Destiny

"Okay," A

"Good. The ID is 'Avery.' The password is 'Mort,' " Lesauvage said.

Mortwas French for "death." Reluctantly, A

Another window opened. This one filled with a video download that took forty-three seconds. When it finished, it opened and played.

There was no audio, but the video feed was clear enough. Avery Moreau, tied up and dressed in some garish costume, lay on a flat rock in a cave. Blood covered his face. There was too much blood for it to be his without some obvious sign of injury.

Wearing a similar costume but with a mounted-deer-head helmet, Lesauvage entered the camera's view. He raised a knife, then drove the blade down into Avery's left hand, all the way through to the rock beneath.

Avery jerked in pain and screamed. Even without the audio, A

Garin swore.

Thankfully, the video ended.

A

"As I told you, I only want the charm. Bring it to me and I will let Avery Moreau live. If you do not, I will kill him. Make your travel arrangements. Once you know when you will return to Lozère, let me know. I can be reached at this number at any time." He gave her the number and the phone clicked dead.

A

"A threat?" Roux asked.

"Lesauvage is going to kill Avery Moreau if I don't bring the charm back."

"Well, that's a shame," the old man said, "but you can't be expected to save everyone."

"I'm not going to let him die," A

Roux stared at her. "You can't be serious. That man is a villain of the basest sort."

"I know the type," A

Garin gri

"I'm not going to let Avery Moreau die." A

"Lesauvage will kill you," Roux protested. "The sword will be lost again."

"One can only hope," Garin said.

"I'm not pla

All right, then, I'm already packed. All I have to do is live long enough to collect my luggage.

"Don't be foolish," Roux said. "You don't even have the charm."

"I took pictures of it," A

"How did you do that? You didn't have time to photograph it like this in Lozère."

"I summoned it up on the sword," A

"It's still part of the sword?"

"I don't know. Maybe." A

"Call the police in Lozère," Roux urged. "Let them know what is going on."

"Do you remember Police Inspector Richelieu?" A

"Yes."

"He shot Avery Moreau's father."

"Whatever for?"

"Gerard Moreau was a thief. He broke into the house where Richelieu happened to be entertaining the wife."

"It wasn't the inspector's wife, was it?" Roux said.

"No." A

"Excuse me," Garin said.

A

"I've got a private plane. Actually, a Learjet, at LaGuardia."

"You'd let me use your jet?" A

"If it's going to allow Lesauvage to kill you more quickly, certainly." Garin appeared quite earnest.

"You're going with us." A

"Us?" Roux repeated.

"We're not finished talking about the sword, are we?" A

"Perhaps," Roux said.

"Fine," she told him. "Then you can stay here. If Garin and his pilot jump out of the plane somewhere over the Atlantic and I go down, you can hope you don't have to wait another five hundred years for the sword to wash up on some beach."

Roux grimaced. "If I was certain my part in all of this was finished, I wouldn't entertain this at all."

"Why am I going?" Garin asked.

"Because I don't trust you not to have someone fire a heat-seeking missile at us while we're en route. If you're along for the trip, I figure that's less likely to happen." A

"That's yourreason to get me to go," Garin said. " Idon't have a reason."

"If you go," A

Garin thought about that briefly. "Good point."

Garin's private jet was outfitted like a bachelor pad with wings. It was divided into three sections. The cockpit was the most mundane thing about the aircraft. The living quarters and the bedroom shared equal space and came with a personal flight attendant.

A

The bedroom, which A

Garin and Roux had settled into their seats and started watching a televised poker championship.

Hooked up to the Internet, A

There were new postings at alt.archaeology and alt.archaeology.esoterica.

Two were from Zoodio.

Hey! I traced that shield heraldry you posted. Interesting stuff.

From what I found out, the shield belonged to a British knight named Richard of Kirkland. He was thought to be a great-grandson of one of the English soldiers that burned Joan of Arc at the stake in France.

A chill passed through A

Supposedly, the great-grandfather's luck turned sour after he got back from France. Devotees of Joan swear he was cursed.

Anyway, that curse seems to have passed down to his great-grandson, who somehow got himself titled along the way. He had a daughter in 1749 who was supposed to have horrible birth defects.

If you're not careful when you do your research, you'll find entries that list her as dead. She even has a gravesite in a private cemetery outside London. Her name was Carolyn. In 1764, Sir Richard of Kirkland took his daughter to the Brotherhood of The Silent Rain.

Why not an abbey? A

Some reports say Carolyn died in 1767 when the monastery was destroyed. Hope this helps.

It did and it didn't, A

She saved the Web links to Favorites, then read the next posting by [email protected] /* */

Zoodio has it wrong. Sir Richard's daughter wasn't his daughter after all. She was his wife's illegitimate child. While Sir Richard was off fighting in one of the wars, his wife was having an affair with one of the inbred members of the royal family. Which was why there were so many birth defects in the child.