Noubel stiffened. Immediately, he walked through to the back.
“Causing a lot of extra work for everybody,” Moureau was saying mildly, keeping Sylvie occupied.
Noubel followed the smells of cooking and found the boy easily enough.
“Were you here Wednesday night?”
He gave a cocky smile. “On duty in the bar.”
“See anything?”
“Saw a woman come charging out of the door and go chasing after some bloke. Didn’t know it was Dr Tanner until after.”
“Did you see the man?”
“Not really. It was her I noticed more.”
Noubel took the pictures out of his jacket and held them in front of the boys face. “Recognise either of them?”
“I’ve seen that one before. Nice suit. Not a tourist. Stuck out a bit. Hanging around. Tuesday, Wednesday maybe. Can’t be sure, though.”
By the time Noubel got back to the lobby, Moureau had got Sylvie smiling.
“He picked out Domingo. Said he’d seen him around the hotel.”
“Doesn’t make him the intruder, though,” murmured Moureau.
Noubel slid the photo on the counter in front of Sylvie. “Either of these men familiar to you?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head, “although…” She hesitated, then pointed at the picture of Domingo. The woman asking for Dr Tanner looked quite like this.“
Noubel exchanged glances with Moureau. “Sister?”
“I’ll get it checked out.”
“I’m afraid we’re going to have to ask you to let us into Dr Tanner’s room,” said Noubel.
“I can’t do that!”
Moureau overrode her objections. “We’ll only be five minutes. It’ll be much easier this way, Sylvie. If we have to wait for the manager to give permission, we’ll come back with a whole search team. It will be disruptive for everybody.”
Sylvie took a key from the hook and took them to Alice’s room, looking drawn and nervous.
The windows and curtains were shut and it was stuffy. The bed was neatly made and a quick inspection of the bathroom revealed that there were fresh towels on the rack and the water glasses had been replaced.
“No one’s been in here since the chambermaid cleaned yesterday morning,” muttered Noubel.
There was nothing personal in the bathroom.
“Anything?” asked Moureau.
Noubel shook his head as he moved on to the wardrobe. There he found Alice’s suitcase, packed.
“Looks like she didn’t unpack anything when she moved rooms. She’s obviously got passport, phone, the basics, with her,” he said, running his hands under the edge of the mattress. Holding the handkerchief between his fingers, Noubel pulled open the drawer of the bedside table. It contained a silver strip of headache pills and Audric Baillard’s book.
“Moureau,” he said sharply. As he passed it over, a small piece of paper fluttered from between the pages to the floor.
“What is it?”
Noubel picked it up, then frowned as he passed it over.
“Problem?” said Moureau.
“This is Yves Biau’s writing,” he said. “A Chartres number.”
He got out his phone to dial, but it rang before he’d finished.
“Noubel,” he said abruptly. Moureau’s eyes were fixed on him. That’s excellent news, sir. Yes. Right away.“
He disconnected.
We’ve got the search warrant,“ he said, heading for the door. ”Quicker than I’d expected.“
“What do you expect?” said Moureau. “He’s a worried man.”
CHAPTER 67
“Shall we sit outside?” Audric suggested. “At least until the heat becomes too much.”
“That would be lovely,” Alice replied, following him out of the little house. She felt like she was in a dream. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. The vastness of the mountains, the acres of sky, Baillard’s slow and deliberate movements.
Alice felt the strain and confusion of the past few days slipping away from her.
This will do well,“ he said in his gentle voice, stopping by a small grassy mound. Baillard sat down with his long, thin legs straight out in front of him like a boy.
Alice hesitated, then sat at his feet. She drew her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms around her legs, then saw he was smiling again.
“What?” she said, self-conscious suddenly.
Audric just shook his head. “Los ressons.” The echoes. “Forgive me, Madomaisela Tanner. Forgive an old man his foolishness.”
Alice didn’t know what had made him smile so, only that she was happy to see it. “Please, call me Alice. Madomaisela sounds so formal.”
He inclined his head. “Very well.”
“You speak Occitan rather than French?” she asked.
“Both, yes.”
“Others too?”
He smiled self-deprecatingly. “English, Arabic, Spanish, Hebrew. Stories shift their shape, change character, take on different colours depending on the words you use, the language in which you choose to tell them. Sometimes more serious, sometimes more playful, more melodic, say. Here, in this part of what they now call France, the langue d’Oc was spoken by the people whose land this was. The langue d’oil, the forerunner of modern-day French, was the language of the invaders. Such choices divided people.” He waved his hands. “But, this is not what you came to hear. You want people, not theories, yes?
It was Alice’s turn to smile. “I read one of your books, Monsieur Baillard, which I found at my aunt’s house in Salleles d’Aude.”
He nodded. “It’s a beautiful place. The Canal de Jonction. Lime trees and pin parasols line the banks.” He paused. “The leader of the Crusade, Arnald-Amalric, was given a house in Salleles, you know? Also, in Carcassona and Besiers.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Before, when I first arrived, you said Alais did not die before her time. She… did she survive the fall of Carcassonne?”
Alice was surprised to realise her heart was beating fast.
Baillard nodded. “Alais left Carcassona in the company of a boy, Sajhe, the grandson of one of the guardians of the Labyrinth Trilogy.” He raised his eyes to see if she was following, then continued when she indicated she was.
“They were heading here,” he said. “In the old language Los Seres means the mountain crests, the ridges.”
“Why here?”
“The Navigataire, the leader of the Noublesso de los Seres, the society to which Alais’ father and Sajhe’s grandmother had sworn allegiance, was waiting for them here. Since Alais feared she was being pursued, they took an indirect route, first heading west to Fanjeaux, then south to Puivert and Lavelanet, then west again towards the Sabarthes Mountains.
With the fall of Carcassona, there were soldiers everywhere. They swarmed all over our land like rats. There were also bandits who preyed on the refugees without pity. Alais and Sajhe travelled early in the morning and late at night, sheltering from the biting sun in the heat of the day. It was a particularly hot summer, so they slept outdoors when night fell. They survived on nuts, berries, fruit, anything they could forage. Alais avoided the towns, except when she was sure of finding a safe house.“
“How did they know where to go?” asked Alice, remembering her own journey only hours earlier.
“Sajhe had a map, given to him…”
His voice cracked with distress. Alice didn’t know why, but she reached: and took his hand. It seemed to give him comfort.
“They made good progress,” he continued, “arriving in Los Seres shortly before the Feast Day of Sant-Miquel, at the end of September, just as the land was turning to gold. Already here, in the mountains, was the smell of autumn and wet earth. The smoke hung over the fields as the stubble burned. It was a new world to them, who had been brought up in the shadows and alleyways and overcrowded halls of Carcassona. Such light. Such skies that reached, as it seemed, all the way to heaven.” He paused as he looked out over the landscape in front of them. “You understand?”