Chapter 51
THE PRISON LOOKED LIKE A MEDIEVAL FORTRESS in the middle of nowhere with a village grown up around it.
As they rode closer, it merely looked like a dreary square stone edifice with no ornamentation, just two stories high.
But high walls surrounded it, and guards stood at the only gate, barring entrance.
Finding out that Pierre Poussin had been sent here had been easy. Getting in to visit him proved to be more difficult. Not because visitors were allowed in only at certain times, but because Pierre was ill.
“You are welcome to wait,” the guard told them in a friendly manner. “There are rooms at the tavern. They will welcome the business. But, truthfully, the doctor does not expect Poussin to last the week.”
“What bloody rotten luck,” John said as they nursed ales at a table in the tavern that night. And then he asked Sebastian, “Will you employ stealth or brute force?”
“Eh?” Giles injected. “Did I miss something? Are we going to wait this out or not?”
“Not,” Sebastian said. “I’m not going to let the man die without talking to him first.”
“I see I did miss something,” Giles said. “If he doesn’t recover, how the deuce do you expect to get around that?”
“By getting him out of there, of course.”
“Oh, of course!” Giles exclaimed sarcastically. “Why didn’t I think of that? Perhaps because that implies—” Giles paused, abashed as he realized, “Oh, I see, stealth or force. You’re used to this sort of thing, are you?”
Sebastian didn’t reply. While Giles had been behaving as if the last eleven years had been erased from their memories, Sebastian had erased nothing.
So he spoke to his ex-friend as little as possible.
Every time he tried to get beyond his own anger, to consider all the other circumstances, he couldn’t get past one glaring point.
Giles had suffered not at all for what he’d allowed to happen, while everyone else involved had suffered too much.
Deep down he might be glad Giles was alive, but that emotion was behind his shell, remaining there unexamined.
John spoke up when it was apparent Sebastian wouldn’t. “We’ve done this a few times before, yes. Though those targets were able to assist in their own extraction.” And to Sebastian, “You’ve considered that? That you might have to carry Poussin out?”
“Yes. I noticed the mortuary at the end of the village, though. I’d say they need a few new employees.”
“Ahh, quite right. That will do it.”
“Do what?” Giles wanted to know but was ignored.
“We’ll wait until after the changing of the guard at midnight,” Sebastian continued. “That will give us the ‘notification’ that a body needs extracting, delivered by one of the guards on his way home, and the new watch won’t have heard yet that Pierre died.”
John nodded. “Much cleaner than bashing in heads on the way in.”
Giles sat back with a glower. “And what will I be doing while you two do whatever it is you’re talking about?”
“John is sitting this one out,” Sebastian replied. “You’ll be coming with me. There is risk involved. If we’re caught, John will know what to do, whereas you’d just sit out here crying in your cups.”
Giles flushed. “You really have a low opinion of me now, don’t you?”
“You noticed?”
Several hours later, Sebastian and Giles drove the mortuary wagon they’d confiscated up to the prison gate.
As expected, the two guards there complained that the collection could wait until morning.
The late night guards were lazy. Most of them slept through that post and didn’t like being disturbed.
Surprisingly, Giles put on quite a performance of whining and insisting he’d lose his new job if he didn’t come back with the body he’d been sent for.
Sebastian would have just started bashing heads together, but as it happened, having one of the guards escort them to the infirmary saved them the time and effort of having to search for it, and got them past one other guard along the way.
Unfortunately, there were four prisoners sleeping in the room where the sick were kept.
No guards or medical staff there at that time of night, but their helpful escort was determined to find the body for them and started checking each occupied bed.
Locating Pierre, the fellow exclaimed, “He is not dead! What—?”
Giles probably thought he was being helpful again by grabbing a tin water pitcher next to Pierre’s bed and denting it on the guard’s head.
All he managed from that feat was to get them all sloshed with water, and the guard turned in his direction with an angry snarl.
Sebastian didn’t appreciate the damp clothes at this time of year, but it did turn out to be helpful inasmuch as the fellow drew his pistol and pointed it at Giles, leaving his back to Sebastian.
So it was an easy matter to move up behind him, wrest the pistol from him, and bash his head properly with it.
Fortunately, none of the other prisoners woke up during the commotion. The guard was dumped in the nearest empty bed to sleep off some of the headache he would have, and they quickly got Pierre onto the stretcher they’d brought in.
“What if he wakes up on the way out?” Giles questioned. “I doubt the remaining guards will think he’s had a miraculous return from the dead if he starts making noises.”
“If you didn’t feel it when you lifted him,” Sebastian replied, “he’s burning up. If he wakes up, it will be miraculous.”
“Oh, I say, you don’t think what’s killing him is contagious, do you?”
“He would have been isolated if it was,” Sebastian said simply. “And I’ll take the feet end of the stretcher. If I need to drop it to deal with anything threatening, make sure he doesn’t slide off.”
Back in the hallway, the guard at the end of the passageway was diligent. He’d locked the door again after they came through it.
“Where is Jean?” he demanded, referring to the chap they were leaving behind.
Sebastian said with a shrug, “Seeing all those empty beds in there was too much temptation for him. He decided to take a little nap.”
He didn’t expect that to be a sufficient excuse, and it wasn’t. “Wait here,” the guard said and started to head toward the infirmary.
The feet end of the stretcher dropped. Sebastian’s foot tripped the man as he passed. He hit the floor, rolled, reaching for his pistol as he did. A hard right knocked his head against the floor. It took one more punch to put him out for the duration.
“How are your knuckles holding up?” Giles asked.
“There’s still some skin left on them for you,” Sebastian replied nonchalantly as he retrieved the key to open the passageway again.
“What luck!”
Sebastian almost smiled.
Outside, their lack of escort prompted the remaining guard to meet them halfway to the gate. Sebastian didn’t give him a chance to ask where his friend was. The stretcher dropped again.
“This was too easy,” Giles remarked as they put Pierre in the wagon they’d left outside the gate.
“It wasn’t a normal prison.”
“There are different kinds?”
“According to John, who got a look at the records in Paris, no killers ever get sent here, which was why there weren’t that many guards, even in the daytime. No high risk, fewer guards needed, and a much more relaxed routine.”
“You could have mentioned that sooner,” Giles mumbled and got the wagon moving back to the mortuary, where John was waiting for them with a coach.
“Why? So you could treat this as a lark without risk? There was still risk, and it’s not over yet. We still have to vacate this area before one of those guards wakes up. And hope Pierre survives the trip.”
“We’re a long way from that ruins you call home,” Giles mentioned.
“As it happens, I believe my farm is only a few hours from here. I could be wrong. I’ve never traveled this far east on the coast. Didn’t know this place was here.
But I have been to Paris before and we did take the same road south to get here that I use to get home. ”
“So?”
“So my son’s tutor is a retired doctor,” Giles said. “Or were you planning on nursing a dying man back to health yourself?”
“Lead the way. I just want answers from him. He’s welcome to die after I have them.”