The Scrivener s Tale - By Fiona McIntosh Page 0,12

been skirting the Tuileries; gorgeous on summer nights, but a little too dark for comfort on a winter eve like tonight. Cars whizzed down the wide boulevard of the rue de Rivoli but he barely noticed them. He was looking for one establishment and there it was, next to the equally celebrated hotel Le Meurice. Angelina was an early 1900s tea salon and cafe, once known as Rumpelmayers. The rich and famous had frequented it and still did, although these days it was on the pathway of the tourist stampede. It was closed though tonight. Gabe was deeply disappointed, especially since he could already taste his first sip of the famous Chocolat L'Africain and now would have to go without. He strolled by the Louvre, hauntingly lit and knew the cathedral was not far away now.

Notre Dame loomed, floodlit and imposing - especially tonight with the moon so bright and the Seine waters reflecting their own light back onto the structure. Gabe walked around the building; he was particularly fond of the flying buttresses about the nave but he always found something new to enjoy about the gothic structure. Tonight it was cold enough to move him along faster than usual and he was quickly heading for the Petit Pont, the bridge that would take him across the river onto the Left Bank. Perhaps he'd head for Les Deux Magots for the second-best hot chocolate in Paris.

High above, hiding behind one of the structures that Gabe had been admiring moments earlier, the same dark figure that had studied him this morning while he dreamed now watched his retreating back until he was lost in traffic and the darkened streets beyond the river. It blinked, looking into the night, as still as one of the famous 'grotesque' sculptures that decorated the cathedral. After a long time the watcher stirred and hopped back along the buttress and onto the part of the building that housed the choir, disappearing into the blackness of the night. No-one saw or heard it. But it had marked Gabe ... and now it knew him.
Chapter Three
The next morning at the bookshop passed slowly, but Gabe kept himself busy in the office catching up on paperwork. Eventually his rumbling belly told him it was nearing lunchtime. He emerged from the office stretching, wound his way down the rickety staircase and saw that the shop was all but empty.

'I'm just ducking out for a baguette,' he said. He didn't offer to pick up for anyone else. Didn't want that becoming a habit.

The day had not improved with age. It was overcast and drizzly. He zipped up his jacket. He didn't walk along the river, as the cafes here tended to ply their trade - and their prices - for hardy tourists. Instead he walked deeper into Saint-Germain unaware that he was being followed.

'Bonjour, Gabriel,' he heard a familiar voice call after him.

He turned. Reynard waved to him. He was not alone. Standing alongside, dwarfed by the tall physician was a fragile-looking girl. Gabe could hardly ignore them. He smiled weakly.

'Bonjour, Reynard ... mademoiselle.'

'This is Gabriel, whom I've mentioned,' Reynard said to her.

Gabe noticed how Reynard held the girl's arm. There was something possessive in his stance. Reynard was nervous, too. Gabe took all this in with a brief gaze at the man and then shifted his attention to the reason they were surely paused in a damp, narrow street of Paris. She turned her dark and solemn eyes on him, but said nothing. He felt his breath catch slightly. She looked like a piece of exquisite porcelain; her skin was almost translucent it was so pale. Her ebony-black hair cut bluntly in a bob only accentuated her alabaster complexion as it skimmed the line of her jaw. It was a severe style yet she seemed to wear it with ease, and the texture was shiny and slippery like silk. In that moment he wanted to touch it.

He cleared his throat. 'Forgive me, I hadn't expected to meet anyone,' he said, cutting a look at Reynard.

'Gabriel, could you spare us just five minutes of your time?' the man began, and when Gabe started to shake his head Reynard put a hand up. 'A quick coffee,' he appealed. 'Two minutes ... if you could just ...' His words ran out as he gestured at his companion.

Again the dark eyes of the girl regarded him. How odd. He'd thought they were dark brown, but now he