Escort For The Witch: The Mystery of Psyche's Ruby

Chapter 1

The dark alleys of the old city, usually bustling at midday, were now shrouded in a foggy haze.The empty streets aside, it seemed the city was still awake, even in the dead of night. Occasionally, faint whispers could be heard in the damp, cool air, all discussing the same thing – the news that had haunted Paris, and indeed all of France, for a few days now.

Sitting on the edge of a wide bed, in the centre of a dark room, was a woman; she was clutching onto a baby peacefully sleeping in her arms and listening intently to the soft patter of the autumn rain against the window pane, humming an old French lullaby.

Every now and then, she would brush away the tears glistening on her lashes. Her thoughts were consumed by the sweet memories of last summer: the Sunday picnics and the lofty conversations about art in the shade of the lush, green trees along river Loire. She had loved spending hours in casual conversations with her husband, playing with their young son, boating, and basking in the sun's warm embrace. She had tried not to think about that day when the summer would inevitably draw to a close and they would have to return to Paris—a dusty city reeking of foul odors, and full of soulless and treacherous people trying to get their neighbor, entangled in court intrigues or conspiracies.

By day, Paris was a vibrant circus, teeming with greedy, dishonest, and perpetually dissatisfied characters. But after sunset, France's capital transformed into a terrifying 1

labyrinth ruled by street urchins, thieves, courtesans, and eccentric adventurers in powdered wigs and garish attire.

The sudden noise of an approaching horse outside the window made the woman startle.

She pushed aside her gloomy thoughts and returned to reality—a crammed room in an old, inconspicuous house near Rue Saint-Germain-l'Auxerrois.

"Madame, do you hear that? The riders!" whispered the maid, Leonie, suddenly appearing at the bedroom door, her voice trembling with fear.

"Quiet, Leonie," the woman ordered, gesturing for the maid to come closer. "Why aren't you asleep?" she whispered, noticing the genuine fear in the grey eyes of the girl.

"How can I sleep when the King is dying? Oh, Madame, it's terrifying! There are rumors that he hasn't got long left and plans are being made for what will happen to Versailles after his death. They also fear a popular uprising," Leonie babbled, sinking onto the edge of the bed beside her mistress. "All of Paris is gossiping about it. And they say a messenger arrived at the Louvre today from Versailles with some news…"

"Let's hope it's just the idle chatter of court jesters who have nothing better to do," the woman interrupted, forcing a soft smile. "The Louvre cannot exist without gossip and intrigue. You know that as well as I do, Leonie."

"Madame, do you hear that? Outside! By our house!"

The woman, now thoroughly alarmed, clicked her tongue disapprovingly at the maid and peered out into the dimly lit street. She noticed a shadow move outside. A moment later, there was a firm knock at the door. Leonie jumped up in surprise and, biting her lip, stared at her mistress.

"Madame…"

"Take Armand and stay here until I call for you."

The lady gently placed the sleeping baby in the maid's trembling hands, smoothed out the folds of her dress, and headed toward the front door, behind which the impatient stomping of horses could be heard. Taking a deep breath and counting to ten, she pushed open the door, letting in a faint stream of cool night air. Outside, a tall man stood with his back to her, trying to calm his horse which kept rearing up.

"What the devil took you so long, Blanche?" he snapped without turning to her, and handed the reins to a younger man in his command.

The man finally turned to face the frightened Blanche and gave her a tired smile.

"Hello, my dear. I know you weren't expecting me, but alas… We have much to discuss.

Auguste! Let the horses rest and prepare the carriage! And hurry, my friend!" he barked at the young man, then glanced around and quickly stepped inside, shutting and bolting the door behind him.

"What's happening, Joel? Where is my husband? He was supposed to return to Paris three days ago! He promised to send me a letter with Bernard, but Bernard never showed up. What's going on?" the young woman fired her questions anxiously, 2

hurrying to light a candle from the faint embers in the fireplace. The man tossed his wet traveling cloak onto the floor and sank heavily into a rough wooden chair.

"The journey was tough. We got attacked. Damned bandits… Your husband stayed in Versailles. He instructed me to go to Paris immediately. As for Bernard… Bernard was stabbed to death on the cursed Versailles grounds. Thank God the letter Thibault had given him was a decoy—a blank piece of paper. While everyone was distracted with Bernard's body, trying to figure out who had killed him and why, Auguste and I were already galloping toward Paris. So, my dear Blanche, now my record will likely include the murder of an old friend. Our escape played right into the hands of the true culprits in this bloody game. May they all be damned, Blanche!"

"Good heavens!" Blanche exclaimed, barely controlling her emotions. "Bernard… They say Louis is on his deathbed. Is it true?"

"It is. And I fear he won't last until dawn."

In the dim, flickering candlelight, the man could almost see all blood drain from Blanche's face.

"That can't be!" she whispered, glancing out the window. The impenetrable darkness of the night was beginning to fade, giving way to the first light of autumn dawn.

"What will become of us now?" she cried out, shuddering as she heard the soft footsteps outside.

"Don't worry, it's just Auguste. As for us… It's clear. The moment the King dies, his regent will step in. And he will waste no time putting us in the Place de Grève1," Joel smirked grimly.

"Thibault won't return," Blanche whispered in despair, her gaze blankly sweeping the small room where she, her son, and her loyal maid had been waiting for her husband for the past four days.

The man shook his head in silence, noting an instant change in Blanche's face: only a minute ago she had been lively and almost cheerful, now he saw a drooping mouth, dull eyes, and a wrinkly forehead. With a heavy sigh, Joel stood up and walked over to an old dresser in the corner of the room. He grabbed a bottle of red wine and two glasses.

He couldn't bear to see the pain and grief locked in the eyes of the woman to whom he had just delivered the gloomy news that all her hopes for a bright future had been in vain.

"No, Blanche. He won't return," he said darkly, filling his glass. "Frankly, we don't have much time left either. You know that as well as I do," he took a few greedy gulps of his favorite wine. "Ah, good wine, by the way! It's the only thing I'll genuinely miss in the afterlife," he added bitterly. "Blanche, I'll understand if you decide to…"

"No, I won't break my oath!" she said fervently. "I won't betray my husband or the others. Besides, they'll execute me anyway. So, sooner or later, but this was coming. I just didn't think it would be quite so soon. How much time do you think we have?"

Blanche stared out the window with an air of impending doom. She watched as tiny raindrops fell silently on the pavement outside, as if mourning the inevitable end.

"I don't know exactly. A few hours at most. No time to escape. Guards are posted all over France. They'll catch us no matter what, Blanche," Joel whispered, slowly approaching the petite figure of the young woman. He noticed she had grown even paler, and her trembling fingers fidgeted with a crystal rosary on her left wrist. "My brother was very lucky to have you as his wife," he said gently, placing his hands on her slender shoulders. "You have an unyielding will. Just like him. You were a perfect match. And I'm grateful to you for your loyalty – to my brother and to our Order. But now we must hurry."

"Yes, you're right. You're always right," she said with resignation, clutching the rosary so tightly that her knuckles turned white. "Leonie!" Blanche called, trying her best to appear composed. "Leonie! Come here, please!"

"Yes, Madame," the frightened maid whispered.

"Leonie, we need to talk," Blanche gestured to a chair, inviting the girl to sit down. The maid stared confusedly at Blanche and her guest, who was pacing the room like a caged animal, a glass of wine in one hand, the gilded hilt of his sword in the other.

"Yes, Madame."

"Do you remember, six years ago, when Armand was born, you said you loved him so much that you would do anything to ensure his happiness?" Blanche studied the maid's frightened face.

"Madame, I…"

"Just answer me!"

"Yes, of course. I remember. I gave you my word! But, Madame, I don't understand…

What are you getting at?"

"It's now time to keep that promise," Blanche said despairingly, brushing away the rising tears.

"Madame, I don't understand…"

"Quiet, Leonie! Just listen to me. Listen carefully!"

In a sweeping motion, Blanche removed a chunky ruby signet ring from the little finger of her left hand. The blood-red gem was framed by a halo of sparkling diamonds.

"Take this ring and hide it. Hide it as well as you can. And make sure it doesn't get into the hands of the regent or any of his lackeys! Do you understand me?" Blanche asked firmly. Before the maid could answer, Blanche rushed to an old wardrobe in the corner of the room and began rummaging around in the drawers.

"Here's a letter," Joel interjected, handing the maid a tattered envelope. "It's for Armand. Thibault wrote it. Give it to him when he's older. If, of course, you live to that day," he mouthed the last sentence almost to himself and, continued to pace the room, oblivious to the expression of horror on the maid's face.

"And here," Blanche whispered hurriedly, handing the girl a small wooden box with an intricately carved lid, " is some money and a few valuables. It should last you a while.

You can sell the box too, if needed. If anyone stops you and questioning, say Armand is your and Auguste's son, and you were just passing through Paris on your way elsewhere. Joel has also left some money and instructions for Auguste. He should know what to do. Try to blend in with the crowd, don't talk to anyone, save as much as you can, and… Leonie, you're my only hope!" Blanche suddenly cried out and fell to her knees, grabbing the maid's hand and squeezing it till the maid squealed in pain. "You won't abandon him, will you? Promise me you won't ever leave my son!" she pleaded, turning around to face Auguste who had come in from the rain and, without a word, strode toward the bedroom where her son was peacefully asleep.

The maid, utterly bewildered, looked to Joel for help, but he seemed transfixed, staring at the ring she held in her hand.

"Madame! How could I? I promise your son will be safe! But what should I do with this ring?"

"The carriage is ready, sir. We can leave now," the young man reported quietly, holding the sleeping baby wrapped in a woolen blanket.

"It's not about the ring," Joel muttered thoughtfully. "It's the stone. That damned ruby.

It must not fall into the wrong hands. Otherwise, the consequences will be disastrous.

So be careful, Leonie. Trust no one, don't show it to anyone, and don't talk about it to anyone. And for God's sake, don't try and sell it! Now it's time to say goodbye," Joel he added, helping Blanche to her feet. "Be strong, Blanche. It won't be long now."

The woman stifled a cry of despair and, with unsteady steps, approached the young man who was still holding her precious baby in his arms.

Careful not to wake her son, Blanche slowly leaned forward and kissed him on the pale-cheek. She froze when the baby turned his head toward her, then covered her face and began to weep quietly.

"I hope one day you will understand me. And you will forgive me," Blanche whispered through her sobs, kissing her son one last time. She carefully removed the rosary from her wrist and wrapped it around the baby's tiny hand. Then she turned away and gestured for Auguste to leave.

"Leonie! Go get ready, now! It's almost dawn!" Joel boomed. "You must leave immediately! Auguste will stay with you until the end. Trust him. I'll see you off now."

The terrified maid stumbled to her feet and, clutching the box tightly, rushed to her room. Joel sighed, shook his head and knelt beside the grief-stricken mother. Sitting on the bare floor, her face buried in her hands, Blanche could finally let her tears flow. She 5

sobbed, hating herself for the outburst, clawed at her arms until they bled, trying her best to not get up and run after the carriage.

"We knew what we were getting into. It was our choice," Joel said grimly, pulling a small glass vial with dark thick liquid out of his coat pocket. "There's enough here for both of us. In twenty minutes, it will all be over."

"Sir, we're ready," the maid whispered, peeping into room and paling at the sight before her.

The man looked up, mental exhaustion in his faded green eyes, and issued a resigned smile.

"I'll be there in a moment, Leonie. Take my cloak. I won't need it anymore," he said hoarsely.

Without further ado, the maid snatched up the cloak and ran out, leaving the sad room and her old life behind her for good. Joel turned back to Blanche.

"Blanche, my dear, look at me," he gazed into her grief-stricken grey eyes. "Are you ready?"

For a moment, Blanche relaxed, as if comforted by peace of mind, that often comes with full acceptance of the inevitable, and a faint smile appeared on her bloodless lips.

She nodded slowly, casting one last sad glance out the window. With trembling fingers, she took the vial from Joel and, closing her eyes, took a reluctant sip. Before she could take another one, Joel snatched the vial back from her and drained it in one greedy gulp.

"May God protect you," he whispered, kissing Blanche on the forehead, and then hurried out of the house, leaving her alone, consumed by grief.

Joel staggered up to the carriage where the petrified Leonie still sat, holding the sleeping baby close to her chest and rocking softly.

"Now listen to me carefully, Leonie. If something happens, should you be in danger, should you be chased or captured, you must do everything in your power to break the stone! Understand? Break the stone!" Joel half pleaded, half ordered, noticing his voice tremble treacherously, a hot wave rising in his throat and darkness clouding his vision.

"Do you understand me, damn it?!"

"Yes, sir. I understand," the maid whispered.

"Now, Leonie, goodbye. Don't forget the letter! Auguste, my friend! Drive! Drive as fast as you can! Get out of Paris! And don't ever come back! Never! And may God help you!" Joel turned on his heel and staggered back toward the house.

Back in the room, he got to the table, picked up a candle, and moved to the curtain covering the only tiny window. Immediately, the curtain was a ablaze, the flames spreading in every direction. The man smirked, put out the candle nonchalantly, and tossed it into the farthest corner before sinking to the floor beside Blanche's lifeless form. He was relieved to notice that the mark of sorrow that had shadowed his unfortunate sister-in-law's face during their final conversation had now completely 6

vanished, replaced by an expression of eternal peace – a peace born in acceptance of the fate they had chosen for themselves. Joel's trembling fingers brushed against Blanche's cold cheek. He heard alarmed cries not far off the outside and, a moment later, breathed his last.

That same gloomy, damp morning of September 1, 1715, at a quarter to nine, a proclamation was read from the balcony of the royal palace at Versailles: "Le Roi est mort, Vive le Roi2!"

Louis XIV3, the Sun King, was dead.

About the same time, the regent, Philippe II, Duke of Orléans4, had a secret meeting with the captain of the royal guard, ordering him to recover "Psyche5", a famous ruby, and all those rumored to have been involved in its disappearance. The culprits were to be interrogated and executed, but it had to be done secretly, without drawing much or any attention of the royal court.

Blanche de Mercier, the wife of Thibault de Mercier, was to be accused of witchcraft, interrogated, tortured, and then taken outside Paris and burned at the stake. Thibault de Mercier and his brother, the conspirator and instigator Joel de Mercier, along with their followers, were to be accused of heresy, slander, and sorcery. They were to be publicly quartered at the Place de Grève. The "traitors' " remains were to be fed to stray dogs, reminding Parisians, and all of France, that betrayal and disrespect for royal authority would be met with merciless cruelty.

Chapter 2

I woke up to a "light" sensation of weightlessness. However, only the lower part of my body felt weightless—the part below my neck. Meanwhile, my head had somehow transformed into a bell that was being hammered on by a thousand invisible, massive, sadistic mallets. These little metaphorical sadists live in everyone's brain, hiding carefully until such an unfortunate time when they are let loose to wreak havoc on our bodies. This 'time' is otherwise known as a bender.

So, I was in a state of not-so-weightless weightlessness and couldn’t lift my head off the pillow. With my eyes still shut, I tried to analyze the situation. That is, to try and assess how much alcohol I had managed to put in me the previous night. What had set me on my drinking spree? What was I thinking? Was I thinking of the consequences?

Was I at all thinking? Those were the questions I couldn't answer for the life of me.

I tried to roll over onto my right side and felt an unpleasant, prickly pain shoot through my body, followed by another mallet blow to where my brain was supposed to sit.

After more tossing and turning, I became aware of even more pesky discomforts: extreme dryness in my mouth, mysterious humming in my ears, nausea, and a now crystal clear realization that I remembered absolutely nothing about what had happened last night! But then if I don’t remember, there’s nothing to be ashamed of… Right?

Something wet and cold touched my already aching ear, snorting loudly. Then this something pressed against my cheek and snorted again. I tried to push whatever was so diligently trying to wake me up away. And of course, I couldn’t. Should I have even been surprised.

"Gigantor, back off!" I mumbled, still unable to open my eyes.

I'm just like everyone else living on planet Earth: I do have an occasional drink. But ever to experience a hangover, and such a bad one at that? Heaven forbid! So, apparently, something must have gone wrong here big time… But what was it exactly that had caused to me to go off rails?

Rewind a few days back. Oh, now I remember! Two days ago, my better half and I were not seeing eye to eye, to put it mildly. We had an epic fight because I had flatly refused to fly to France. And why did we need to fly to France? Because we are getting married! That’s it! Our wedding is exactly one week away! But surely that wasn’t the reason to… And by the way, how long has it been since?

"And didn't I tell you, their pool game wouldn’t end well?" came an irritated female voice from some way off. "No one ever listens to me."

Pool! That’s it! The answer to the question that has been tormenting me since I regained my ability to think. Another wet nudge to my cheek made me shudder. I tried to turn my head toward my relentless, snorting attacker and look it straight in the face.

Or rather, the muzzle. Success! A few torturous attempts later, and I finally managed to pry my eyelids open. Peering into my puffed up face was not the habitually displeased muzzle of my cat Gigantor, but rather the devoted gaze of the warm brown canine eyes.

Seeing that I was awake, my beloved blondie eagerly jumped to her feet and barked loudly.

"Abby, ugh! Stop it, please!" My speech was still slurry, and I was racking what was left of my brains over how my parents’ golden retriever ended up in my house. With a mammoth effort, I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling.

"Well, well! Look who's awake!" someone next to me said sarcastically. And I decided it was time to face the music and find out how my so-called "bachelor party" had ended.

It cost me some rather painful sensations, but I finally managed to sit up. The effort blurred my vision nausea engulfed me, and my head spun wildly. Summoning all my willpower, I turned my head to look around me. Yes, there I was, in my parents’ house.

"How are you feeling?" a calm, almost too calm voice next to me enquired. I turned to face a short woman with neatly styled dark hair and angry green eyes. With her hands on her hips, she stood there waiting for my reply.

"Water!" I pleaded, and it was all I could muster. The woman snorted disapprovingly before disappearing through the door leading to the kitchen, followed by the loud clattering of crockery. Then, like a magician, she reappeared in front of me with a full glass of life-saving whiskey.

"Mom, I adore you," I said lovingly, though still incoherently, and drained the glass, feeling the liquid burn my insides on descent.

"Oh, do you, really? And is that all you’d like to say to me?" Mrs. Renton crossed her arms and gave me a piercing look.

"Tell me what you want to hear, and I’ll say it, promise," I replied sincerely, if a little cheekily. The sound of my muffled voice and my slurry speech took me aback for a second. And my jaw was strangely sore…

"You know, Jack, I wouldn’t mind if you got down on your knees and crawled after me around the house, begging for my forgiveness and showering me with gratitude," Mom said dreamily and gave me another knowing look, as if it was supposed to jog my memory somehow and make me feel guilty for whatever it was that I had done the night before.

" I’m… – sorry?" I asked uncertainly.

" You’re sorry… Fine. And where’s the ‘thank you, mom’?"

" Thank you!" I muttered with a throbbing pain in my jaw.

" For what? " Mom asked, putting her hands on her hips again.

" For treating my hangover?"

" And for that too!"

" Mom, are you messing with me? Please, can’t you just tell me what happened?

Surely, I’d…"

" For getting you out of jail," Mom interjected calmly and sat on the edge of the coffee table, positioning herself directly in front of me.

" Jail? Please, tell me you’re joking!" I couldn’t believe my ears, nor could I conjure up any shred of recollection of that in my mind.

" Jack, sweetie, you know I am absolutely deprived of any sense of humor. But you, apparently, have plenty!"

" Mom! What happened?"

" You had a fight," Mom said calmly, taking off her glasses and carefully wiping the lenses clean with the corner of her kitchen apron.

" A fight? " I repeated dumbly, although I was starting to see how this explained the sore jaw.

"A fight with a police officer," Mom went on, her piercing green eyes fixed on me.

"No way!" I muttered in surprise. "Me? Police? What police?"