The Lafayette Sword by Eric Giacometti Read Free Book Online Page A

below?”
    â€œYou have to step on the fifth rung and then the third rung, skipping the fourth, and the door opens. Three, five, and seven—the symbolic numbers for apprentice, fellowcraft, a nd master.
    Marcas heard the dull scraping of the stone closing over the hole. They were now cut off from the world.
    The walls were damp and smelled of mold as they made thei r descent.
    â€œHow deep are we?” Mar cas asked.
    â€œTwenty meters, at least. The brothers knew what they were doing. The engineer who designed this passageway was employed by the Baron Haussmann, who, as you know, was responsible for so many of the city’s public works. He had all the plans for this nei ghborhood.
    They arrived at the last rung and entered a vaulted room. Three doorway-size openings led in different directions. A Masonic symbol was engraved atop each: an eye in a triangle, a knotted rope, and a skull and c rossbones.
    Three possible exits for t he killer.
    Marcas squatted on the dusty floor and looked for footprints, while Andrivaux pulled out the two fl ashlights.
    â€œWhat kind of shoes do you wear when you come down here to work on the ele ctricity?”
    â€œWaterproof boots. The sewers are not far.”
    Marcas pointed to the doorway with the knotted-ro pe symbol.
    â€œSo that’s where he went. Which o ne is it?”
    â€œThe southern one. That’s strange. It’s the one that’s bricked off. I don’t understand how he coul d escape.”
    Marcas aimed the flashlight down the hallway. The light was soon lost in the shadows. Somewhere in this passageway was a man who had killed two brothers. He could still see those eyes behind the mask. And the man had an advantage.
    Marcas turned to the grand secretary. “You’d better go warn our friends. This is too d angerous.”
    â€œBut…”
    â€œOur police backup should have arrived by now. I’ll n eed them.”
    â€œBe careful. These passageways, as well-built as they are, still aren’t stable. They could collapse at any time. It’s like Swiss cheese under the city.”
    Marcas held a flashlight in one hand and kept his other hand on his Taser. He headed down the p assageway.

20
    Rue Saint Jacques de la Boucherie
    March 14, 1355
    T he day after the man had been burned at the stake, Lady Perenelle noticed that her husband was quieter than usual, but she didn’t say anything. Nicolas was her third husband, and she knew what to do and what not to do when men were taciturn. As she went down the stairs, she thought about her two previous spouses, both older men of good standing. The first one had desired her for her beauty, and the second had desired her for her dowry.
    As far as she was concerned, men had little interest in the moods and concerns of their wives, and she accepted this. A woman’s role was being a good wife, a devoted mother, and a faithful woman. If she respected this code, she could have a pleasant life, and the gates of heaven would open for her. Lady Perenelle was a devout Christian and attended the Église Saint Jacques, which was next to the family shop. She paced her life to the rhythm of the liturgical seasons and her days to call of morning and evening prayer. Having experienced the ups and downs of life, she had found salvation in religion. It was absolute, without doubts or questions.
    Lady Perenelle watched her husband as he supervised his apprentices. With an expert stroke, he corrected a young man’s capital letter. Yet his eyes seemed lost somewhere beyond the illumin ated page.
    She had always feared books, because her husband didn’t simply copy them. He enjoyed reading them. She was especially afraid of the books that were filled with strange characters and phantasmagorical drawings that came from monks who had traveled to faraway places. These parchments from ancient libraries in Constantinople and churches in Jerusalem fascinated her husband. Once she had even