Among Wolves. Nancy Wallace K.

raised his wine glass and gestured. “I think it is, monsieur. My friend Devin is merely a scholar. Unlike his brothers he holds no position of authority in his father’s government. His influence on any current policy is as negligible as your own. Why do you care what he thinks or does?”

      “His actions reflect badly on his father!” LeBeau protested. “He shows a disregard for authority!”

      Dr. Rousseau interrupted. “I disagree! I think that it is time the provinces were recognized for the contributions they make to Llisé. We would starve without their produce and wine. Viénne’s business would grind to a halt without provincial horses to pull our carriages and our supply wagons. Their mills provide the paper for every official document that is written in the capital and yet the makers of that paper could be thrown in prison for using it to record their own business!”

      “Dr. Rousseau, your opinions could land you in prison, as well. I advise you to keep them to yourself!” LeBeau snapped.

      Devin stood up and addressed those at the table. “Excuse me, please. Courtesy requires that meals remain free of political and religious discussion. I, personally, find it difficult to eat with all this shouting. Please continue without me and my companions.” He turned to the Captain. “Would it be possible to have our dinners served in my cabin?”

      The Captain rose, clutching his napkin, his face the color of the setting sun.

      “Of course, monsieur, I am so sorry. Please accept my apologies.”

      Marcus pushed his chair back and crossed the room to wait, glowering, in the doorway.

      “Thank you,” Devin said with a little bow. “Please enjoy the rest of your meal, if you can.”

      Gaspard snagged the wine bottle from his end of the table and followed Devin out the door.

      They went down the passageway in silence. Devin fumbled with the key and then waited until the others preceded him into the room. When he closed the door, his hands were shaking.

      “Well,” he said, turning to Marcus. “I suppose you think I handled that badly.”

      “On the contrary,” Marcus replied. “I thought you handled it quite well. You left LeBeau looking very much like the ass Gaspard reported him to be.”

      “I wasn’t expecting him to try to embarrass me publicly.”

      Gaspard collapsed on Devin’s bunk and uncorked the wine. “He embarrassed himself. I doubt that anyone else agreed with him, Dev.”

      “St. Clair seemed quite pleased with LeBeau’s opinions,” Devin pointed out. “He was glowering at me through most of the meal.”

      Marcus folded his arms and leaned against the wall. “St. Clair bears watching and so does LeBeau. LeBeau accomplished what he intended to do tonight. If only one of the other passengers repeats this conversation to someone else, the rumor could spread quite quickly that your father favors education for the masses and elevating the Chronicles to Archival status.”

      “I never advocated either of those things!” Devin protested.

      “No, you didn’t but LeBeau made certain that those views entered the conversation. Whether you actually voiced them or not has little to do with it,” Marcus said.

      “I’ll admit I find it difficult to support a system which educates a merchant’s son enough to carry on his father’s business but denies him the right to become a physician or priest unless he finds a sponsor to encourage his scholarship.”

      “Apparently, Dr. Rousseau agrees with you.”

      Gaspard leaned back against the window and grimaced. “Why don’t you put your stuff away?” he grumbled, pulling Devin’s knapsack out from behind him.

      Devin just stared it. “I put it under the bunk when I left.”

      He and Marcus grabbed for it at the same time, spreading the drawstring at the top to reveal a sheaf of folded papers.

      “Your itinerary?” Marcus asked.

      “It appears to be,” Devin replied. He unfolded it, thinking it seemed thicker than before. Something dropped to the floor from between the pages: two twigs tied with red colored thread that formed a miniature cross. He stooped to pick it up but Marcus grabbed his wrist.

      “Don’t touch it,” he warned.

      “Why?” Gaspard asked, bending over to see it better.

      “It carries a curse,” Marcus replied.

      “I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Devin said.

      “You would never learn about such things in the Archives,” Marcus said, “but cursed crosses are quite common in the rural provinces. Superstition claims that the curse will come true for the first one who touches it.”

      “What kind of a curse?” Devin asked.

      “It depends on the color of the thread,” Marcus explained. “A blue center promises misfortune, a yellow one – illness, gray – disappointment, and red symbolizes death.”

      “So, someone wants me dead?” Devin asked incredulously.

      “It would seem so.” Marcus stooped to slide the offending object onto a piece of paper but it eluded him, skittering across the polished wooden floor.

      “For God’s sake!” Gaspard protested, picking the thing up between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s only two twigs and some thread. What possible harm could it do?”

      Devin watched with a shiver of apprehension as Gaspard unlatched the tiny window and flung it out into the sea. Whoever wished him ill, had entered his locked room and tampered once again with his belongings. The theft and return of the itinerary no longer seemed quite so trivial.

      Gaspard turned from the window with a grin. “There, it’s gone. Put it out of your head, Dev. You never touched the thing so the curse can’t come true!”

      “But you touched it,” Marcus pointed out darkly.

      Gaspard tipped the wine bottle to his lips. “What are friends for?”

       CHAPTER 6

       Revelations

      Gaspard chattered constantly during dinner. The clink of silverware provided a subtle counterpoint to his monologue. Despite his apparent good humor, Devin realized that the incident with the twine-wrapped cross had shaken Gaspard deeply. He simply wasn’t about to admit it to anyone.

      They had no clue as to who had broken into Devin’s room. Gaspard and Marcus had entered the ship’s dining room just before Devin, and all the other passengers were present. So, it was impossible to tell who might have been responsible for placing the cross inside the itinerary. Obviously, whoever had done it, either had access to the Captain’s master key, or was a trained thief. No one they had met so far seemed a likely suspect, and Devin was tired of speculation. They’d sat for hours over the little folding table littered by fish bones piled on dirty dishes and greasy, discarded napkins. Devin and Gaspard had perched on the bunk, giving Marcus the only chair in the tiny cabin.

      Gaspard lifted the wine bottle to refill Devin’s glass, but he covered it with his hand.

      “I’ve had enough,” he muttered irritably, “and so have you.”

      “Lighten up,” Gaspard demanded, topping off his own glass. “Why don’t we just forget about the whole thing? No one’s been hurt. It was probably just a childish prank. Someone is simply trying to scare you. If they’d intended to kill you, they could have laced the cross with poison. All you would have had to do was