Page 34 of Wolf’s Return (The Wolves of Langeais #4)

Remi slipped into the cool silence of the chapel, following on the heels of Eveque Faucher.

Not too close, mind, for he did not want to be caught.

The big chevalier with the twin brother paid well, but not so well he would risk a quick, short drop at the end of a rope.

Comte Lothair liked his public executions, and one word from the eveque and Remi’s days of running the streets would be over.

He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the dim light of the nave.

Empty. Careful not to make a sound, he crept past the pews, sweeping a practiced eye over them should luck favor him with a left behind coat, a fancy trinket, or a coin slipped from a purse.

He had once found a bejeweled broach belonging to a baron.

Too fancy to sell, he had returned it to its owner, pretending innocence, as though doing his civic duty.

In front of the aum?nier, of course. He had accepted his tidy reward with much bowing and scraping. Today, he found nothing.

He checked the nave again, peering into the pockets of shadows created by the flickering oil lamps in case he had missed someone, head bowed in prayer.

Or worse, the eveque sneaking up behind him.

Satisfied it was empty, he skirted the altar, resisting the temptation to snatch one of the gold candle holders, and headed for the sacristy.

Remi pressed himself against the wall and listened.

The soft murmur of voices floated up, too far away to be in the next room.

He edged the door open, cringing at the creak of hinges.

The voices continued, louder now, but still indecipherable.

He needed to get closer. Remi had never lived so well since the big chevalier had caught him trying to slit his purse, then put him to work as a spy.

If the chevalier wanted information, then information he would get.

He slipped inside the sacristy. Robes belonging to the aum?nier and the eveque hung on hooks, two chests stood along the wall, a table with a pitcher and bowl and fresh linens, but otherwise the room was empty.

Through the open doorway at the back of the room, a conversation echoed unabated. Beyond it a lit corridor, also empty.

He had ventured this far into the church once before, when spying on Archeveque Renaud. Perhaps this time he would get a name. The one Renaud had passed onto this new eveque, the witch hunter. The name of a man claiming to be a werewolf.

Remi rolled his eyes. Werewolves? Witch hunters?

Were the nobles so bored with their rich and fancy lives they chased mythical beasts to entertain themselves?

If they had to scrounge for every meal, or for a warm place to sleep like he did, they would be too busy for such nonsense.

Then they might realize there were enough real monsters in the world without searching for imaginary ones.

He shrugged. The big chevalier wanted that name, and he would pay double for it. Remi was going to get him what he wanted. Then he could get himself a thicker coat for the coming winter. Maybe a blanket, too. That was all he cared about. The important stuff.

He eyed the hanging robes of the priests. No. Too conspicuous. Too many people would recognize them for what they were. With some regret, he left the robes untouched and made his way toward the voices, to a room at the end of the corridor.

Two voices. Aum?nier Touissant and Eveque Faucher.

No Archeveque Renaud. Odd that no one had seen Renaud for a while now.

Several days ago, Eveque Faucher had taken Renaud’s place beside Comte Lothair when d’Louncrais and his men, the big chevalier and his twin included, had renewed their vows.

Remi had asked around. Now no one seemed to know where Renaud had gone.

At least, no one willing to talk about it.

Remi did not believe the rumors whispered about the hall, that Renaud was off living a life of luxury, recalled by Rome.

No. He suspected the archeveque had met a grisly end.

The question was—by whose hand? Comte Lothair?

This new eveque with his pretty face, soft hands and zealous, fiery sermons about the devil and the evil that walked amongst them?

Or had one of the big chevaliers who paid Remi to watch the clergyman taken care of him?

He could well believe it of them. Especially Aubert, the growly one.

Remi shrugged. The nobles could butcher each other until the streets ran with blood and still he would not care.

He had more important things to consider.

Like where he would sleep this eve. And, if he gave the twins what they wanted, could he demand enough coin for his new coat, a blanket and a good meal? Or maybe two?

Remi pressed himself flat to the wall outside the room and listened.

“I promise you, Aum?nier Touissant, I will personally look into the disappearance of Archeveque Renaud. It grieves me as much as you that something may have befallen him.”

Remi muffled a snort. This Faucher was as big a liar as Renaud.

“I am currently looking into the possibility d’Louncrais and his men may have been involved.”

“Seigneur d’Louncrais?” asked the aum?nier. “You don’t think—”

A chair creaked, and Remi could imagine the saintly aum?nier’s discomfort. So humble and willing to see the good in everyone.

“Why, he is the commander of Comte Lothair’s army, his closest adviser. I could not imagine he would—”

“And yet he vanished for a time only to return and re-avow his allegiance to the comte,” said the eveque. “Him, and all his men forced to kneel before their comte again, as though they were little more than squires.”

That must have chaffed. The twins had not looked happy. None of d’Louncrais’ men had.

“Well, yes,” agreed the aum?nier, “but does that not signify their loyalty to the comte?”

“Mmm, perhaps,” said Faucher. “What do you know of d’Louncrais and his men, Touissant? Do they join you for service at all? Have you had any dealings with them? Do you not notice how different they are from other men? Other chevaliers?”

“I … What do you mean, different?”

The eveque had a point. Remi had witnessed d’Louncrais and his vassals kneeling before the comte.

Six of them big men, warriors. Yet the seventh man had stood out.

Not because he was not a chevalier, or of noble birth, but because he was smaller, less…

other. What did that mean? Could it be… Remi scowled at his scuffed boots.

Am I really thinking werewolves could exist?

“Well,” said Aum?nier Touissant, “they are all accomplished chevaliers and high-ranking nobles. Wealthy men, many of them from well-known and respected families. I confess I have not had cause to associate with them. Most have their own chapels and their own aum?niers on their estates.” There was a baited pause before the aum?nier continued.

“The Montagne twins have been in the chapel for service a few times of late, which is unusual. Sometimes Edmond, sometimes Aubert.”

“You can tell them apart?”

Remi scrunched up his nose. How could you not?

Were fancy eveques blind? Edmond was the twin who had pressed him into spying for them.

He kept his beard neater, and there was almost always a hint of a smile hovering on his lips.

Aubert, who always looked as though someone had stolen his favorite horse, had a small scar cutting his left eyebrow in half and was a hair-breadth taller.

Remi had the ceremony in the hall to thank for now having names to put to their faces, but he had always been able to tell them apart.

“Seigneur Edmond has a wicked sense of humor and often helps those less fortunate,” said Aum?nier Touissant.

“He rescues the strays—animals and children—and has been very generous to this chapel. Seigneur Aubert rarely speaks, but he feels things most deeply. You need only look into his eyes to see the extent of his emotions.”

Remi scowled. Did Edmond think of him as a stray to be rescued?

He had survived on the streets long before the big chevalier had come along.

He would survive once he was gone. With more coin in his pocket if he stayed.

Remi would be stupid not to take advantage of Edmond’s charity .

Did the aum?nier know Edmond used the strays to do his spying? Doubtful.

“Tell me, Aum?nier Touissant, what do you know of d’Louncrais’ vassal Lance Vautour?”

Lance? The older one with the graying beard? The one with the strange crest—a rooster’s head and the body of a winged serpent. Could he be the one Archeveque Renaud had spoken of?

“Seigneur Lance? He is much like the other vassals. Older, of course. He served as a vassal to Seigneur Gaharet’s father, too, I believe. As did Seigneur Godfrey. Strange that Seigneur Godfrey was absent from the investiture ceremony.”

L’enfer. Two names. Which is the important one? The one I need ?

“Odd, yes, but it is not Godfrey Lagarde I am interested in. I have reason to believe Lance Vautour worked closely with Archeveque Renaud before he disappeared.”

Remi pumped his fist in the air. Yes!

“What was that noise?”

A chair scraped against the floor, and footsteps crossed the room.

Merde. Remi pushed off the wall to race down the corridor, but a strong hand, the eveque’s hand, grabbed hold of his arm and dragged him into the room.

Two faces stared at him—one surprised, the other angry.

Remi turned to the aum?nier, his eyes wide, all fake innocence. “Aum?nier Touissant, I was looking for you.”

The eveque gripped him tighter and gave him a violent shake. “Spying, were you, boy? I take great offense to little beggar boys involving themselves in things that are not their business.”

Remi ducked his head in feigned deference.

“Forgive me, your graciousness. I was but looking for the aum?nier.” He did not get caught often, but when he did, most times he could talk himself out of trouble.

“He is often in the chapel. When I did not find him, I looked for him further. It is a matter of importance.”

“Lies.” The pretty face of the eveque twisted into a gruesome scowl.

Now here was a true monster, hiding behind his soft hands and black robes. One worth the fear that sliced through him and turned his stomach to water.

“You were either spying or stealing.”

The eveque patted down Remi’s clothing. Did the eveque think he was stupid? Anything in the church worth stealing—the gold cross, the chalices—he would never be able to sell. Too identifiable.

“No, your graciousness,” Remi gushed, pushing as much submission and awe into his voice as he could. The rise in pitch, the tremble, he did not have to fake. “I vow to you I was not.”

The eveque finished his search. “Hmm. Not a thief. A spy then. I should cut off your ears.”

Aum?nier Touissant was on his feet. “With all due respect, Eveque Faucher, should we not first hear what the boy claims he came for before we make such conclusions? Before we take such dire actions?” Aum?nier Touissant turned his kindly eyes on Remi. “You were looking for me, child?”

“Yes, Aum?nier, I vow I was.” Remi clapped his free hand over one of his ears.

“Please do not cut off my ears.” His heart pounded and his mind raced.

He had never been so close to panic in his life.

Not even when he first found himself on the streets.

By the clenching of his hand, the eveque was itching to do as he threatened.

No amount of money was worth getting his ears cut off.

“A big chevalier asked me to come fetch you. Something about a donation to the chapel.”

He had the name he needed. If Edmond Montagne wanted it, Edmond Montagne could pay for it. Remi could only hope the big chevalier’s charity extended to keeping his ears firmly attached to his head.