The Traitor's Blade by Kevin Sands (fiction books to read .TXT) 📕

With the front door locked again, I introduced him to Sally. “She’s one of us,” I said, and he caught my meaning: We had no secrets.

Isaac took us upstairs, to his quarters above the shop. Although he seemed rejuvenated by our return, he moved awfully slowly up the steps. Delicately, like a man in constant pain.

As they were too narrow for either Tom or me to walk beside him, Sally lent him an arm, which he patted gratefully. He leaned on her all the way up.

His quarters were simple, just a kitchen and a bedroom. The real space was deep below the shop, in the secret library, which had once been a Templar sanctuary, centuries ago. Isaac put on a pot of coffee to brew.

“How I missed this,” he said wistfully as the aroma of roasted beans filled the room. “Quarantine living, as you might imagine, has very few charms.”

He listened, then, as I told him everything that had happened since he’d gone underground—and I did tell him everything, because Isaac and I had no secrets, either. He was saddened to hear of Dr. Parrett’s death, even more of Marin Chastellain’s. But he was delighted about our pensions and intrigued by my new position as apprentice spymaster.

“Benedict would have approved,” he said.

“You really think so?”

“You know his penchant for secrets. He was never a spy’s apprentice, of course, but his skill with codes was widely known. He even worked, for a time, with the spymaster of Charles I, when he was younger. The man sent him ciphers, and he’d send them back solved, if he could. He stopped with the coming of the Commonwealth; he disliked how they treated our previous king. But he started up again once Charles took back his throne. He might even have corresponded with your new master—what’s his name again?”

“Lord Walsingham.”

“Yes, that’s him.”

I was surprised the spymaster hadn’t mentioned it.

“So,” Isaac continued, “you learn more about codes, but still get to be an apothecary in the end? His Majesty has looked after you quite well, I think.”

His words made me feel so much better. Is this really all right? I asked my master, and I thought I could see him smile.

That weight a little lighter, I finished the story. And, there really being no secrets between us, I told him what I’d told no one else, not even Lord Ashcombe.

I told him about the Templars.

“Incredible,” Isaac said.

I showed him the Templar florin, the gold coin the Templars had given me as a token of their gratitude for my helping them in Paris. He turned it over, marveling at it.

“Rumors of their existence have lingered for centuries,” he said, awed. “I believed them—our little society of alchemists has lived for generations, why not the Knights Templar?—but I never imagined I’d see proof.”

“That’s part of why we came here,” I said. “I think the Templars are the ones sending me these riddles. I was wondering if there was anything more you could tell me about them.”

He studied the two letters I’d received. Then he stared into his coffee, watching the steam rise, thinking.

“There isn’t much,” he said. “Most of the writing on the Templars is about their history. What remains is largely conjecture.”

He frowned. “Though there is this one document. It’s a statement, taken during an interrogation, some thirty, forty years ago? I can’t remember if Charles I was king, or James. Either way, the man claimed to be a Templar. He gave a decent account of their order. Assuming he’s to be believed.”

“Do you know where it is?” I said, excited.

“In the library, underground. It won’t be hard to find. What concerns me more is this business about the Raven.”

“That was the other reason we came.” I showed him the letter the Raven had sent to Maison Chastellain in Paris.

My dear Christopher,

I congratulate you on your victory. You have done the impossible: You found the Templar treasure, where others—including me—could not. Don’t worry, I’ll tell no one the truth of what happened; I like that you and I now share a secret. And, as vexed as I am, I must admit: It was fascinating to watch your mind at work. I see now why Master Benedict chose you as an apprentice.

Does the mention of your master surprise you? No doubt Blackthorn never told you about me, so I will: He was a thorn in my side for many years. Now, though he has departed, you come to take his place. And while I try not to begrudge you your success, your discovery has cost me dearly. You owe me, Christopher. And I always collect what I am owed.

Your first payment is the life of Marin Chastellain. No, he did not die from his illness. I poisoned him—and in doing so, I left you a clue. Before you go searching for it, I want you to know that I did not kill him because he was any threat to me. I did it because I knew it would hurt Blackthorn, and, in turn, hurt you. It is, after all, much more sporting to face an opponent who understands the stakes of the game.

I am going to do to you what I should have done to Blackthorn years ago: I am going to make you suffer. I will do this by taking away the things you love, one by one, until there is only you and me. And then, once I have stripped your life bare, you will understand.

Find the clue I’ve left for you. Ponder it. Then reflect on what it might mean. There’s no need to rush; I have several plans in motion that must be completed before our game can truly begin. So, until then, be well, Christopher. Savor your life, while you still have some of it left. For when I am ready, I will come for you.

The Raven

Isaac read it, disturbed. “What was the clue the Raven left?” he asked.

“I think it was a pigeon feather,” I