The Tangled Web by Mike Dixon

The Tangled Web by Mike Dixon

Author:Mike Dixon [Dixon, Mike]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780648140306
Published: 2017-11-11T22:00:00+00:00


Chapter 35

Chinon

It was 6 o’clock in the evening when they reached Chinon but the sun was still high. Lizzie recalled that France kept to Central European time, which amounted to being on summer time all the year round. Add summer time and that put them two hours ahead of the sun. So, as far as the sun was concerned, it was 4 o’clock in the afternoon.

It had stopped raining but the sky was far from clear. Dark clouds hung around menacingly. Zak urged the Bretons to get their tents up before it started to rain again. Lizzie put up hers beside Zak’s and waited while he changed out of his Duke of Alençon costume.

He emerged in the flashy gear he wore when he intended to go out for a night on the town. The Bretons had changed and were similarly dressed. As usual, Zak spoke to them in French. But his French was no longer refined. When he took off his Duke of Alençon gear he stopped being Zak-the-Mystic and reverted to Zak-the-Yobbo.

The Bretons were much the same. When they wore their medieval gear, they embroidered their language with high-sounding phrases, in Breton, from the Arthurian legends. Now, they were speaking entirely in French and swearing at every opportunity.

Zak told them to behave as if they were polite schoolgirls on a trip into town. The pageant organisers were out to get them and had brought in the police. That was why they’d had to put up with so much shit over the past few days.

‘The cops will soon back off,’ someone said.

‘Too fucking right!’ another yelled.

‘Yeah! Fuck ‘em!’

The rest joined in. There was something ritualistic about the outburst. Lizzie guessed they’d done it before. She watched as they worked themselves into a frenzy and began to chant.

‘Don’t mess with the Web!

Don’t kick against the spikes!’

The chanting stooped and they strode towards their motorbikes. Lizzie climbed onto hers and followed along behind. She was still dressed as Joan of Arc. There were advantages in that. Joan’s helmet was packed with surveillance equipment and her armour would provide good protection if things got rough and she needed to fight her way out.

***

Zak took them to a bistro that sold Budweiser. The Bretons preferred Carlsberg. Lizzie didn’t care what they drank. It made no difference. They would be sloshed before the evening was out and she wasn’t going to hang around and wait for that to happen. She left them arguing over the rival merits of American and European booze and made her way to the tables outside. They were sheltered from the rain by transparent plastic awnings. She found a table near a gas heater, reached for her phone and hit up Jon’s number.

‘Hi, it’s me.’

Kirstin had taught her never to use her name if that could be avoided. There was no need to make life easy for anyone who might be snooping.

‘Where are you?’ Jon asked.

‘In town. There’s an American bar down by the river. Our friend has taken his buddies there and they are laying into the booze.



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