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Roxie and Tanja: thanks for the reviews. Glad you're enjoying it.

Sydney did her best to catch some sleep on the train up to Rouen. There were enough people about for her to feel fairly confident that Wildey would not try anything too rash. Even so, she drifted off only momentarily, now and then.

She had never been to Rouen, and when she arrived there she realised it was an amazing place. There were streets and streets of tall, mediaeval houses, timber framed and with intricate carvings depicting everything from birds and flowers to sinister gargoyles. Heading straight to the last place that Wildey had last met with Bellimo or so he claimed - they passed through a square with a very strange shaped, modern church. It was a great contrast to the ancient buildings that Sydney had previously been admiring.

'This is the site where Joan of Arc was burned at the stake by the English,' said Wildey smugly.

'That's right,' murmured Sydney, with recognition. 'The roof of the church is supposed to resemble the flames of her pyre. Poor woman!'

'Well, she must've been a fool to take on such formidable forces. Did she really think she could lead an army to victory against the English? She must've been misguided,' he shot Sydney a probing glance. She caught his meaning

'She was a brave young woman, with vision. She was betrayed,' Sydney retorted. 'In the end, her destiny was out of her hand, but her legend will live on forever.'

'Come on, let's go,' said Wildey. The fate of Joan of Arc seemed to be inspiring rather than subduing Sydney.'

'Wait,' said Sydney. 'I need to check my messages. I haven't done it since I was on the train.' Something moved in Wildey's eyes that made Sydney instantly suspicious. She rapidly searched her bag, and then her pocket. There was no blackberry!

The square was marginally busy, which was the only thing which prevented Syd from clobbering her companion there and then. 'Where is it, you sonofabitch!' she hissed.

'I really don't know,' said Wilde, in an attempt at sincerity. 'You had it on the train - it must have slipped out of your pocket while you slept.'

'Yeah, with your help!'

Sydney had no qualms about grabbing Wildey's bag and tipping out the contents on the pavement. When the blackberry was not forthcoming, she checked all his pockets, and felt as much of his person as she could bear, to confirm he didn't have it on him.

It wasn't there, but she was certainly not satisfied. 'I need to get to a pay phone, quick…. Damn, I only have euro notes and no coins.' She now knew that Wildey only had the same, as she had just been through his every belonging.

'Look, I know you don't trust me, but the old man's house, the one where I got the book, is just near here. I've got a key, and I'm sure the phone is still connected. We can go there and sort it all out.'

Sydney glared at him. If only she could get through to Karen, she might have another lead on Nigel and then she could leave this villain.

'Okay, but if you try anything…'

'Yes, you'll crush my oesophagus or something. I know, I know…'

…………………….

All things considered, Nigel got off rather lightly after it was realised he had made a call from the cellphone to the United States. The guy with the hair was far too concerned with the consequences of his carelessness, and what their boss might say, to do anything too drastic. 'You could have signed all our death warrants, you little fool,' he lamented gruffly, and then punched Nigel in the stomach, hard enough to leave him struggling for breath upon the ground.

When his bald accomplice raised the pistol to give their give their captor another dose, however, he blocked the blow.

'That won't help… look, Bellimo doesn't have to know about this. What could he have said? He doesn't even know where he is. I'll drive on with the kid… you and the pilot, fly over to another air strip… Italy, Germany, Spain, wherever. Take the phone somewhere else and dump it. If it's been traced, they can go there.'

'Yeah, after me! It's your mistake, no way.'

'He doesn't know which one of us gave the boy the jacket. Could of been either of us – it's your word against mine. And I have a nasty feeling he favours me these days…'

After this, the bald man seemed resigned his fate and went back to speak to the pilot. The other helped Nigel to his feet. In actuality, Nigel was perfectly capable of getting to his feet himself, but had decided that affecting agony a little longer than strictly necessary could do no harm. It could at least prevent the onset of any more. This practical streak in him had repressed the braver part of his soul, which had wanted to fight back and demonstrate, as forcefully as he could, that he was a man, not a boy. Right now, he knew this would be unwise. Still, he hoped he would get the chance sometime soon - preferably with Sydney's help in the fighting department!

For now, though, he had to put up with being pushed about and patronized. 'That was silly, Nigel,' said the remaining thug as he escorted him over to the car, 'but don't you worry. France is a big country, and we're not staying anywhere near this place for long.'

The man, who for the first time was addressed in named by the French driver of the car as 'Monsieur Bately,' was quite right. They drove for well over an hour, keeping mainly to deserted country lanes. Sitting in the back with Bately, who seem to have taken over proprietorship of the gun, Nigel was able to look out of the window, desperately searching for clues about where he was. Hope was fading, but maybe he would get another illicit chance to make a call or send a message, when they reached their destination. The roads winded through fields of fading sunflowers, and sometimes through vineyards. If there were any large towns that Nigel could have recognised nearby, they were certainly avoiding them. In the distance, however, were mountains. 'Maybe they were the Alps, or the Massive Centrale?' he wondered.

As they neared the mountains, the car veered off the road onto an unmade, and extremely bumpy, track. They were now proceeding along the bottom of a steep embankment, which seemed like a foothill to a much taller prominence. Looking up, Nigel noticed the contours of a ruined castle wall on the peak of the ridge, and the looming presence of a mediaeval keep protruding up behind. Soon the track began to wind up towards it. 'Great,' thought Nigel, and the thought popped into his head that Count Bellimo, in his castle in France, probably looked a lot like Count Dracula. At least it was historical!

……….

Several hundred miles further north, Sydney and Wildey had reached the old man's house. It was another of the tall, timber framed buildings that Sydney had been admiring, although it was not as well restored as many of the others. They reached the front by passing under an arch off the street, and into a courtyard. Here the houses leant ominously in towards them, each of the four floors jutting out above the other, so at the top they almost blocked out the light from the sky. The carvings were present here too. All around the top of the ground floor level of the buildings were engravings of crossed skulls and bones. Wildey said they were placed there after a great plague hit the city.

Sydney felt that she should be on her guard, more than ever.

They entered the house through a shallow door, above which was a small sign which said 'Brocante.' 'French for antiques,' Sydney made a mental note. The dark passage inside smelt of damp mixed with something rather more pungent and unpleasant.

'Where is the phone, Wildey,' demanded Sydney.

'Downstairs…'

Sydney looked suspicious. 'In the basement?'

'It's where the poor old chap had his office. He was an antique trader, you know.'

'Okay, but you go down first.'

'By all means.' Wildey opened a thick, arched door and switched on an electric light which revealed a spiraling descending staircase. It led into a windowless room with a vaulted stone roof. The only piece of furniture in it was a large Victorian desk with many drawers and covered with papers. On it was also a chunky, plastic 1970s telephone.

'There you go, Professor,' said Wildey. 'Dial away to your heart's content.'

Sydney moved into the room towards the table, while Wildey kept deadly still. It was only as she reached the phone itself, that he made his move, darting up the stairs like a rabbit who had heard a gunshot. Sydney, who had barely let her guard down, moved as fast as he did, but she had made the fatal error of letting herself get a few metres further from the door. He slammed it in her face. She heard the heavy lock click even as she rammed herself against the solid wood.

'You bastard, I bet you've got Nigel…' Sydney was furious, partially with herself for falling into the trap. 'Where is he? If you've laid a finger on him…'

'I haven't got him, my dear,' replied Wilde suavely but loudly from the other side of the door. 'I wish I did have. He must have been far less hard work to look after than you…'

'Don't bet on it,' said Sydney, half as a comfort to herself. She knew that her assistant had ingenuity, even if he wasn't always the most perceptive person at spotting dangers. He would do his best to gain the upper hand and escape if he could. Besides, he couldn't be in too much worse a spot than she was at the moment. Could he? She suppressed some disturbing thoughts.

'What's the game, then, Wildey? Are you in on it all with Bellimo?'

'Not exactly.'

'Why am I locked in here? Surely I'm supposed to find this darn relic.'

'Well, that was the original plan. But the main thing which needs to be done is interpreting a text that leads to it. And having met with you… and your assistant, I decided maybe that he was the best man for that job.'

'We work best together.'

'Maybe. We might need you to retrieve the locket once we know where it is. Or take over the text work, if he proves he's….not capable '

'I won't do a thing for you to until I see Nigel.'

'It's not in my hands, I'm afraid. I've really got to go, my sweetheart.'

'I am not your sweetheart!' yelled Sydney, as she heard his footsteps fade away, and the front door slam shut.

Oh dear! How will there be romance with both of our heroes captured, and hundreds of miles apart? We'll see.

Thanks for reading. Please review.

Katy