Andre ignored the stares and wrinkled noses as she entered the lobby of the Luxembourg and made her way back to her rooms. She knew that Hunter would be furious. Doubtless, he had returned by now to find her gone with no word of explanation left. She had taken the carriage and some of their money and now she was returning, soiled and smelly, after having been gone all morning and much of the afternoon. She prepared herself to face his anger. Pausing at the door to their apartment, she took a deep breath and entered. There was no sign of Hunter. Relieved, she went into the bedroom to change her clothes.
Hunter was in bed, with the covers pulled up over his head. Quietly, so as not to wake him, she tiptoed to the closet. Then she noticed that the clean white sheets were stained with crimson. She jerked back the covers.
Hunter's throat was slashed from ear to ear.
5
Moreau's Tavern was a noisy, friendly place, patronized mostly by the members of the working class and, on occasion, by gentlemen in search of some diversion. It was a rough-hewn sort of place, with cracked white walls, one of which was decorated with a mural placed there by a local artist with a decidedly erotic bent, cheap and sturdy furniture (the better to survive the occasional donnybrook) and heavy-timbered ceiling. Moreau's establishment was a tavern in search of a character and, in that, perhaps, lay its charm. Elderly men played chess at quiet tables in the corners, younger men played cards, gentlemen rubbed shoulders with common laborers as they drank their fill, and prostitutes solicited the patrons, albeit very politely and in a subdued, indirect manner. Moreau would not allow it any other way.
The aging seaman held court in his establishment with a charm and joie de vivre that made his tavern a popular spot, and he was tolerant of the excesses of his patrons, but only to a point. Although he was sixty-two years old, Moreau was still as strong as an ox and one did not argue with him unless one were deeply in his cups and, in such a case, the conclusion of such an argument could be sobering in the extreme.
Messrs. Dumas and D'Laine inquired as to the rooms their friend, Monsieur Legault, had arranged for them and Moreau had them sign the register for one of several rooms he let out on the tavern's second floor. Lucas raised his eyebrows when he saw Finn sign in as Monsieur F. D'Laine.
"Well, if you can be Alexander Dumas, I can be Francois D'Laine, so long as we're posing as Frenchmen."
"But D'Artagnan already knows you as Delaney," Lucas protested.
"So? If we run into him again, I've Frenchified my name for the sake of convenience."
"Frenchified!"
"Whatever."
Their room was spartan, nothing more than four walls, a couple of ramshackle beds, a small table, and a basin.
"If you'll be wanting anything more, it's extra," said Moreau.
Lucas assured him that if they needed anything, they would let him know.
"No food before eight o'clock," Moreau said, "and none after nine at night. And there'll be no eating in the rooms, if you please. If you're hungry, you come downstairs and get fed in the tavern. I'm trying to keep the rats down." He pointed at the foot of the bed in the corner. "Chamber pot is under there. When you're done, you fling it out the window in the hall, into the alley. Don't leave it sitting, stinking up the place. I run a clean establishment."
"So I see," said Lucas, eyeing a large roach as it scuttled across the floor. Moreau spat and hit the roach dead on, slowing its progress only for a moment. He shrugged.
"There's still a few around, but I'm getting rid of 'em."
"How?" said Finn.
"Snakes," Moreau replied. "Bought three of 'em from a sailor friend of mine. Don't you worry, though; they're not the poisonous sort. You find one in your bed, just toss it out upon the floor."
"The snakes will eat the rats, I think," said Lucas, "but I don't believe they'll eat the roaches."
"You sure?"
"I think so."
"Hmmph. That explains it, then. I was wondering why there were still so many of them. What eats roaches, then?"
"Lizards."
"Lizards!"
"Lizards."
Moreau seemed to consider this a moment, then he shook his head. "No, then I'll be up to my ears in lizards."
"The snakes will eat the lizards," Finn suggested.
"And then I'll still have the roaches," Moreau said. "What's the point?"