‘There is a passage, monsieur,’ said the girl hesitantly. ‘I am to show my father how to leave this place without their ever knowing it.’
‘But he has told my partner you are to take care of yourself?’
‘Yes. It … it is what I should have done in Chamonix.’
One of the SS, straining at the leashes, brought the dogs up to the Gestapo Munk and the major. The dogs! Ah Nom de Dieu, they were going to unleash them …
‘Herr Munk is finished with you, Jean-Paul. Dedou Fratani or Ludo Borel, or the weaver perhaps, has told him the truth of the maquis.’
For the first time in his life perhaps, Delphane did not know what to do. He shouted at Josette, ‘How far to the passage?’
She said, quite simply, ‘It is safer here, my father. Only then can you offer yourself and let mother go free.’
‘Idiot! They will kill her anyway. She’s English! You … you are a murderess, Josette. Do you not know what that means? The guillotine … yes, yes, screw up that face of yours. Cry, Josette! Don’t threaten me with that bow.’ He dropped his voice. ‘You cannot kill me. You who have killed your sister, have not the heart to do so again. But,’ he paused, ‘they will use the Nazi refinement of the guillotine, cherie. The axe!’
‘Batard!’ shrieked St-Cyr, slipping as he lunged at Delphane. A shot rang out, then another and another. Hit in the lower leg, Delphane spun away. Pushing the girl aside, he stumbled and fell – began to drag himself to cover.
‘Louis …! L … o … u … i … s! Get down, you idiot!’
It was Hermann. Ah Nom de Jesus-Christ! Blood … there was blood on his forehead and all over his face and hands …
St-Cyr raced along the wall, yelling at the top of his lungs, ‘The dogs, Hermann! The dogs!’ He grabbed Delphane by the ankle. The Lebel swung round. A shot rang out from below. Ricocheting off a boulder, it flew up. Another followed. The girl shrieked and ran past them, lashing out at the gun in her father’s hand … still too tight a grip … too tight … Ah made, the scuffle then on the ramparts. ‘My bracelets, you bastard! Feel the clench of steel on your wrists!’
They rolled about. The revolver came at him, a savage blow …‘Ahh!… Mother of God …’ Reeling, St-Cyr tumbled away, clawing desperately at the stones … too far … too far … He saw the drop below and felt himself falling … falling …
‘Louis … Louis! It’s me.’
Kohler dragged him up and, racing with him, got him to cover. ‘Telescopic sights, idiot!’ he swore, trying to catch his breath. ‘Gott im Himmel, Delphane’s beat it with the girl. Now we’re going to have to ferret him out!’
‘My chest … Ah Jesus, Hermann … the breath. I must stop the smoking.’ He coughed, wheezed terribly and dragged in air as Kohler pounded him on the back. ‘The dogs, my old one. The dogs!’
‘Verdammt! I knew it! You okay, eh?’
St-Cyr raised a tired hand. ‘Yes, yes. I think I will live a little longer.’
‘Then maybe we’d better get away from the dogs.’
‘A passage,’ gasped St-Cyr, so fraught with worry he was waving a useless hand. ‘Josette, she has said …’
‘Hey, my old one, there is no passage. That kid is only going to lead him into a trap.’
St-Cyr blinked, gaping as he took in a breath and tried to still his aching chest. ‘Pardon?’ he bleated. ‘No passage …?’
‘Not unless I’ve missed my guess. Come on. Let’s … Ah no!’
The dogs had found the ruins. They made no sound as they raced along the ancient byways, going here, there, revealed only by their flying fur.
The girl was motioning anxiously. ‘Up here,’ she cried. ‘Quickly! Quickly, messieurs. There are few places they cannot reach.’
They ran. They made it across the little amphitheatre and in among the columns. Blood marked their trail.
Even as they scrambled up to her, Josette-Louise sighted along the crossbow. The lead dog was huge. It would throw itself at the wall. It would tear at their trouser legs …
Kohler couldn’t manage it. Loss of blood perhaps, or pain in the head from the bullet-graze Delphane had given him. ‘Louis,’ he managed. ‘Gott im Himmel, Frog, pull me up!’
The girl fired. The Alsatian caught the bolt squarely in the chest and was carried back by it. ‘Verdammt …’ muttered Kohler as the thing hit the ground below them. ‘Verdammt, Louis, I’m done for.’
The kid was working the windlass like a trooper. Round and round the handles went, her foot jammed solidly into the stirrup. Then the arrow in the slot. She gave a satisfied gasp and said, ‘Now this way,’ even as the other two dogs threw themselves at the wall in a rage.
Kohler hesitated. Louis and the girl pelted along the wall, slipping, stumbling once while he held the dogs here. ‘Louis …’ he managed. ‘Louis … what was it the herbalist gave me?’
The greyish-red powder was very fine. Kohler clenched a fistful. He got down on his knees and deliberately let the dogs leap at him.
Louis was yelling for him to join them. ‘Their SS handlers, Hermann. They will be coming!’
The dust stung the dogs’ eyes. It burned their nostrils and reached far down into their throats. It only drove them to a madness that alarmed. Flinging the last of the bottle at them, Kohler ran but by then Louis and the girl had vanished. Ah merde! Where had they gone?
There was a cistern deep in the rocks below the ruins. As he peered doubtfully past the girl, St-Cyr saw that the steep and narrow staircase disappeared uncomfortably into inky darkness below. ‘Ah Nom de Dieu,’ he whispered, giving a troubled sigh. ‘We must wait for Hermann, mademoiselle. This I cannot undertake myself.’
‘But we must, monsieur. The dogs, isn’t that correct? There is a narrow bridge to cross. Once there, I will come back for your friend.’
‘Leave an arrow for him. Place it up high, in sunlight if possible. That will have to do.’ Merde, this place! Ruin piled upon ruin; passageways and passageways.
As she stepped past him, they brushed against each other precariously. His back was to the wall; she had nothing but the abyss to guide her steps.
He watched as she found a slender patch of sunlight high on the wall and placed the arrow there; he hoped Hermann would not be too busy with the dogs to notice it.
‘The dogs …?’ he asked, and wondered what had happened to them.
‘Hurry,’ she said, her voice a hush, and stepping quickly past him, went down the steps. ‘Come,’ she urged. ‘Don’t hesitate. It’s quite safe but stay close to me.’
‘Josette-Louise … your voice, mademoiselle? You have used the voice of your sister.’
‘Have I?’ she asked, flashing a smile. ‘She is with me, Inspector. Can’t you feel her presence? It was she who discovered this place and who found the beaker you have in your pocket.’
‘Ah yes. “Drink and live for ever”.’
‘Let us drink then, when we reach the water. Let us drink to her.’
Ah Nom de Jesus-Christ, Hermann, he shouted to himself. With what are we dealing? Two people; two voices. The one from the world beyond. Both calling to each other …
Down in the darkness there was nothing but the sound of trickling water as it spilled over the cistern’s lip. And he had to wonder how it was that the village had never discovered this ready source, just as he had to wonder where Jean-Paul was hiding. ‘Mademoiselle …?’ he began hesitantly, only to find that she had left him.
Immediately a cold sweat broke out all over him. ‘Chamonix again!’ he cursed. Jean-Paul, he was so near, so near …
Feeling with a toe, he hazarded a step – felt all around him with a hand. A bridge, she’d said. A narrow walkway.
Listen as he did, the sound of the water was not near or far, or from the left or right, but coming from everywhere. It echoed too. And the musty damp of the ages was there as well. Ah yes. And the stale pipesmoke and tobacco of the present. That, too, of small cigars. Dutch cigarillos.