Sacred Sword by Scott Mariani

Author:Scott Mariani [Mariani, Scott]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781847561985
Amazon: 1847561985
Publisher: Avon
Published: 2012-05-23T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty-Five

After their meal, Ben and Jude headed back to the Auberge and climbed the stairs to the twin room. It was small and basic, but everything worked and it was warm. The twin beds were neatly made and each covered with a hand-knitted woollen spread. Jude flattened himself on the bed nearest the door, let out a loud sigh and closed his eyes. For all his bravado, Ben could tell he was still completely overwhelmed by the events of the last couple of days.

Ben dumped his jacket on the other bed next to where he’d left his bag earlier, settled himself in an armchair and cast his eye around the room. He liked its simplicity. No television, no radio, no internet connection. No smoke alarm. He liked that too. Civilised. He took out his Gauloises and Zippo. Thumbed the lighter’s flint striker wheel and relished the smell of burning petroleum-based fluid from the flickering orange flame.

There was nothing quite like a Zippo. Made in Bradford, Pennsylvania, U.S.A. since 1933. Simple, rugged, battle-tested, as timeless and dependable as a Browning Hi-Power automatic pistol. Ben touched the flame to the tip of the Gauloise and tasted the welcome sting of the strong smoke at the back of his throat.

‘You shouldn’t smoke so much,’ Jude’s voice came from across the room.

Ben clanged the lighter shut and took another draw on the cigarette. ‘Why?’ he said.

Jude shrugged his shoulders against the bedspread, still lying flat on his back with his eyes shut. ‘You’ll die,’ he said simply.

‘I’m truly touched by your concern.’

‘Who said I was concerned? I just said that people who smoke will die.’

Ben looked at him. ‘So if I stop smoking, I won’t die?’

Jude gave another shrug. ‘No, obviously you’ll still die,’ he said after a beat.

‘So I can either die doing something that gives me pleasure,’ Ben said, ‘or I can die avoiding it out of fear. I think I know which way I’d rather live my life, thanks.’

Jude didn’t say any more. After a while, his breathing settled into the slow, steady rhythm of sleep. Ben turned off all the lights except for the little lamp near his armchair. He finished his cigarette and sat thinking for a few minutes. ‘Fuck it,’ he murmured to himself, tempted by another cigarette. He put one to his lips. Reached for the Zippo. Thumbed the wheel. There was a spark from the flint, but no flame. He tried again. ‘Fuck it,’ he repeated. So much for classic design and utter dependability. The damn thing had run out of lighter fluid.

Remembering that he carried a spare can, he sprang up out of the armchair and went over to root in the depths of his bag.

The first thing he found was the Bible he’d taken from the vicarage. He gazed at it for a moment, then put it back in the bag and continued rummaging. His fingers closed on something small and solid. It wasn’t the lighter fluid, either, but he took it out and held it tightly in both hands.

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