Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 10] - Lanterns by Patricia Veryan

murmured,
"I fancy most men tread softly around our major. I wonder why he does
not want me to tell his fortune."
    Yves' shaggy little pony and Orpheus were tethered at the
lodge gate, and as the two men left the terrace and started down the
drive-path, Yves halted. " 'Allo? 'Allo?" he said, annoyed. "I do not
care to make the shout. It is truth that beside you Yves is always as
if walking in the ditch, but if you could your mind remove from the
tres
belle
mademoiselle, you might 'ear those things I say."
    Diccon flushed slightly. "A proper fool I should be to allow
my hopes to drift in that direction. I apologize if my mind wandered.
Now tell me—have you finished the deliveries?"
    Yves directed a much-tried look at the sunny skies. " 'Ave I
not said it? Your beast I bring to you now, for we sail tonight."
    "Tonight! There'll be a moon, you fool!"
    "And the more large fool I, if we stay."
    The grey stallion nudged his master's shoulder and whinnied a
greeting, and Diccon caressed the silken neck affectionately before
giving in to rank flattery and offering the carrot in his pocket.
    Watching this fond reunion Yves said solemnly, "They come,
mon
ami.
Two with the long memory who love not this Yves, but
who love much less my Diccon."
    "They're not alone." Diccon shrugged. "Likely at least half a
hundred men would rejoice to hear of my departure from this world. Yet
I live."
    "Ah, but suppose I tell you that a week since these two they
sail from a small French fishing village at dead
of
night? Suppose I say that one 'e is very tall and very white—like the
dough? And the other"—he threw his arms wide—"much of a Chinese walking
mountain?"
    Diccon stiffened and stepped away from the velvety muzzle that
was tickling his neck. "Monteil?"
    "Mais oui!"
Yves nodded vigorously. "This
same Monsieur Imre Monteil who vow your death. The monstrous Ti Chiu,
also! If you 'ave wisdom, you go very fast away. Like me."
    "Nonsense. Wherever he may be going, Monteil would not dare to
set foot in England again. And even if he did, he'd never think to look
for me here."
    "Do you forget that this evil one was so thick as
inkle-weavers with the mighty Claude Sanguinet? Like as not 'e still
'ave many spies, and if 'e desires a man to find—that man is found!
Listen,
mon ami!
To stay in this place—" Yves
offered the dramatic and all-encompassing shrug that covers every
imaginable situation and can be achieved only by a Frenchman. "Ce
n'est
pas la peine!
"
    "Not worth
your
while, perhaps," argued
Diccon. "But you worry too much. Besides, I can't leave until I have
word from Italy
."
    "Ah, well. On your own 'ead be it. What more can Yves do? And
your fine Orpheus?"
    "I'll ride him down to Lanterns." Diccon stifled a sigh. "It's
time I went back there, at all events."
    "Mais non!
You must not be alone! 'Ow
shall you manage the beasts? And if—"
    "Jove, what a gloom-merchant! MacDougall should return at any
day, and I'm well rested. I thank you for taking care of my animals.
When may I expect the next shipment?"
    "To this place? You may not. The Swiss, 'e know I work with
you, and because of our—er, conspirings, 'e 'ave lose much of the money
which 'e love! Me, I do not like to be dead,
merci!"
Wringing his friend's hand, Yves said mournfully, "Au
revoir,
my Diccon. I will tell you again that it is the great pity you are too
sure of your own self. You are good. But not an army,
mon
ami.
Send me words when the Monteil go back to 'is—what is
it you say?—'is lair! Or, better, when 'e meet 'is doom!"
    Diccon was irked, but he knew better than to try to change the
mind of this droll but stubborn individual. He promised to "send words"
as asked, and watched the Frenchman stride rapidly down the hill. He
was a fiery little gamecock; a typical Latin, ready to imbue every
situation with drama, but a devilish good man in a scrap, just the—
    There came a soft footfall behind him. Involuntarily, he
whipped around.
    Carrying a large tin bowl, Marietta