As Natalya steered the dinghy towards the shoreline, Maestro’s mind drifted back to the phone conversation with the gendarme and it took some convincing to assure him of their innocence in Ryan’s attack. However the policeman relaxed when the Maestro offered Ryan’s parents an invitation to visit, and the fact they’d already paid for Ryan’s medical expenses added further assurance. Witnesses at the attack site backed up Maestro’s story and after some tense hours of investigation by agents from the gendarmerie, they’d cleared him of any involvement in the heinous crime... although Ryan’s parents visiting would add another awkward ball to juggle. On top of all that, permits were still needed for the huge marquee. Authorities still hadn’t responded to their application for a public rally and media interests hadn’t settled on a firm price for positive coverage of the event.
“Stop worrying, Maestro, and enjoy the day,” Robere’s brusque voice made him flinch.
Maestro stared at the larger-than-life leader. It was alright for Robere to say stop worrying; he wasn’t on the front line. Maestro wanted to explain the difficulties that could arise and the knock-on effects to their plans if he dropped only one ball in the juggling act, but Robere’s intimidating presence and charismatic aura overpowered the youth and kept his mouth firmly shut.
As the early morning sun immersed the mountains in orange morning light, Natalya skilfully motored the small dinghy against the jetty pylons and grabbed one in a huge bear hug, holding the vessel steady as the two men scampered ashore.
“Thank you, dear one!” Robere smiled a winning smile, stealing Natalya’s ability to speak. Nobody had ever called her dear one before.
Maestro was about to regurgitate the list of instructions he’d already given her when Robere walked off and called over his shoulder, “Maestro!”
Leaving Natalya in mid sentence, Maestro scampered off to join Robere.
“She’s not a child, nor a fool; leave her to enact what you have already given her.”
The two men walked steadily towards the Quai de Clarens and bypassed the parking area alongside the Rue du Torrent when Maestro began searching the space for the usual hired limousine, expecting it to be waiting for their approach. “Where’s the limousine?” Maestro puzzled out loud.
“I thought we would take the train and enjoy the company of the poor working class for a change, Maestro.”
Maestro’s eyes bulged in disbelief and his mouth hung open in shock. The Gare de Montreux was still a good couple of kilometres walk and Robere, even now, hadn’t informed him of their planned destination for the day.
As the minutes drifted into an hour, the quays began to shake off their late night routine and come to life in a stretching morning yawn, drawing eager crowds from their beds to gather along the festival strip. Robere, as usual, was attracting incredulous staring gawks to his grey kaftan figure, black beard and long hair, but he didn’t seem to notice, instead becoming increasingly mellow to the point Maestro was becoming concerned.
Robere shuddered in anguish as he mingled among the crowd. “Oh, Maestro! Doesn’t your heart break for these lost little ones?! Hopeless and blissfully ignoring the indicators of the coming wrath and trying to quench the spiritual signposts warning them of a painful eternity and distracted by the pointless pleasures of satan’s world.” Robere began to weep and it appeared as if his heart was about to give out on him. “Take me away from here, Maestro. My time is not yet and my words will have no effect until the appointed moment.”
*~*~*~*
Seated opposite Robere, Maestro contemplated the view through the train window down to the shoreline of Lac Léman and tried to come to terms with Robere’s strange behaviour and his peculiar statement: My time is not yet and my words will have no effect until the appointed moment. He glanced down at the S1 ticket firmly grasped in his hand and wondered where the short domestic line would lead, apart from stopping at all stations as they travelled further south from Montreux.
Unexpectedly, Robere was on his feet and it appeared as if he was intent on leaving the train at the next stop. “Veytaux, Maestro, this is where we get off!”
Maestro followed Robere obediently and when the train jolted to a halt, both men alighted among disbelieving stares from fellow passengers. As the train slowly pulled away from the unmanned station, Robere turned 360 degrees on the platform, lifted his hands skyward as if asking for directions until his eyes settled on the spires of the Château de Chillon 300 metres further down the track.
“There, Maestro, we have come to our journey’s end and our mission for today is to explore the ancient castle.”
Maestro’s frustration level began to climb through the clouds; he had so much to do and Robere was acting so freaky and out of control, and now they were to spend the day exploring a twelfth-century castle tourist attraction.
The two men quietly sauntered south along the Quai Alfred Chatelanat and as the epic castle loomed in their view, Robere suddenly became more animated and full of joy. “This will be an adventure, Maestro, I can feel it!” he danced.
A speeding train rattled past the two walkers only metres from their path and pushed up a thundering windstorm as the carriages flashed by, and just as quickly as it had come, the whirring carriages were gone. The 300 metre walk from Veytaux station to the castle ambled alongside the clear waters of Lac Léman and idled past the white sands of Chillon beach before finally arriving at the castle entrance and the barrier where all prospective visitors emptied their pockets of hard earned Swiss francs.
Robere danced inside the first courtyard and spun around on his heels like an overgrown kid, calling to anyone who was in ear shot, ”Ma belle Suisse...! Heaven on Earth...! The Father’s joy and His representation of Eden!” The joy and peace radiated from the kaftan-clad man’s face and his delight was infectious, with many tourists joining in with his animated song. Ecstatically pushing on into the armoury, the dancing Robere led the way, followed by a less than enthusiastic Maestro close behind.
The pair broke into the dungeon with Robere falling silent, his face switching from delight to deep compassion. He found Byron’s esteemed carving on a pillar holding up the dungeon roof and huffed with disdain; and then searched a confined dark passageway which led to the side. Before Maestro could steer the frenetic man away from the claustrophobic dim passage, Robere was down on his knees and had disappeared inside the entrance. Several minutes went past as Maestro nervously waited for Robere to return from his exploring adventure, hoping he wouldn’t have to go for help to extricate his overzealous leader trapped in one of the castle’s many cramped and trackless meanderings.
Robere’s kaftan-clad figure unexpectedly backed out of the closed space and brought immediate relief to the Maestro, but as Robere’s form appeared into the half-light, he was dragging something from the opening. Maestro stared in awe and his mouth fell open, glaring at the impossible scene, and then as if forced to act by an unseen hand, raced in to assist Robere.
*~*~*~*
Chapter 63
A prickly, fear-fuelled shiver erupted up and down Anne-Claire’s spine, then found a coursing path into her limbs and electrified her tiny hands into a panicked tremble. Two deafening screams echoed throughout the antechamber and with no possibility to escape the heavy rock tomb, reverberated around the solid room like a vibrating church bell. Not unlike the scream, the bell’s toll originates from the unyielding clapper tonsil striking the impressive lip, intensifying in the bell’s thick walled metal waist and amplifying through the concave mouth. As if drawing urgent attention to a dire unknown situation and attempting to insulate the victim from the reality of harm, a solid wall of deafening noise becomes the body’s only plausible response. Even Niccolo had taken a back seat with his ability to scream by Anne-Claire’s terrifying discord.
In the intense green light of Anne-Claire’s iPod, she came face-to-face with a figure of a girl her own age staring wide eyed, frightened beyond fear and chained to the rock sentinel holding up the
dungeon roof. Bound to the spot by irons and unable to escape her imagination or the terrifying image of approaching fey, the girl was forced to confront the stunned horrific reality of a floating apparition; but before she could scream again, the apparition spoke.
“W... who are you?” Anne-Claire stammered, staring unflinching at a young woman dressed elegantly in a long green gown with features so soft and extremely pleasing to the observer.
The figure trembled, rattling the chain attached to her wrist and secured to the rock pylon, staring back at Anne-Claire with abject fear etched across every part of her attractive features. She scrutinised Anne-Claire in shock and then averted her eyes as if Anne-Claire was improperly dressed, making Anne-Claire feel uncomfortable and ashamed; the same emotion she’d experienced when the caped avenger had urged her to take his cloak and cover her immodesty.
“A... are you a ghoul sent from the pit of the abyss to torment me for my sins and then drag my wretched soul back with you? Please! I know my life has been girded with selfish indulgence and luxury, but I have only just begun to live and as you can see, I am suffering for my guilt. Give me another chance and behold, I will endeavour to change my ways.”
“Huh?!” Anne-Claire exclaimed. Had this poor prisoner lost her mind chained up in the dark?
Niccolo had taken a lengthy pause between songs and now with fresh crashing rhythm from his enervated band, he broke into another intense scream and filled the stunned silence with his bawl. The terrified figure began to back away from Anne-Claire and the screaming thing she held in her hand, but stumbled as the chain inhibited her retreat and then stared at the device, convinced her moment had come.
“Do you bring the sounds of hell with you to torment me before you tear my soul from within me?” the figure shuddered, gaping at the box in Anne-Claire’s hand but then catching a glimpse of Anne-Claire’s immodesty again, she turned away swiftly.
Anne-Claire hadn’t understood any of the young woman’s peculiar communication, but it was obvious Niccolo’s screaming performance was disturbing her greatly. She swiped at the volume control and Niccolo’s song stopped in mid screech, drawing a sudden staring and openmouthed response.
“You are a ghoul come to take my soul; even the demons obey you!” the young woman panicked.
The fog was slowly starting to roll away from Anne-Claire’s understanding. Either this girl was an impressive actor like the caped avenger, or she really didn’t appreciate the iPod and Niccolo’s bawling screech. Now that Anne-Claire was feeling more at ease in the strange surrounds, she decided to test the gown-clad girl and trap her with a clever question. Anne-Claire would start with something neutral and unthreatening, before moving onto other more substantial contrivances much harder to fake.
“My name is Anne-Claire and I’m not a ghoul from the abyss, but a girl just like you. Tell me what your name is and maybe we can figure out together what is actually happening here.”
The figure once again turned to face Anne-Claire, but quickly averted her stare and focused on a shadow at the back of her dungeon. “M... my name is Dominique, Dominique de Blonay and my father’s name is Baron de Blon...” Dominique stopped in mid explanation, pondering the strange response from the young woman.
A frown had settled across Anne-Claire’s face and her eyes stared in disbelief.
“Do you know of me, Mademoiselle?” Dominique’s question left Anne-Claire struggling for comprehension.
Anne-Claire answered with a shocked nod. “Y... you were on your way to visit your sister, Nicolaïde and you... you were abducted!” Anne-Claire stuttered.
Dominique glared at Anne-Claire with incredulous and suspicious eyes. “How did you know that, Mademoiselle?”
“What year is this?” Anne-Claire demanded, a peculiar thought forming in her mind as she pondered Dominique’s costume, but almost assured she would trap this performer in a baited question.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Dominique answered as if Anne-Claire was asking what colour the sky is. “Why, it’s July 1879, but I’ve lost count of which day it is.”
Anne-Claire gawked dumbfounded at the girl’s response; but Dominique had a question of her own.
“Then do you know where I am and who is responsible for my imprisonment?”
*~*~*~*
In the early dawn light, Pensive nickered a hearty good morning as he was led from the chalet stables; but the night had passed in anguish for the brave Baron Willy de Bad, with his dreams filled and traumatised by the haunting beauty of Dominique de Blonay desperately calling across the night’s empty void from her prison somewhere. Throwing Pensive’s blanket over the steed’s muscular back, the stable hand aligned the Rougemont coat of arms perfectly straight—a proud bird treading the mountaintops and backed by the red coloured ochre found in the mountains about the village. With the emblem clearly identifying the Rougemont gentry and with the saddle buckled in place, de Bad climbed effortlessly astride his mount and once the stable worker had handed the reins up to the gentleman, a defining command followed.
“Hah...!” Simultaneously, de Bad’s spurs encouraged the steed to make haste and galloped away, his hooves clacking loudly on the cobblestone roadway.
Turning south from the overnight accommodation, de Bad followed the ancient Roman roadway—the main trade route into Switzerland for centuries—but his mind kept repeating the gossip abounding in the halls of the public accommodation chalet. Rumours of Dominique de Blonay’s abduction were on everyone’s lips and the tongue of accusation rested on many contenders, but most agreed the abduction handiwork resembled the tyrannical fingerprints of the scoundrel Jean-François de Blonay, Dominique’s distant cousin.
A strange sight met Baron de Bad as he approached the Chillon castle fortress, slowing Pensive to a steady walk to take a closer look. He could see two men frantically searching the castle’s frontage around boulders and under bushes with flaming torches held high above their heads, but it wasn’t until de Bad came alongside did he recognise the two explorers.
“What troubles you, Jean-François?” de Bad called from his mount and startled the search party.
“Ah! The illustrious de Bad. What brings you past the castle at such an early hour?”
“I might be affording the same enquiry of yourself,” de Bad retaliated, not wanting to give any hint of his journey, especially since Jean-François was the prime suspect.
“It appears my friend, Henri here, has lost a nymph he spotted bathing in her underwear and did the gentlemanly thing to cover her shame, but now it seems she has run off and taken his riding cape with her. I merely lent my assistance to a friend in need.”
“You are none but a fructuous cad, Jean-François, and your activities are highly suspicious and regrettable. Now be a man and admit you had none to gain in the abduction of the fair Dominique de Blonay.”
“My dear de Bad, what need I of two wives of exquisite countenance? Duly Nicolaïde keeps me well satisfied and poor to boot. If you do not believe my innocence, then be my guest and search the place you suspect I keep Dominique prisoner confined in Chillon’s stronghold; and when you have found but naught, I will accept your public apology and finally my name will be once and for all cleared of the fair maiden’s abduction.”
Baron Willy de Bad scowled aggressively down at Jean-François’ arrogant stance, turning over the challenge in his mind and pondering whether to accept the deliberate contest or just ride off and look for another avenue to find the wife he sought. Pensive lunged forward under de Bad’s spur, but de Bad pulled him back suddenly and stopped the powerful animal in his tracks, causing the confused beast to circle and throw his head in frustration.
“I accept your terms, Jean-François, but if I am found to be right and Dominique is apparent in your possession then you are to offer Baron de Blonay a suitable recompense for Nicolaïde and allow her family access to her and her children as well. You will compensate Dominique for the angst you have plied upon her, and you will a
lso offer Tavel recompense for stealing his wife and sullying her good reputation.”
Jean-François stared at the tall and dark haired figure of de Bad in defiance. There was much at stake, but he couldn’t back down now and only arrogantly gestured towards the imposing outline of the Château de Chillon, allowing de Bad complete access to all areas of the iconic bastion. “Best of luck, de Bad, but I can assure you, you won’t find her!”
*~*~*~*
Chapter 64
Shocked, Anne-Claire’s mind reeled, staring into Dominique’s dark eyes and trying to come to terms with the information she’d so openly offered. Anne-Claire had never seen such clear and innocent eyes reflecting virtuousness and seemingly incapable of treachery. In some preposterous way, Dominique’s childlike expression had convinced her the troubled imprisoned beauty was completely trustworthy, leading Anne-Claire to believe she’d somehow stumbled into 1879.
“You are in the Château de Chillon, Dominique, but I have no idea who has done this to you,” Anne-Claire wondered about her own sanity as she played along with the incredible charade.
Dominique’s brow furrowed trying to comprehend Anne-Claire’s words, at the same time pulling hard against the chain in frustrated aching agony and making it clank attempting to relieve the pain in her arm while she studied Anne-Claire’s face. “And what of your own misadventure, Mademoiselle? Who is the scoundrel that has stolen your gown and left such an attractive young woman as yourself to roam around in her underwear and at the lustful whim of any cad who desires to take you?”
Anne-Claire glowered at Dominique in frustration. This whole underwear thing was starting to annoy her, but then she glanced across at Dominique’s gown and realised her Bermuda shorts and blouse were altogether inappropriate for a lady to wear in public for Dominique’s era and in fact they did resemble ladies’ underwear of that time period. “These are not underwear, but what ladies wear in my era,” Anne-Claire couldn’t believe what she had just said and judging by Dominique’s astounded grimace, she was having trouble believing her, too.