Swordsman's Legacy. Alex Archer

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СКАЧАТЬ why, when I studied documents and files and researched dusty old archives for years,” Annja said, “I was never led to Chalon-sur-Saône.”

      “Because it makes little sense.” Ascher hooked a palm over the outside mirror. A bend of his fingers flexed his muscular forearm. “To find the sword in possession of the wife?”

      “And the ex- wife, at that,” Annja returned.

      “Such a cad! D’Artagnan had no true affection to any particular woman,” Ascher said.

      “Exactly,” she agreed. “Dumas certainly got that part right. The musketeer basically married for money, got the wife pregnant and then went off to play shoot-’em-up with his military buddies. Though, part of me likes to believe he did love Charlotte. Initially.”

      “There is no doubt that he did. A Frenchman does not take love lightly,” Ascher said. He spoke English, and it rang with a delightful accent. “But a soldier—especially a Gascon—was more devoted to military service than family.”

      “Yes, the Gascons. Born and bred to the fight. They served in great numbers in the French army. You mentioned you are originally from Gascony?”

      “ Oui! But I would not be so foolish had I a lovely wife at home,” he said.

      Without turning her attention from the road, Annja could feel Ascher’s glance heat the side of her face. The man was a charmer.

      Nothing wrong with that, she thought.

      “‘A plague upon the Gascons!’” she said, quoting Rochefort’s vehement frustration from the text of the Dumas story.

      “‘Monsieur, I love men of your kidney,’” Ascher quoted back. “‘And I foresee plainly that if we do not kill each other, I shall hereafter find much pleasure in your conversation.’”

      “Athos to d’Artagnan,” Annja said. “But I see you more as the young Gascon.”

      “I am flattered. Then you shall be my Constance Bonacieux.”

      “I hope not. She was strangled by Milady de Winter while awaiting d’Artagnan’s straying affections,” Annja exclaimed.

      “True, true. Very well, I will hold reservation on your fictional counterpart, Annja. For now.”

      She smiled and stepped on the brake lightly as they made a sharp curve that took them onto a narrow gravel road that edged a thick forest of colorful maple and leaf-stripped birch. If anyone approached from ahead, she’d have to pull into the shallow grassy ditch to pass.

      “Back to the mystery of the sword.” Annja flipped the inner vents closed to keep most of the gravel dust out of the car. “It’s surprising to think our musketeer would gift a woman, who likely did not love him because of his obsessive call to duty, with a valuable sword.”

      “Maybe it was given to her with the intention his children would reap any reward found? He had two sons,” Ascher said.

      “Yes, Louis and Louis,” Annja agreed.

      “Both claim Louis XIII and Louis XIV as godfathers. Now, that is a family who loved their king.”

      “Charlotte-Anne must have been quite the woman,” Annja said

      “Yes, she divorced her husband in a time when divorce was not considered. But they remained friends. I believe it was not just for their children, but that d’Artagnan was genuinely in love with his wife.”

      “He was more in love with adventure,” Annja said.

      She knew the feeling. Relationships took a back seat to her wanderlust. And defending the world from evil tended to put a damper on romantic notions.

      She noted that Ascher had not relaxed in the seat since getting in the car. He leaned forward, his eyes to the road and, often, on her.

      “I think the seat is adjustable, if you’re not comfortable?” she said.

      “Ah, no worries.” He smoothed a palm along his left side. “An injury that is yet stiff, you see.”

      “How’d it happen? Base jumping? Extreme running—what did you call it?”

      “ Parkour. Running all over building tops and jumping at high speeds. You use the architectural landscape as your obstacle course. Very exciting. Good for the quads, glutes and delts. You should give it a try.”

      “I just may.”

      He tossed her an approving nod.

      “But that was not how I came to this injury. It is of no importance. Up there, just around the corner, we’ll find the dig site. Why are you stopping, Annja?”

      In the rearview mirror, the sight of the big black SUV that had barreled up on them put Annja to caution. The pistol jutting out the passenger’s side could not be ignored.

      She couldn’t outrun the monster truck in her little beater. While her gut prayed it was merely mistaken identity, her intuition screamed that this vacation had suddenly taken a new yet familiar twist.

       3

      Annja stopped the car on the country road. The sun had set, but the sky still glowed yellow. The SUV’s headlights dimmed in the rearview mirror.

      “For reasons that elude me, we’ve been followed,” Annja said.

      Tilting a glance across to her passenger, she was taken aback to spy him nervously swipe a palm down his face.

      What had she stepped into?

      Certainly she had jumped into the adventure with little more than anticipation for a fun excursion. No parachute, that was for sure—parachutes were for wimps. Yet now that she had jumped, it had become apparent she should employ caution at all turns.

      “Ascher, do you know the hulking, black-suited men who are currently getting out of an imposing SUV, tucking pistols into their inner pockets and marching toward us?”

      The man’s sudden lack of conversation struck her to the core. Annja sucked in a heavy breath.

      “Ascher, my background check on you didn’t turn up any jail time or criminal leanings.”

      “You checked me out?” he asked, sounding offended.

      “Obviously not well enough. What have you involved me in? Have you enemies who feel the need to keep tabs on your every move?”

      “Every man gains an enemy or two in his lifetime, no?”

      “No—”

      A thud against the window alerted them both. Annja twisted in the driver’s seat to spy two palms pressed flat to her window. Ten fingers disappeared, and were replaced with the barrel of what looked like one of her favorite pistols, a 9 mm Glock. It wasn’t her favorite at the moment.

      From outside the car, a staunch French voice commanded they exit with their hands up.

      “Be СКАЧАТЬ