Traitor's Chase (15 page)

“It wasn't magic! Where I'm from, everyone can do what I did.”

“Then Artagnan must be a terrible place. Now let me go or I'll scream.”

“I'm not from Artagnan. I'm from the future!” Greg blurted out.

Catherine stopped struggling and simply stared at Greg in shock.

“That's not possible,” she said, shaking her head.

“Trust me, it is,” Greg told her. And before she could protest, he told her everything: about the Devil's Stone, and how Dominic and Michel were really the same man, and how he and his parents had been sucked back through time. Once he started talking, he couldn't stop himself, and to be honest, he didn't want to stop. It was a relief to finally tell someone besides Aramis.

Catherine didn't say a word the whole time. She just stared at him, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and concern. When he finished, she sat at the edge of the fountain and shook her head.

“Do you believe me?” Greg asked.

“I don't know,” Catherine admitted. “It all seems so bizarre … and yet, it also explains so much. About you—and Dinicoeur and Richelieu in particular. Certain things they said now make sense.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Dinicoeur said that all his plans weren't for him, but for Richelieu—and that Richelieu had better take good care of himself, as his body really belonged to both of them.” Catherine's eyes were alive now. Greg could sense that her mind was racing. “It's as though I've spent the last few months looking at a painting that's blurry and now it's suddenly becoming clear. It must be even more strange for you, yes?”

“‘Strange' doesn't even begin to describe it,” Greg said.

“How did the Musketeers react when you told them you were from the future?”

“Actually, only Aramis knows,” Greg replied sheepishly. “I didn't think the others would believe it. Or that, if they
did
believe it, they'd still treat me the same way.”

“Then why did you tell
me
?” Catherine asked.

“I guess I wanted you to know the truth about me,” Greg admitted.

Catherine smiled, as though flattered. Her astonishment seemed to have subsided and was now replaced by curiosity. “So, that tiny box you had … Everybody in the future has one?”

“Almost everyone,” Greg told her.

“And the horrible noise that came out of it. That's what music sounds like in the future?”

Greg laughed. “Not all of it. I think there's some you'd actually like.”

“Really? Could you play me some?”

“I'd love to,” Greg said. “But I can't. The battery is almost drained as it is.”

“What's a battery?” Catherine asked.

“It's uh … this little metal thing that gives the box all its power. In the future it's easy to recharge, but there's no way to do it here. Once it's drained, the box won't work anymore....”

“And then you won't be able to get home again,” Catherine concluded.

“Yes.”

“So … when you turned it on before, to frighten those men in the woods, you were risking your future to protect me?”

“Uh, well … I guess,” Greg said. “Although I have to admit, I was also trying to protect
myself
.”

“Oh, I suspect that if I hadn't been held at knifepoint, you could have handled those men some other way.” Catherine looked down at her feet. “I'm sorry I misjudged you.”

Greg was still a bit surprised that being from the future made him less frightening to Catherine than someone who could work magic, but he guessed that, in a world ruled by superstition, someone who controlled the dark arts would be far more frightening than someone who had been a victim of them. “That's all right,” he said. “I understand why you reacted the way you did.”

Catherine smiled again. “I think you and I are supposed to be acquiring supplies,” she said. And then, to Greg's surprise, she extended the crook of her arm to him.

Greg slipped his hand into it and the two of them set off into town.

Now that he'd told the truth about himself, Catherine quickly warmed to him, as if sharing his secret had bonded them closer. The tension that had been between them on the boat was gone. Instead, Catherine peppered him with questions about life in the future. She was fascinated by his tales of airplanes and televisions and video games. She was also thrilled to be in Arles, gasping with wonder at everything they passed: the intricate drawbridges over the river, a gorgeous bathhouse, a large outdoor amphitheater. Even the smallest architectural details elicited oohs and aahs from her.

They soon found the town's open-air market. It was in a wide plaza—far larger than the market square in Paris—with a soaring obelisk in the center. Now that it was the middle of summer, the stalls were spilling over with fresh produce. Greg and Catherine quickly set about purchasing some. For the first time in days, Greg found himself having fun, as though they were on vacation, rather than hunting down a madman. He almost hated to have to steer their conversation back to Dinicoeur.

“You asked before how I'd heard of the Devil's Stone,” he told Catherine. “Well, now you know: It's what brought me here. And I need to find it again if I'm ever going to return home. So I have to know: What did you hear Michel Dinicoeur say about it?”

“It wasn't much, I'm afraid,” Catherine replied. “It was the second time I heard him speak to Dominic. It didn't make sense to me at the time, but I realize now that they were discussing how Michel intended to make Dominic immortal. Michel said he needed to find the Devil's Stone, but it wouldn't be much trouble, because he'd done it once before and knew where both pieces of it were.”

Greg's heart sank. “Wait. It's in two pieces now?”

“You didn't know? You said you had to put both pieces together to travel through time.”

“Yes, but that was in the future. I thought that, maybe, it had been broken in two
after
Dominic had found it. Or at least, I was hoping that was the case. Did he say where the two pieces were?”

“He said the first was in Madrid … But as for the second, all he said was, it was right under the king's nose.”

“You mean, the second half of the Devil's Stone is back in Paris?!” Greg shook his head. “This doesn't make sense. If half the stone is in Paris, why would Michel go all the way to Spain to get the other half first?”

“I don't know.” Catherine lowered her eyes, as though ashamed. “I didn't hear the rest of the conversation. I was worried I'd be spotted, so I returned to my room. I'm sorry.”

“There is nothing to apologize for,” Greg said. “Did you ever tell Milady about this?”

Catherine gave him a sideways look. “What is it that you have against Milady?”

“I'm just not sure that I trust her,” Greg admitted. “Do you?”

Catherine hesitated a second too long before answering. “She has never done anything I considered suspicious.”

“She invited you to come on this journey, even though you barely knew her. Why?”

“She said she would require some assistance.”

“Yes, but …” Greg tried to choose his words carefully. “She knew you were heading into hostile territory. In theory, it would have made sense to invite some soldiers along for protection....”

“Rather than a mere handmaiden?” Catherine flushed, offended.

“But you're
not
a mere handmaiden,” Greg said quickly. “You worked close to Dominic Richelieu. You
knew
things others didn't. I'm not saying it was a mistake to bring you. I just think it's odd that Milady brought
only
you … unless she wanted some time with you alone to try to find out what you knew.”

Catherine's hard stare softened. She shook her head, as though upset with herself. “I have to admit, I asked myself some of the same questions. I even asked
her
if we should bring anyone along for protection, but she said our mission was a secret one and that we'd have your protection soon enough.”

“Did she ask you about Richelieu and Dinicoeur?”

“Yes. But she always made it sound like small talk, not like she was prying for information.”

“And did you ever tell her about the Devil's Stone?”

Catherine bit her lip. “I might have. To be completely honest, I can't remember. I'm so sorry.”

“Why? You've done nothing wrong.” Greg tried to put a comforting hand on Catherine's arm, but accidentally knocked an apple off a pile at a stall instead. It tumbled a short way across the cobblestones, coming to a rest at the base of the obelisk. Greg hurried over to pick it up, and in doing so, found himself facing the inscription on the base. It began:

E
DIFICATO AD GLORIAM
C
ONSTANTINO
II I
MPERATORE MAGNO
…

Greg caught his breath. While he couldn't read Latin, he didn't need to, to recognize one word. “Constantine,” he repeated.

“Is something wrong?” Catherine asked him.

“No,” Greg said. Then he rushed back to the apple seller. “Was this city ruled by Emperor Constantine?” he asked.

“All three of them,” the seller replied proudly. “Constantine the First came here from Rome. His son was born here. And
his
son, Constantine the Usurper, made Arles the capital of his empire.”

“Did any of them build a white city near here?”

The seller looked at Greg curiously. “I've never heard of anything like that. Why would they build another city when they had Arles? They made this the finest city in the Roman Empire. They built the bridges, the baths, the theater, the Arena … It was even more beautiful than it is now, with everything covered in marble brought all the way from the Alps.”

“Everything was covered in marble?” Greg repeated. “What happened to it all?”

“People stole it,” the seller said sadly. “They took it to build other things with, the fools. Can you imagine what that Arena would have looked like a thousand years ago?”

“Yes,” Greg said. He could imagine what the entire city would have looked like. His heart was now pounding in his chest, due to his excitement. He spun around the market square, taking everything in, envisioning the city as it had once been. At the far end, he spotted Aramis and Milady exiting a building.

“Are you gonna pay for that apple?” the seller asked.

Greg slapped a silver coin in the man's hand. “Thank you!” He grabbed Catherine's arm and quickly led her across the square.

“What's gotten into you?” she asked.

“This city used to be covered in marble.” Greg almost felt like laughing as he said it.

“So?”

“Marble is
white
.” Greg caught up to Aramis and Milady. Despite his suspicions about Milady, he couldn't control his excitement. “Aramis! I've just discovered something wonderful.”

“What is it?” his friend asked.

“You know the White City of Emperor Constantine we were looking for? Well, we're standing right in the middle of it.”

FIFTEEN

T
HE
C
LOISTER OF
S
T.
T
ROPHIMUS WAS THE LARGEST MONASTERY
in Arles. Founded over a thousand years earlier, it sat directly between the market plaza and the Roman theater. It was a peaceful oasis in the middle of the bustling city, centered around a central courtyard with beautiful gardens and a burbling fountain.

And, as Aramis had hoped, it had a library.

The library was quite large, almost the same size as the monastery's church, and filled with bookshelves. A dozen monks were hunched over desks, translating ancient texts. Save for the scratches of their quill pens on parchment, it was deathly quiet.

A young monk named Brother Timothy had greeted the boys at the cloister door. Timothy had been excited to learn Aramis was a cleric from Notre Dame who had come such a long way to visit their cloister—and had eagerly agreed to show them the library, with one caveat: The girls were not allowed inside.