Geaxi began climbing the scaffolding without taking her eyes off the Maoris. Nova and I tried to keep pace. Geaxi climbed silently and quickly. In seconds we were over the top. The Maoris stood ten feet away. They had their daggers poised. Rune Balle screamed something, then spit in their faces. The daggers started forward.
“Hear ye, hear ye now, Giza!” Geaxi droned, holding the Stone out and pointing in their direction. Nova and I joined her. “Lo geltitu, lo geltitu, Ahaztu!” we said in unison. The Maoris dropped their daggers instantly and stood with their arms at their sides. Their tattooed faces went blank, their eyes dulled. Almost automatically, we added, “Turn and go now, Giza, go like lambs. Ahaztu!”
It was an ill-fated command for the Maoris. We had unintentionally sent them to their deaths. They turned with puzzled expressions and calmly walked in the opposite direction, off the scaffolding and into thin air, falling forty feet and landing headfirst and dead center on the six-petaled rosette at the heart of the Chartres Labyrinth.
Rune Balle had dropped to his knees. He rubbed his chest where the daggers would have pierced his heart. He crawled to the edge of the platform and stared down at the Maoris and the blood spreading across the stone floor. From the height of the platform, their blood looked black instead of red. He turned to us and said something in Norwegian, then in French.
Geaxi said, “In English, Rune, speak in English, please. Your nephew said you speak English fluently.”
Rune looked down at the Maoris. He let out a long sigh, then took in a few deep breaths. He rubbed his chest again and spit twice, watching the spit fall until it hit their bodies. Geaxi let him gather himself. He looked up at her. “Do I know you?” he asked.
“No, however, we were scheduled to meet not long ago through your nephew. Unfortunately, circumstances prevented it.”
“Do you mean my nephew Knut? In Trondheim?”
“Yes.”
Rune Balle ran his eyes over the three of us, studying us carefully from head to toe. His eyes were pale blue and piercing. Sharp features, tangled long hair, and scruffy beard, along with his shirt being ripped to shreds, gave him the look of a captured Viking. He focused on the Stones we still held in our hands, particularly Nova’s with the embedded gems. “I have heard of those,” he said, rubbing his chest. “He told me of them once in the mountains…and what they could do. I thought it was a fable.”
“He?” All three of us practically shouted.
“Who is ‘he’?” I added.
Rune Balle stood and looked down into my eyes. He was at least a foot taller. “Your eyes are dark, each of you. His were green.” He paused, then went on. “Other than that, the boy resembled all three of you.”
“Is he the one who bought your property?” Geaxi asked.
“No. A man the boy referred to as ‘Uncle Raza’ purchased the farm. I believe the man was Hindu. His name was Raza Vejahashala. The boy was the strangest boy I ever met. They requested a tour of the farm and all the surrounding mountains. I had several unusual structures on the farm. One was a greenhouse, where I maintained a rose garden year round. The boy seemed overjoyed with it, but his joy was expressed in a bitter, haunting laugh that has echoed in my mind ever since.”
I glanced at Geaxi and Nova again. It was the Fleur-du-Mal without a doubt. Then another thought came to me—Zuriaa! Searching for her presence, I turned in a slow circle. The cathedral was vast and the light dim, but Zuriaa was nowhere near. Geaxi, Nova, and I all wondered the same thing—who sent the Maoris, and why? It didn’t make sense.
Nova picked up an old red sweater lying on the platform between two trays of stained glass. “Yours?” she said, handing it to Rune Balle.
He removed what was left of his torn shirt and pulled on the sweater. “Takk. Thank you,” he said.
“Could you tell us where to find your farm?” she asked. “We will be glad to pay for the information.”
“There is no need,” he said, “I will take you there myself.” He gazed down at the two dead men lying on the cathedral floor in the center of the labyrinth. “My work here is finished.”
We would have left Paris the next day, except Emme decided to have a beautiful baby girl at ten after ten in the morning. The baby weighed eight pounds, two ounces and was twenty inches long. Her skin was the color of milk and coffee, her eyes were dark, and tiny black curls covered her head. She was given the name Antoinette PoPo Boutrain. A day later, Emme would sign a paper naming Antoinette’s godparents—Mercy Whitney and Zianno Zezen. I couldn’t have been more proud. Geaxi and Nova agreed to delay our departure another day in order for us to visit Emme and Antoinette in the hospital. By that time, the police had informed Rune Balle he should not leave Chartres until the investigation was complete. Rune was not suspected of any wrongdoing, but the Maoris carried no papers or identification on their persons. Along with tattooed faces and expensive dark suits, the Maoris were a mystery and their strange deaths warranted further study. After two weeks of futile investigation, Rune Balle was told he was free to travel at will. The police had found no clues whatsoever and the Maoris were simply filed away and forgotten.
During that time, Antoine had been listening to some of our discussions about where we were going and why. Antoine believed we would need assistance in eliminating the Fleur-du-Mal, though he never mentioned him by name. He said he had known many assassins, but none as cruel or invisible as our “friend.” I reminded Antoine he had just become a father and he ought to remain in Paris. He still insisted on going. Geaxi, Nova, and I all said no, and I was surprised when Emme said he should go. Through PoPo and me, she had learned long ago of the Fleur-du-Mal and his infamy. He needed to be stopped and Antoine could help. She said Mitch and Mercy would give her all the assistance she needed, while Antoinette would give her more than enough love, and all of them would pray for our safe and swift return. Still, we said no.
I cabled Owen Bramley and Carolina in St. Louis, asking if all was well and if they had heard from anyone, meaning any of the Meq. Carolina cabled back within a day saying Owen Bramley was on an extended trip to Hawaii and Japan. She assured me that all was well, then chastised me for being gone so long. She said Charles Lindbergh had returned to St. Louis and was greeted by a huge crowd and Mayor Miller. She added that she had not heard from anyone else.
We packed lightly and left Paris the next day by train, deciding to purchase anything we might need in Norway. Rune Balle had arranged for us to stay in Bergen with his sister, Penelope, and his nephew, Knut. They lived in a large three-storied home his family had owned since the 1840s. I asked him if Penelope was a common name in Norway. He laughed and told me his father’s favorite work of literature was The Odyssey, which he used to read to them as a bedtime story when they were children. “My sister,” he said, “was named for the wife of Odysseus. She may be the only Penelope in Bergen.” I asked if his farm was near Bergen. “Relatively near—less than one hundred kilometers, but isolated,” he answered, then added, “no, not isolated, protected.”