that he might be there. Have you seen him?"
The numerary was startled. "Yes, he is here. Is something wrong?" "He is there now?" "Yes, upstairs praying. What is going on?"
"Leave him precisely where he is," the officer commanded. "Don't say a word to anyone. I'm sending officers over right away."
CHAPTER 94
St. James's Park is a sea of green in the middle of London, a public park bordering the palaces of Westminster, Buckingham, and St. James's. Once enclosed by King Henry VIII and stocked with deer for the hunt, St. James's Park is now open to the public. On sunny afternoons, Londoners picnic beneath the willows and feed the pond's resident pelicans, whose ancestors were a gift to Charles II from the Russian ambassador.
The Teacher saw no pelicans today. The stormy weather had brought instead seagulls from the ocean. The lawns were covered with them - hundreds of white bodies all facing the same direction, patiently riding out the damp wind. Despite the morning fog, the park afforded splendid views of the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben. Gazing across the sloping lawns, past the duck pond and the delicate silhouettes of the weeping willows, the Teacher could see the spires of the building that housed the knight's tomb - the real reason he had told Remy to come to this spot.
As the Teacher approached the front passenger door of the parked limousine, Remy leaned across and opened the door. The Teacher paused outside, taking a pull from the flask of cognac he was carrying. Then, dabbing his mouth, he slid in beside Remy and closed the door.
Remy held up the keystone like a trophy. "It was almost lost." "You have done well," the Teacher said.
"We have done well," Remy replied, laying the keystone in the Teacher's eager hands. The Teacher admired it a long moment, smiling. "And the gun? You wiped it down?" "Back in the glove box where I found it." "Excellent." The Teacher took another drink of cognac and handed the flask to Remy. "Let's toast our success. The end is near."
Remy accepted the bottle gratefully. The cognac tasted salty, but Remy didn't care. He and the Teacher were truly partners now. He could feel himself ascending to a higher station in life. I will never be a servant again.As Remy gazed down the embankment at the duck pond below, Chateau Villette seemed miles away.
Taking another swig from the flask, Remy could feel the cognac warming his blood. The warmth in Remy's throat, however, mutated quickly to an uncomfortable heat. Loosening his bow tie, Remy tasted an unpleasant grittiness and handed the flask back to the Teacher. "I've probably had enough," he managed, weakly.
Taking the flask, the Teacher said," Remy, as you are aware, you are the only one who knows my face. I placed enormous trust in you."
"Yes," he said, feeling feverish as he loosened his tie further. "And your identity shall go with me to the grave."
The Teacher was silent a long moment. "I believe you." Pocketing the flask and the keystone, the Teacher reached for the glove box and pulled out the tiny Medusa revolver. For an instant, Remy felt a surge of fear, but the Teacher simply slipped it in his trousers pocket.
What is he doing? Remy felt himself sweating suddenly.
"I know I promised you freedom," the Teacher said, his voice now sounding regretful. "But considering your circumstances, this is the best I can do."
The swelling in Remy's throat came on like an earthquake, and he lurched against the steering column, grabbing his throat and tasting vomit in his narrowing esophagus. He let out a muted croak of a scream, not even loud enough to be heard outside the car. The saltiness in the cognac now registered.
I'm being murdered!
Incredulous, Remy turned to see the Teacher sitting calmly beside him, staring straight ahead out the windshield. Remy's eyesight blurred, and he gasped for breath. I made everything possible for him! How could he do this! Whether the Teacher had intended to kill Remy all along or whether it had been Remy's actions in the Temple Church that had made the Teacher lose faith, Remy would never know. Terror and rage coursed through him now. Remy tried to lunge for the Teacher, but his stiffening body could barely move. I trusted you with everything!
Remy tried to lift his clenched fists to blow the horn, but instead he slipped sideways, rolling onto the seat, lying on his side beside the Teacher, clutching at his throat. The rain