MV02 Death Wears a Crown Read Online Free

two thieves pulled to an abrupt stop at the sound of the shot. The presence of the impressively uniformed Gendarme officer was not part of their plan. The priest quickly dispatched the closest of the brigands with a sharp blow to the head with the candlesnuffer.
    Caught between the two threats, the third thief turned and ran along the front of the church and disappeared down its side. Vernet hurried after him, only to find the man had run into a cul-de-sac. The back of the alley was blocked by a story-high wall.
    The thief spun in panic and slashed out with the short fisherman’s knife; it was a nasty blade, curved, commonly used for gutting and scaling fish. Fortunately Vernet was too far away and the blow passed harmlessly in front of him. In the man’s other hand was the gem-encrusted gold chalice from the altar, worth more than the thief could earn in a lifetime; he was dressed in a tattered and stained shirt and pants such as were used in the white uniform of the Guard Nationale. Vernet reckoned this man was a deserter and so doubly desperate to escape from a member of the Gendarmes: the punishment for desertion was hanging.
    They paused for a moment, Vernet with his sword raised and the thief looking desperately for escape.
    “Surrender,” Vernet ordered. His sword had more than a foot of advantage in reach over the dagger.
    The thief seemed to realize this and his hands sagged. Both men started to relax and Vernet was already forming the question he would ask when without warning the deserter threw the chalice at his face.
    Taken off-guard, Vernet staggered back, fumbling with his free hand to catch the sacred vessel before it struck the paving stones.
    Seeing his chance the thief tried to rush past, switching the knife to his left hand and swinging the blade to force Vernet further back as he passed. Vernet fell against the weathered stone wall of the church and brought his sword around in a rapid slash intended to strike a glancing blow to his opponent’s chest; the thief’s own desperate rush drove the edge deeply into his neck, partially severing his head. The man dropped, twitching.
    Irrationally, all Vernet could think of as he retrieved the chalice was to avoid getting any blood on his uniform or Victoire would have a difficult time cleaning it.
    By the time the city watch had arrived, Vernet had returned the chalice and the priest had given absolution to the last of the thieves. The blow from the thick brass pole, or his fall to the paving stones, had cracked the skull of the man the priest had struck.
    The local corporal’s outrage over the slaughter in his street gave way to careful respect when he recognized the uniform of an Inspector-General. He was even more grateful when Vernet allowed him and his patrol to take credit for stopping the theft. It was not that Vernet cared whether anyone in Paris heard of this exploit, but Victoire would worry if she learned of his encounter. Miraculously his uniform, the last of his good ones, was neither cut nor stained.
    To Vernet’s frustration the watch knew all three men, local brigands whom they had long sought. But the priest was most effusive in his thanks and so was more than willing to answer the Inspector-General’s questions.

    * * *

    “And that is all you have learned in three days?” Victoire said in surprise as they dawdled over their luncheon. Vernet seemed more excited than the information he had gathered warranted, but she said nothing.
    “The priest was the most helpful—I’ll give that fisherman his due,” Vernet continued, unaware that he was fiddling with his wine cup. “Père Antoine said that he had seen muffled lamps out to sea at two in the morning, east of where the lobstermen lay their traps.” He had a bit more of the lamb after he had offered it to Victoire. “I tried all yesterday to find someone who could tell me more than the priest, but either they do not know or they will not tell. One of the lobstermen threatened to