The Dark Queen by Susan Carroll

Author:Susan Carroll
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 9780345482143
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2005-03-29T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

Shadows lengthened along the walls of the stone house in the countryside just beyond the suburbs of Paris. The place bore a gloom-ridden aspect and was shunned by its nearest neighbors. Monsieur Vachel Le Vis might be deemed a great and holy man, appointed by God to rid the world of witches, but even honest citizens dreaded to have his dark eye turn in their direction. Especially when he was in one of his black moods, as he had been ever since his return yesterday.

At such times only the boy Simon Aristide dared to wait upon his master. Carefully balancing the ewer of warm water, he carried it upstairs, glad that within the confines of the master’s house, he could shed his heavy black robes. He moved much more quietly and quickly in his simple tunic and breeches.

Easing open the door to the master’s bedchamber, Simon picked his way cautiously inside the darkened room. He set down the ewer upon the washstand and then cracked the curtains open, allowing a small ray of afternoon light to penetrate the chamber.

Simon gazed anxiously at the figure shivering on the massive four-poster bed. Monsieur Le Vis had fallen into one of his wild and unpredictable humors ever since their expulsion from Faire Isle. The Comte de Renard’s men had been ruthless, driving their brotherhood all the way out of Brittany. Master Le Vis had been grim and silent throughout the entire ordeal, saying nothing even after their return to the house.

He had sealed himself up in his room, refusing to eat or drink, the chamber deathly silent except for the dull thuds and the occasional outcry of pain.

Tiptoeing toward the bed, Simon called softly, “Master?”

Lying on his stomach, his head twisted to one side on the pillow, Le Vis stared at Simon through a matted tangle of hair, his drooping eye glazed over.

But what truly caused Simon to shudder was the sight of the master’s back, that pale expanse of flesh criss-crossed with angry red weals.

“Oh, master, what have you done to yourself?” Simon murmured. When the wild mood came upon him, he had known Master Le Vis to attempt to purge himself, but never to this brutal extent.

Simon made haste to fetch the basin closer. Dipping a cloth in the water, he prepared to minister to the master’s wounds. But Le Vis thrust Simon’s hands away.

“No, boy.”

“But, master, you must allow me to help—”

“The only way you can help me is to, to hand me my—”

His features contorted painfully as he bent, groping for the scourge he had dropped upon the floor.

“No, master!” Simon cried. Le Vis’s hands closed around the thick handle of the whip, while Simon fought desperately to wrench it away from him.

“Let go, boy. You . . . don’t understand. Must continue . . . must purge out the poison.”

Simon struggled until he succeeded in pulling the whip away. Ordinarily he could not have prevailed against a man the size and strength of the master, but Le Vis was greatly weakened by the punishment he had been inflicting upon himself.

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