1636: The Cardinal Virtues by Walter H. Hunt, Eric Flint Page B
Authors: Walter H. Hunt, Eric Flint
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cuffs.
She heard QSL in her headphones. Can you acknowledge receipt?
Without looking away from Gaston, she reached her hand to the telegraph key and sent, GJBF SN. ENTENDU. Understood.
“What was that, then?”
“I told them you’d gotten the message. What do you want me to send now?”
“Ask them . . . where is the queen now?”
Terrye Jo nodded, and turned again to face the radio set. GJBF SPAR OU EST LA REINE? KN , she sent.
SPAR GJBF RECLUSION HORS DE PARIS .
“She is away from Paris,” she said. “In . . . seclusion?”
“But where?”
GJBF SPAR OU? She sent, asking where.
SPAR GJBF UN GRAND SECRET SOUS LA ROBE ROUGE.
“I’m not sure what that means, Highness,” she said, showing him the pad again. “The secret is under . . .”
“ Beneath the red robe ,” Gaston said. “Richelieu. He has sent her somewhere in secret. He knows where she is, but my loyal servant does not. Very well. Send him . . . tell him that as he loves me, it is paramount that he locate her and report to me. At once. ”
GJBF SPAR TROUVER LA REINE ET SIGNALER IMMEDIATEMENT , she sent, and then added IMMEDIATEMENT TOUT DE SUITE PAR ORDRE G . She figured that would be enough for them to get the at once part of his orders.
SPAR GJBF ENTENDU SN.
“They got the message.”
“Good. Excellent.” He turned on his heel and walked to the door, then turned, as if he’d forgotten something.
“Was there anything else?” she asked.
“No. Not tonight . . . ah.” He looked at Louis. “Attend me,” he said. “But by all means pay her.”
Without turning, she reached for the key and sent CL — closing down. In her earphones she heard SN .
Louis reached into an inside pocket of his cloak and took out a small pouch which rattled. He dropped it onto a chair without a word and swept out after his master. Terrye Jo had a moment’s urge to pick it up and throw it at his head. The abrupt end to the conversation and the way he’d left money for her—not by handing it over but by leaving it behind—felt vaguely insulting.
Gaston had worked hard at charming her, but she was very much like a Number 2 pencil: a tool. This was an unequal relationship, and he’d just shown her who was the prince and who was the servant.
SN , she thought. I understand.
Chapter 7
Marseilles, Provence
“Now that is a view.”
Philippe de la Mothe-Houdancourt, governor of Bellegarde, leaned on the rampart of Florentine limestone that comprised the sea-facing wall of Notre-Dame de la Garde, basilica and fortress of Marseilles, and took a deep draught of sea air. From up here, a few hundred feet above the sprawl and stink of the city, the air was clear and the sky was deep blue. The sun sparkled on the Mediterranean Sea . . . and somewhere beyond to the west, over the horizon, was Spain.
“It is beautiful. When I think of my city, Philippe, I think of it this way.” Cosme de Valbelle, Seigneur de Brunelles, came up to stand by his young friend. “I’m surprised you’ve never been up here.”
“There are a great many places I have never been. This is quite a remarkable place: a fortress that is also a church.”
“The monks of Saint Victor didn’t want to give it up, but it’s a perfect place to build a fort. Our lord François thought so a century ago, and it’s been defending the city against all comers ever since—outsiders and insiders.”
“Do tell.”
“There have been plenty of intrigues in Marseilles over the years.”
“But none since it has become the firm possession of la Famille Valbelle , or so I understand.”
Valbelle smiled. “That’s more my great-uncle and father’s doing. Nowadays I merely offer good government and fair trade.” He made an adjustment to the lace on one cuff. “Everyone wins, even the Church.”
“I’m sure His Eminence is pleased.”
“You know very well that Cardinal Richelieu is a great friend to my family, and I am loyal to him and to King Louis. I have made certain that he
She heard QSL in her headphones. Can you acknowledge receipt?
Without looking away from Gaston, she reached her hand to the telegraph key and sent, GJBF SN. ENTENDU. Understood.
“What was that, then?”
“I told them you’d gotten the message. What do you want me to send now?”
“Ask them . . . where is the queen now?”
Terrye Jo nodded, and turned again to face the radio set. GJBF SPAR OU EST LA REINE? KN , she sent.
SPAR GJBF RECLUSION HORS DE PARIS .
“She is away from Paris,” she said. “In . . . seclusion?”
“But where?”
GJBF SPAR OU? She sent, asking where.
SPAR GJBF UN GRAND SECRET SOUS LA ROBE ROUGE.
“I’m not sure what that means, Highness,” she said, showing him the pad again. “The secret is under . . .”
“ Beneath the red robe ,” Gaston said. “Richelieu. He has sent her somewhere in secret. He knows where she is, but my loyal servant does not. Very well. Send him . . . tell him that as he loves me, it is paramount that he locate her and report to me. At once. ”
GJBF SPAR TROUVER LA REINE ET SIGNALER IMMEDIATEMENT , she sent, and then added IMMEDIATEMENT TOUT DE SUITE PAR ORDRE G . She figured that would be enough for them to get the at once part of his orders.
SPAR GJBF ENTENDU SN.
“They got the message.”
“Good. Excellent.” He turned on his heel and walked to the door, then turned, as if he’d forgotten something.
“Was there anything else?” she asked.
“No. Not tonight . . . ah.” He looked at Louis. “Attend me,” he said. “But by all means pay her.”
Without turning, she reached for the key and sent CL — closing down. In her earphones she heard SN .
Louis reached into an inside pocket of his cloak and took out a small pouch which rattled. He dropped it onto a chair without a word and swept out after his master. Terrye Jo had a moment’s urge to pick it up and throw it at his head. The abrupt end to the conversation and the way he’d left money for her—not by handing it over but by leaving it behind—felt vaguely insulting.
Gaston had worked hard at charming her, but she was very much like a Number 2 pencil: a tool. This was an unequal relationship, and he’d just shown her who was the prince and who was the servant.
SN , she thought. I understand.
Chapter 7
Marseilles, Provence
“Now that is a view.”
Philippe de la Mothe-Houdancourt, governor of Bellegarde, leaned on the rampart of Florentine limestone that comprised the sea-facing wall of Notre-Dame de la Garde, basilica and fortress of Marseilles, and took a deep draught of sea air. From up here, a few hundred feet above the sprawl and stink of the city, the air was clear and the sky was deep blue. The sun sparkled on the Mediterranean Sea . . . and somewhere beyond to the west, over the horizon, was Spain.
“It is beautiful. When I think of my city, Philippe, I think of it this way.” Cosme de Valbelle, Seigneur de Brunelles, came up to stand by his young friend. “I’m surprised you’ve never been up here.”
“There are a great many places I have never been. This is quite a remarkable place: a fortress that is also a church.”
“The monks of Saint Victor didn’t want to give it up, but it’s a perfect place to build a fort. Our lord François thought so a century ago, and it’s been defending the city against all comers ever since—outsiders and insiders.”
“Do tell.”
“There have been plenty of intrigues in Marseilles over the years.”
“But none since it has become the firm possession of la Famille Valbelle , or so I understand.”
Valbelle smiled. “That’s more my great-uncle and father’s doing. Nowadays I merely offer good government and fair trade.” He made an adjustment to the lace on one cuff. “Everyone wins, even the Church.”
“I’m sure His Eminence is pleased.”
“You know very well that Cardinal Richelieu is a great friend to my family, and I am loyal to him and to King Louis. I have made certain that he
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