The dark woods were like something out of a Tolkien novel. Austin carried a device Gandalf the wizard would have envied. The miniaturized Global Positioning System could put them within yards of the chateau. Using a compass in the initial stages of their journey, they struck out through the woods in the general direction of the chateau.
The woods were thick with clawing brambles and foot-catching underbrush, as if the Fauchards had somehow extended their malevolence into the flora surrounding their ancestral home. As the sun sank lower in the sky, the woods grew darker. Traveling in the dusky light, the two men stumbled over roots, and needle-sharp thorns caught at their clothes. Eventually, they broke out of the forest onto a dirt path that led to a network of well-used trails. Austin frequently consulted the GPS and it proved its worth when he saw a glow through the trees from the turrets of Chateau Fauchard.
At the edge of the woods, they crouched in the trees and watched a lone guard make his way along the edge of the moat. When the guard rounded the far wall of the chateau, Austin set the timing mode on his watch.
“We're in luck,” Zavala said. “Only one sentry.”
“I don't like it,” Austin said. "Nothing in my brief acquaintance
with the Fauchard family leads me to believe that they treat their own security lightly."
Even more suspicious, the drawbridge was down and the portcullis up. The water in the strange war-the med fountain tinkled musically. The tranquil scene stood in stark contrast to his last visit, when he'd driven the Rolls into the moat under a hail of bullets. It seemed all too inviting.
“You think it's a trap?” Zavala said. “All that's missing is a big hunk of cheese.” “What are our options?”
“Limited. We can turn around or keep moving and try to stay one step ahead of the bad guys.”
“I've had my fill of grapes,” Zavala said. “You didn't say anything about an exit strategy.”
Austin clapped Zavala on the shoulder. “Here you are, about to take an exciting tour of Chateau Fauchard, and you're already thinking of leaving.” .
“Sorry I'm not as blase as you are. I was hoping for a more dignified exit than driving a Rolls-Royce into a moat.”
Austin cringed at the memory. “Okay. Here's the plan. We will offer to trade Emil for Skye.”
“Not bad,” Zavala said. “There's only one little hitch. You flushed Emil down the drain.”
“Madame Fauchard doesn't know that. By the time she finds out, we will be long gone.”
“Shame on you, bluffing an old lady.” Zavala pursed his lips in thought. “I like it, but what if she doesn't bite? Is that when we call in the gendarmes?”
“I wish it were that easy, old pal. Picture this. The cops knock on the chateau door and the Fauchards say, ”Search all you want.“ I've been in those catacombs, you could hide an army in that labyrinth. It could take weeks to find Skye.”
“And time isn't on our side.”
A thoughtful look came to Austin's eyes. “An hour is worth a hundred years,” he murmured, checking his watch.
“Is that from one of your philosophy books?” Zavala said. Austin was a student of philosophy and the bookshelves in his Potomac boat-house were crammed with the works of the great thinkers.
“No,” he replied thoughtfully. “It's something Dr. MacLean said to me.”
The guard emerged from the other side of the chateau, cutting their discussion short. Austin clicked his watch again. The sentry had taken sixteen minutes to perambulate the chateau.
As soon as the guard started on another round, Austin signaled Zavala. They dashed across the open space and followed the moat to the arched stone bridge, then sprinted across the drawbridge into the courtyard. In their black clothes, they were almost invisible in the shadows along the base of the wall. Lights glowed in the first-floor windows of the chateau, but no guards patrolled the grounds, further raising Austin's suspicions.
He was sure his instincts were on target when he and Zavala came to the gate guarding the staircase to the ramparts. When he and Skye had inspected the gate, it was locked. Now it was wide open, an invitation to climb to the wall and cross over a narrow bridge to the turret. Austin had other plans. He led the way across the cobblestones to the rear of the chateau and descended a short stone staircase to an ironbound wooden door.
Austin tried the handle. The door was locked. He extracted a portable drill and a handsaw from his pack, drilled several holes in the door and sawed out a circular section. He reached in through the hole, raised the bar and opened the door. The putrid mustiness of the catacombs welled through the doorway like the exhalation of a corpse. They switched on their electric torches, stepped inside and closed the door behind them.
They went down several short flights of stairs. Austin paused briefly at the dungeons, where Emil had paid his bloody homage to Edgar Allan Poe. The pendulum hovered over the wooden table, but there was no sign of the unfortunate Englishman, Lord Cavendish.
Austin blundered down a few blind alleys, but his mariner's sense of direction held him in good stead. Before long, they passed through the bone-filled ossuary and followed the route to the armory. Again, a door was unlocked. Austin pushed it open and he and Zavala stepped into the altar area. The armory was in darkness except for a glow that came from the far end of the nave. The flickering yellow light glinted off the highly polished armor and weapons.
Zavala glanced around at the display. “Cozy. I like the combination of Gothic and heavy metal. Who's their interior decorator?”
“Same guy who worked for the Marquis de Sade.”
They made their way along the long nave past the lethal relics that were the foundation of the Fauchard fortune. The light grew brighter as they came up behind the mountedTcnights. Austin went first, and as he stepped around to the front of the display he saw Skye.
She was seated in a sturdy wooden chair that was flanked by braziers, facing the charging figures on horseback. Her arms and legs were bound tightly with rope and a piece of duct tape had been stretched across her mouth. Two shiny suits of armor stood at her sides, as if ready to defend Skye against the fierce onslaught.
Skye's eyes widened. She shook her head vigorously, becoming more frantic as Austin drew nearer. He was reaching for his sheath knife so he could cut Skye's bindings when out of the corner of his eye he detected motion. The armored suit on his right was on the move.
“Oh hell,” he said for want of a better reaction.
Clanking with each step, the suit raised its sword hand and advanced on Austin like an antique robot. He backed away.
“Any suggestions?” Zavala said, doing the same.
“Not unless you brought a can opener.”
“How about our guns?” “Too noisy.”
The other suit had sprung into life and was advancing as well. The armored figures closed in with unexpected speed. Austin realized that the knife he had in his hand would be about as effective as a toothpick. Skye was struggling in her chair.
Austin wasn't about to be sliced up like a salami. He put his head down, charged toward the nearest suit and threw a football body block across the jointed knees. The suit teetered, dropped the sword and, with arms flailing, toppled over backward and hit the stone floor with a horrendous crash. The suit's occupant gave a feeble jerk of his legs and arms and then he was still.
The other suit hesitated. Zavala duplicated Austin's body block with equal effectiveness. The second suit of armor crashed to the floor. While Austin cut away Skye's ropes, Zavala bent over one fallen figure, then the other.
“Out cold,” he said with pride. “The bigger they are, the harder they fall.”
“It felt like tackling a Bradley fighting vehicle. All those misspent hours watching NFL football weren't a waste of time after all.”
“I thought you were worried about the noise. That little dustup sounded like a couple of skeletons making love on a tin roof.”
Austin shrugged and carefully peeled back the duct tape covering
Skye's mouth. He helped her rise from the chair. She stood on shaky legs, threw her arms around Austin and gave him one of the longest and warmest kisses he had ever experienced. “I never thought I'd see you again,” she said.
A silvery laugh issued from the shadows of a nearby cloister. Then a tall slender figure whose face was obscured by a gauzy veil stepped into the flickering light from the braziers. The diaphanous fabric covered her form down to her ankles. Light filtered through the veil, outlining her perfect figure.
“Charming,” she said. “How utterly charming. But must you always be so dramatic in your comings and goings, Monsieur Austin?”
Marcel stepped out behind the woman, a machine pistol cradled in his hands. Then six more armed men melted from dark corners. Marcel relieved Austin and Zavala of their weapons.
Austin glanced at the motionless suits of armor. “From the looks of that pile of tin, I'm not the only one with a flair for the dramatic.”
“You know I like the theater. You were at my masquerade ball.”
“Masquerade ball ”
She slowly unwound the veil from her face and head. Hair that looked as if it had been spun from gold thread tumbled to her shoulders. Slowly, seductively, she removed the rest of the veil as if she were taking the wrapping off a precious gift and let it drop from her body to the floor. Underneath the veil, she wore a long, low-cut gown of pure white. A gold belt with a three-headed-eagle design encircled her slim waist. Austin peered into the cold eyes and felt as if he'd been struck by lightning.
Even though Austin knew about the mysterious workings of the Lost City enzymes, the logical part of his mind had never fully accepted them. It was easier, somehow, to believe that the formula for the Philosopher's Stone, misused, could produce ageless nightmarish creatures than to imagine that it could create a mortal of such astonishing godlike loveliness. He had assumed that the formula would extend life, but not that it could roll back the effects of fifty years of aging.
Austin found his tongue. “I see that Dr. MacLean's work was far more successful than anyone could have imagined, Madame Fauchard.”
“Don't give MacLean too much credit. He was the midwife at the birth, but the formula for the life that burns within me was created before he was born.”
“You look a lot different from a few days ago. How long did this transformation take?”
“The life-extending formula is too powerful to be taken at once,” she said. “It calls for three treatments. The first two doses produced what you see before you within twenty-four hours. I am about to take the third.”
“Why do you need to gild a lily?”
Racine preened at the unlikely comparison to a delicate flower. “The third dose makes permanent the effects of the first two. Within an hour of completing the treatment, I will begin my journey through eternity. But enough talk of chemistry. Why don't you introduce me to your handsome friend? He seems unable to put his eyes back into his head.”
Zavala had not seen Madame Fauchard in her former, older incarnation. He knew only that he was in the presence of one of the most dazzling females he had ever encountered. He had muttered words of amazement in Spanish. Now a slight smile cracked the ends of his lips. The guns pointed in his direction did nothing to cool his appreciation for a woman who was apparently perfect in every physical way.
“This is my colleague, Joe Zavala,” Austin said. “Joe, meet Racine Fauchard, the owner of this charming pile of stone.”
“Madame Fauchard?” Zavala's mouth dropped down to his Adam's apple.
“Yes, is there a problem?” she said.
“No. I just expected someone different.”
“Monsieur Austin no doubt regaled you with descriptions of me as a bag of bones,” she said, her eyes flashing.
“Not at all,” Zavala said, absorbing Madame Fauchard's slim figure and striking features with wondering eyes. “He said you were charming and intelligent.”
The answer seemed to please her because she smiled. "NUMA evidently chooses its people for their gallantry as well as their expertise. It was a quality I saw in you, Monsieur Austin. That's why
I knew you would try to rescue yon fair maiden.“ She eyed their purple-stained skin. ”If you wanted to sample our grapes, it would have been far less trouble to buy a bottle of wine than to bathe in them."
“Your wine is out of my price range,” Austin said.
“Did you really think you could enter the chateau without being detected? Our surveillance cameras picked you up after you crossed the drawbridge. Marcel thought you would climb to the outside wall and come in that way.”
“It was kind of you to leave the stairway gate unlocked.”
“You were obviously too smart to take the bait, but we never dreamed that you could find your way through the catacombs. You knew the chateau was well defended. What did you hope to accomplish by coming here?”
“I had hoped to leave with the mademoiselle.”
“Well, you have failed in your romantic quest.”
“So it seems. Perhaps, in the interests of romance, you would offer me a consolation prize. At our first meeting, you said you would tell me someday about your family. Here I am. I'd be glad to tell you what I know in exchange.”
“You could never equal what I know about you, but I admire your audacity.” She paused a moment, crossed her arms and lightly pinched her chin. Austin remembered seeing the old Madame Fauchard make the same gesture of thought. She turned to Marcel and said, “Take the others away.”
“I wouldn't do that if I were you,” Austin said to Marcel.
He stepped protectively in front of Skye. Marcel and the guards moved in but Madame Fauchard waved them away.
“Your chivalry appears to know no bounds, Monsieur Austin. Have no fear; your friends will only be taken a short distance away where you can see them. I want to talk to you alone.”
Madame Fauchard motioned for him to sit in Skye's vacated chair,
and snapped her fingers. Two of her men brought over a thronelike chair of heavy medieval construction and she settled into it. She said something in French to Marcel, and he and some of his men escorted the prisoners a short distance, but still in view, while others dragged away the suits of armor.
“Now there are just the two of us,” she said. “Lest you entertain any illusions, my men will kill your friends if you do anything foolish.”
“I have no intention of making a move. This encounter is much too fascinating to end so soon. Tell me, what's with the high priestess outfit?”
“You know how I enjoy costumes. Do you like it?” Austin couldn't take his eyes off Madame Fauchard in spite of himself. Racine Fauchard was stunning in the way a finely crafted wax figure is perfect in every feature considered important, except one. Her soulless eyes held all the warmth of the cold steel that the Fauchards had used to fashion their swords and armor. “I find you absolutely enchanting, but ”
“But you don't readily consort with a hundred-year-old woman.” “Not at all. You've aged quite well. I don't usually consort with a cold-blooded killer.”
She raised a finely arched eyebrow. “Monsieur Austin, is this your strange way of flirting with me?” “Far from it.”
“Too bad. I've had many lovers in the last hundred years, but you're a very attractive man.” She paused and studied his face. “Dangerous, too, and that makes you even more attractive. First, you must fulfill your part of the bargain. Tell me what you know.”
“I know that you and your family hired Dr. MacLean to find the elixir of life he called the Philosopher's Stone. In the process, you killed anyone who got in your way and created a group of wild-eyed mutants.”
“A cogent summary, but you've only scratched the surface.”
“Scratch it for me, then.”
She paused, letting her memory drift back through the years.
“My family traces its ancestry back to the Minoan civilization that flourished before the great volcanic eruption on the island of Santor
ini My ancestors were priests and priestesses in the Minoan snake goddess cult. The snake clan was powerful, but power rivals drove us off the island. A few weeks later, the volcano erupted and destroyed the island. We settled in Cyprus, where we went into the arms business. The snake evolved into the Spear, then to Fauchard.”
“How did you get from spears to mutants?”
“It was a logical outgrowth of our arms business. Around the turn of the century, Spear Industries set up a laboratory to try to design a super-soldier. We knew from the American Civil War that trench warfare would make future battles a stalemate. First one side would charge, then the other, with little gain in ground. They would retreat in the face of the automatic weapons that were being developed. We wanted a soldier who would charge the trenches without fear, like a Viking berserker. In addition, this soldier would have super endurance and speed, and fast-healing wounds. We tried the formula on a few volunteers.”
“Like Pierre Levant?”
“I don't recall the name,” she said with a frown.
“Captain Levant was a French officer. He became one of the first mutants your research created.”
“Yes, he seems vaguely familiar. A dashing, handsome young man, as I recall.”
“You'd never recognize him these days.”
“Before you condemn me, you must know that they were all volunteers, soldiers who were excited at the prospect of becoming supermen.”
“Did they know that along with these superhuman powers, their appearance would change rather drastically?”
“None of us did. The science was crude. But the formula worked, for a time, anyhow. It gave the soldiers superhuman strength and quickness, but then they deteriorated into uncontrollable, snarling beasts.”
“Beasts who could enjoy their new bodies forever.”
“Life extension was an unexpected by-product. Even more exciting, the formula promised to reverse aging. We would have succeeded in refining the formula if not for Jules.”