The curse of Kalaan (32 page)

The two friends arrived at the double doors to the dining room without a sound and exchanged looks of surprise when they heard the Duchess Delatour’s inimitable and deeply irritating laugh.

“I thought she was dying,” Kalaan whispered.

“Weeds never die,” Dorian whispered back.

Ready for action, the men nodded at each other and Kalaan pushed open the door. He entered the room with Dorian on his heels and immediately saw the vile Darius Borgas. He was standing by the fireplace, impeccably dressed in fashionable clothes and slowly sipping a glass of whisky. Sitting in armchairs nearby, were the duchess, stuffed like a sausage into her pink dress, and her silent grandson. At Kalaan and Dorian’s entrance, the threesome fell quiet and Darius stiffened and blinked in surprise, probably sensing that his time had come.

“Is that proper attire to attend supper in my presence?” blustered the old bat, her triple chin wobbling with indignation.

“Shut up, Your Grace!” Kalaan who was glaring at the duchess spoke coldly and deferred to her title with sarcasm.

The battle-ax sputtered at the brazen insult and went beet red, whereas Charles-Louis discretely smiled for the first time since he woke up that morning.

“My smelling salts, someone bring me my salts!” she screamed.

“If you don’t stop screaming, I will knock you unconscious immediately!” Kalaan promised the old bat as he walked towards her. “I can promise you to do so with great tact, as is my custom.”

His threat struck home and the duchess Delatour, turned white as a sheet. Her screams transformed into little pig-like squeals as Kalaan moved closer to her.

However, Kalaan wasn’t trying to approach the pretentious duchess, but instead Darius Borgas, who, sensing danger, was inching his way towards the French windows. He stiffened even more when he realized that exit was also blocked. Dorian stood in front of the windows with his arms crossed over his broad chest.

Darius rapidly dropped his façade of a debonair gentleman that he used in presence of the duchess to show his true face, a cruel face with evil eyes and a bloodcurdling grin. Deciding that cynicism would be an appropriate weapon he looked Dorian up and down hissing.

“The Tuareg pagan would like to pass for a civilized man, but there’s still a lot of work to do.”

“One can appear civilized, and yet be nothing more than a mediocre creature in both thought and act,” retorted Dorian, serenely.

“You will pay for those words!” Darius spouted clenching his fists, but not moving an inch.

“And one can also be a coward, yet hide behind a mask,” Kalaan added as he stepped forward hand on the hilt of his sword.

“What man, healthy in both mind and body, could slaughter an animal as you did that sheep?’ he asked Darius, rapping out each word in a dangerously menacing tone.

Darius sneered as he looked back and forth from Dorian to Kalaan, without denying anything. Dorian knew the contemptible character was evaluating the situation and looking for a means to escape, even at the risk of wounding or killing someone if necessary. For that same reason Kalaan, who shared his friend’s assessment of the situation went to stand in front of the Duchess Delatour to protect her despite his intense dislike for the woman; so that she couldn’t be used by Darius as a hostage.

Charles-Louis, who had sensed the danger, got up from his seat and moved to the other side of the room.

“It was nothing but a mere sheep, a useless animal that I hardly scratched and here you are turning it into an affair of state!” Darius swaggered and vaguely gestured with his hands.

“Well, you’ve just admitted your heinous crime,” growled Kalaan, narrowing his eyes. “For, you see, only my kith and kin, who I can count on my fingers, know about this affair — an innocent animal that you did more to than ‘hardly scratch’ as you put it, but whose throat you slit, then you stabbed and disemboweled him before cutting him into pieces, with savagery.”

“Ohhh!” screamed the Duchess Delatour, who was terrorized by Kalaan’s words. With surprising agility she jumped up from her chair to join her grandson on the other side of the room.

“You have no proof it was me,” the criminal spat, his mouth twitching at the corners. “One of your people probably talked. Everyone knows servants are only good for spreading stories about their masters and changing them to be more interesting.”

“As I said, a falsely civilized being, who is, in truth, little more than an idiot and a fool.” Kalaan repeated. He was watchful as he felt the man was ready to act.
Dorian? Proof?
He asked without speaking, keeping his eyes on Dorian.

“In his room at Rachel’s inn, under the floorboards near the window, they will find clothes stained in sheep blood as well as the knife used to butcher the animal.”

The Tuareg had just read his mind and Darius’ eyes widened and clouded over with fear but they quickly returned to the coldblooded eyes of a killer. He shot out a dagger that had been hidden under his sleeve and put the two men on guard. Almost simultaneously Dorian took out his Tuareg dagger and Kalaan both his sword and pistol.

“Yes, both,” Kalaan quipped, imitating Darius’ ridiculous pose when he saw his foe’s bulging eyes going back and forth from sword to pistol. Being ambidextrous, I can fight two sides at once!”

“I’m only wondering which hand I’ll cut off first!” Darius hissed in response, feigning an attack on Kalaan, before jumping back at the sound of high-pitched whistling.

Dorian took advantage of the distraction to jump Darius, grab his dagger and flatten him to the floor on his belly, then tie his wrists behind his back with his necktie. Once Darius was secured, Dorian, knee on his prisoner’s back looked up and clicked his tongue when he saw two crossbow bolts planted in the chimney mantle. Kalaan had the same reaction, and the two of them turned to look in the direction the shots came from. Virginie and Isabelle were standing there, each holding a heavy old crossbow. The young women looked quite dazed as they shook their heads in dismay.

“I didn’t shoot; it went off by itself,” Virginie exclaimed, her voice unusually high.

“Neither did I, I swear!” Isabelle affirmed.

The ladies both turned deathly pale when they realized they could have killed someone. At their sides stood Amélie and Clovis, the countess laughing nervously and the butler with his usual disdainful expression.

“My pistol may be smaller than yours, but it makes big holes!” Clovis said as he raised a weapon with a barrel so small it was hardly visible in his hand, while Amélie held an enormous sailor’s gun having belonged to her husband.

Kalaan wondered why on earth he insisted on giving orders to the women in his life when they only did as they pleased anyway. Weren’t they supposed to calmly wait in a room until someone came to get them? Yet here they were, come to the rescue and even more in danger than ever! But how could he blame them? He had to accept once and for all that the women in his life had strong personalities.

“Blast it all!” he swore because he had feared for their safety. “Put down those weapons! Especially you Isabelle and Virginie! Those crossbows are so ancient, they’re dangerously unstable!”

“Isabelle, listen to your brother!” Dorian cautioned with a hint of anger and concern in his strongly accented voice.

Everyone immediately obeyed, including Clovis who dropped his miniature pistol on the floor. The impact set it off and it fired into the door frame splintering it into pieces.

“I told you, Madame!” he spouted, ironically, “Big holes… Madame!”

“Madmen! Mad…mennn!” The duchess was screaming again, her hands on her cheeks and nervously prancing in place.

“The madmen give you permission to leave the isle, where, I will remind you, you invited yourself. You are authorized to place your Gracious fanny on the boat that… Ah, Lil’ Louis, just the man I wanted to see! I was informing Her Gracious Pain in the Ass that you would take her back to the continent on the boat; you know which one I mean.”

A loud hiccup followed by a resounding and inappropriate belch called their attention to Charles-Louis.

“I beg your pardon, please forgive me,” he murmured, turning red with embarrassment, “but…but are you talking about… the boat I was on this morning?”

“
Ya
!” replied Lil’ Louis, who had a grim expression on his face.

The seminarian started to laugh, quietly at first but then quite loudly as he turned to his grandmother looking overjoyed. “I wish you a pleasant return, Granny!” he said in a familiar tone, much to the general stupefaction of the now very large group in the sitting room.

Then turning to Kalaan he asked, “If you please, would you have a place for me here on your island? I’d be very discreet and I would be an excellent parish priest and…”

“Welcome aboard, boy!” Kalaan laughed before turning to his men and ordering them to pick up the ancient weapons. He also glanced at Virginie who seemed to be looking everywhere but in his direction.

He muttered something under his breath. He would deal with her later, after the fright she’d just given him. He tried to wipe out the vision of her getting hurt with the old crossbow. Taking a deep breath he turned around to Dorian and Darius.

His friend was standing straight and tall, and darting murderous looks at poor Charles-Louis, who was too relieved at being allowed to stay on Croz land to even notice. Dorian was fulminating so much he barely controlled his own strength, he was gripping Borgas’ forearm so hard the vile creature was whimpering in pain.

“Isabelle...” murmured Kalaan. “Zounds! Something else I didn’t see coming…”

It was now crystal clear that Dorian was attracted to his sister and that he saw in Charles-Louis a rival for her affections, hence the attack of jealousy that the contemptible Borgas was getting the brunt of.

“Dorian, go easy!” Kalaan warned. “I’d like this man to remain intact so that he may stand trial.  Although… no, untie him!”

Dorian’s eyes opened wide in astonishment, but then, reading his friend’s thoughts and wry smile, he untied Darius.

“It’s about time you came to your senses,” Darius started to say as he brought his hands forward and rubbed his wrists. But he was interrupted by a forceful uppercut from Kalaan.

“That is for my Ginny!” he shouted as Darius went flying backwards, stunned. Dorian caught him by the shoulders and pushed him back forward towards the young count.

“And this is for Skedaddle!” Kalaan growled ferociously, as hit punched Darius a second time, this time knocking him out. He fell bleeding on the floor, his nose broken.

Kalaan then turned to his crew who had not been very useful after all, not even to keep Clovis and the ladies from entering the drawing room with dangerous antique weapons.

“Take him and lock him in a stall in the stables!” he ordered “And under good guard”

“
Ya
! Cap’n!”

“You!” Kalaan called, addressing two of his men idly standing there. “Pick up those objects before someone gets seriously injured and take them to the attic. Clovis will show you the way.”

“Yes sir,” Clovis replied affably leading the sailors out.

A strange silence fell on the almost empty room. The only remaining people were Amélie, Isabelle, Virginie, Dorian, Charles-Louis and Kalaan.

“Are you injured?” the seminarian asked Virginie, when he noticed, for the first time, the green and purple bruise on her forehead.

“Oh, ‘tis nothing, really,” she said smiling reassuringly. “It’s old and almost gone.”

“And you, Mademoiselle Isabelle? Are you all right?” Charles-Louis asked Kalaan’s sister.

“She’s fine!” Dorian barked, placing himself between Isabelle and the future priest, with a fierce expression on his face, something Kalaan found highly amusing.

His friend was not the absolute master at maintaining his composure as he’d long thought. Interesting…

“
Monsieur
Salam?” Isabelle asked from behind his back. She was just now discovering the true identity of the man she’d taken for a stranger arriving out of nowhere. He turned and plunged his dark eyes deep into hers, those unique eyes that could only be Salam’s.

“Dorian Saint-Clare, at your service,” he introduced himself, with a bow.

“But… I don’t understand… you…” she stammered in disbelief.

“We will explain everything after supper,” Kalaan interrupted, taking Virginie and his mother in his arms. “’Tis time for a rest, and I’m famished! Aren’t you?”

Kalaan was decidedly the only one in the room able to think of his stomach at such a time. However, once everyone took place at the table and the footmen started serving the meal, they realized that they, too, were hungry and thirsty.

“What are your plans for Darius?” Amélie, slightly concerned, asked during the meal.

“To keep him under lock and key until Vidocq arrives with his policemen. I’ll send him a message first thing in the morning.”

Amélie nodded, mollified as was Virginie, who didn’t want Kalaan to become a vigilante with blood on his hands. Having finally found peace and wanting to celebrate, they all had a pleasant evening, the first since arriving on the isle. They even discovered that Charles-Louis was actually a cheerful sort when far from his suffocating granny as he called her. Dorian told his story, but leaving out the part about being a child of the gods and that he had supernatural powers. Kalaan’s curse was unbelievable enough as it was he didn’t think he should add to it.