was a quiet knock on his door. Two raps... a pause... one rap.
"Who's there?" the Highlander called out. The raps were repeated as if whoever it was did not wish to say. "Come in." Duncan held his katana at the ready... cautiously expectant. The door slowly opened and Phillip, his hair and beard dyed black... dressed in black stood at the entrance. Duncan eyed him curiously. "You look a bit different than the last time I saw you," he finally said.
The Greek looked at him thoughtfully and then rubbed his beard and chuckled. "Little Sister's idea when we took a flight over... I'd forgotten." He scratched at his chin. "At least she let me keep part of the beard."
Duncan circled warily. "A witness described the immortal who killed David Maillot and Cassius Marcellus... the description fits you perfectly. Where are Derrick and Ellie?"
"Safe... for the moment. Methos is with them... He asked me to come and see you... help you."
"Ever have any run-in's with an immortal named Kenny?"
Phillip threw back his head and laughed. "The boy-man! Had a run-in with him recently when I was last here. Let him live, again. One of these days I will kill that boy!"
"Get in line."
"He described me as I am now?" Phillip asked curiously. "He must have seen me about town yesterday. But then he must have seen..." Phillip was suddenly silent. "Wonder why I didn't sense him lurking about?"
"He's rather sneaky sometimes... maybe he was out of range and just watching. Now... why are you here exactly? How does Methos think you can help me?" Duncan returned his katana to its display stand but stood near it... just in case what Kenny had told him was the truth. After all... he only had Phillip's word that he came from Methos. "I've left him several messages."
"So I gather." Phillip held out a package and a letter. "The package was something Methos had sent here from your place in Seacouver. He said to tell you to keep it with you... He thinks a clue may be there. The letter... well... the letter is from Darius. We found the safety deposit box."
Duncan took both and looked in the opened package first. "Darius' Les Miserable! How did he get that... surely Joe is still in the hospital."
Phillip shrugged. "He didn't say. Just told me to pick it up."
Duncan turned the letter over in his hand. "You didn't open it?"
"Wasn't addressed to me. I did open the one that was. I may share it with you later. There were also letters for Methos and Eleanor. I haven't opened them either." Phillip shrugged and motioned to a chair. "Mind if I sit?"
"No... go ahead," Duncan said as he tore open the envelope to read the letter.
Duncan,
If you are reading this letter, my friend, then two things have happened. I have died and you have met one of my oldest friends. He will tell you who he is himself when he is ready. I ask only that you listen to him and to what he has to tell you. You may find that he has a perspective on life that you have never considered.
I do not say that I necessarily agree with his perspective, but it has always been a valid counterpoint to my own. As to whether you should trust him? That my friend I leave to your decision.
Many years ago I began collecting objects and documents from around the world. Many you have seen in my room at the church. Most you have never seen. As I collected these gifts sent to me by others, I began to see in them a pattern, a connection that might offer a clue to our shared past. For what seems like centuries I have studied and tried to find the answers, but at last I am ready to admit defeat. There may be no answers.
I intend to leave my life here. I am ready to go. If all goes well, I will simply vanish from sight and fade into another life in another place. Yet if you are reading this, then I have died since leaving Paris. I do not wish the work I have spent my life on to be lost. I leave it for you and my other dearest friends to solve the puzzle that I could not solve.
Where first we met, there was a small chapel. It still exists. Go there. The answers you seek are there.
Go in peace, my friend,
Darius
Duncan looked up somberly. At the Battle of Waterloo... there had been a small chapel on a nearby estate. Darius had performed a mass there after the Battle, for survivors of both sides. He had spoken of peace and brotherhood. It was one of the moments of Duncan's life that had touched him deeply as French and English survivors alike had sat within that small chapel and about the grounds. Most were wounded, most were initially distrustful of one another... and at the end... most had reached a calm compromise for their lives. It was then that Duncan had followed Darius to Paris as soon as he'd been free of his service. He'd wanted to know more. He'd wanted the peace that the immortal priest projected to be a part of his own life. Duncan closed his eyes and sighed. How he had failed Darius! The peace Darius had offered had always eluded him.
Could now, from beyond the grave, Darius' spirit be reaching out to complete the unfinished work of his life? Could he still be helping those he cared for to find peace? He handed the letter to Phillip, then he pulled Les Miserables from the package as he sat down in a chair opposite the Greek. "I gather by the friend he mentions who has the different perspective he was meaning Methos and not you." Carefully he thumbed through the book.
Phillip shrugged, "Perhaps. It's vague enough it could have been any of us." Phillip handed the letter back after reading it.
"And his to you."
"Basically to help Methos, keep an eye on Eleanor, and become a friend to you. Things I've done anyway. He and I usually understood one another over the years. We didn't necessarily agree with one another... but we did understand."
"After you gave his sword back?" Duncan smiled, a bit teasingly.
"Ah yes... that damn thing. Plays hell with one's mind!" Phillip leaned back in the chair and scratched at his shaven jawline where his full-beard had been trimmed into a goatee. "Can't say I miss being around that thing!"
"So... where is Methos?"
"He said to tell you where you once considered taking his head on holy ground. Once we've dealt with this madman... we could find him there. He thought you might need help finding this immortal... that I should help."
"Why didn't he stay?" Duncan was a bit testy about this sudden change in plans, as much from not being consulted as from the change itself.
Phillip met his gaze evenly. "I think he needed to spend time with Eleanor and Derrick. I think it is only with his help that Eleanor may finally unlock Derrick's strange memories. The boy was worse after we left you in Seacouver. That whole shooting scene really traumatized him. I sought Cassandra's help to settle his mind, and Methos felt that was a mistake on my part."
Duncan nodded, "Cassandra has no love for Methos."
"But I never mentioned his involvement... or yours either for that matter. Still... I evidently did say some things I shouldn't have."
"What things?"
"Nothing I care to repeat at this time." Phillip shifted his feet. "Now then... first things first. What do we know about this 'Paris Slasher" as he's being called?"
