Cassandra Palmer 1(55)
The ghosts looked at me, then at each other. Some shuffling was done until one was pushed out of the throng. It was a young man, maybe eighteen, dressed in an outfit that looked like a poor relation's version of Louis-Cesar's. It was blue wool and he had a brown hat in his hand with a jaunty yellow feather sticking out of the broad brim. I guessed he'd been a dandy in life, since his cravat was very frothy, his wig was long and curled to within an inch of its life and his buff leather shoes had comical, big yellow bows on them. Pretty colorful for a ghost; based on experience, I guessed he'd been dead a year or less.
He gave a bow, and although it wasn't as courtly as Louis-Cesar's, he used the same phrase. «A votre service, mademoiselle.»
Great, just great. I looked at Tomas, who was kneeling by the woman, checking her pulse. «I don't suppose you speak French?»
He shook his head. «A few phrases, but nothing that would help here.» He looked bitter. «I am rarely allowed at Senate headquarters.»
«Since when do they speak French in Vegas?»
He looked at me impatiently. «The European Senate is based in Paris, Cassie.»
«I didn't know you were with them.»
«There are a great many things you don't know.»
I didn't have time to figure out what he was talking about. I regarded the young ghost with some annoyance. As grateful as I was not to be back in Louis-Cesar's body, I missed having access to his knowledge. «We don't speak French,» I told him.
The young man looked confused, and some more shuffling was done. Another man, older this time and dressed more plainly in simple fawn-colored knee pants and a navy blue coat, was pushed forward. He hadn't bothered to cover his bald head with a wig, and he looked like the no-nonsense type. «I was a wine trader in life, mademoiselle. I often had reason to visit Angleterre; perhaps I may be of service?»
«Look, I don't know what I'm doing here. Or where this is. Or what you want. Some information would help.»
He looked puzzled. «Your pardon, mademoiselle, but we also are at something of a loss. You are spirits, but not like us. Are you angels, sent at last in answer to our prayers?»
I snorted. I'd been compared to a lot of things in life, but never that. And Tomas sure as hell didn't qualify, unless fallen angels counted. «Um, no. Not really.» The younger man said something and the older one looked shocked. «What'd he say?»
The man seemed embarrassed. «He fears for his lover's life, that she will die as he did, as we all did, in this place of everlasting suffering. He said that he would not care if you were from le diable, from Satan himself, if you come bearing hope of vengeance. But he did not mean it.»
Looking at the anger on the young man's face, I doubted that. «We're not demons. We're… it's complicated. I just want to get her out of here before the jailer gets back. Can you tell me where I am?»
«You are in Carcassonne, mademoiselle, the very gate of Hell.»
«And that's where? I mean, is this France?» The man looked at me as if I'd asked him what year it was, which had actually been my next question. Screw it. I didn't have time to explain to a ghost that, no, I wasn't actually crazy. At least, I didn't think so. «Never mind. Just tell me where to take her. They're going to kill her—she's got to escape.»
«No one escapes.» He looked let down. «Are you not here to avenge Franchise's death?»
I was getting a little peeved. I don't have a lot of patience anyway, and what I'd had was pretty much gone. «I'd rather she didn't die in the first place. Are you going to help me or not?»
Something I said got through to the young man, because he began to speak rapidly to his companion. The woman came around while they were arguing back and forth, and I patted her arm, since there was nowhere below her wrists that I could touch without hurting her. She looked at me with wide eyes but didn't say anything. That was just as well; neither of us was in any shape for twenty questions.
The older man turned to me, looking disapproving. «Even if we help you, she may die as others have done. Would you forgo vengeance because she lives a few days?»
I lost it. It had been a long day and I was absolutely not standing there getting lectured by a pain-in-the-ass ghost. I already had Billy Joe for that. «I am not the freaking angel of death, all right? I'm not here to get revenge for you. If you want it, go get it yourselves. That's what ghosts do. Now either help me or get the hell out of my way.»
The older man drew himself up indignantly. «We cannot avenge ourselves, or we would already have done so! This castle has been used for torture for centuries, and something has been done to it, some spell laid, making it impossible for us to interfere. Do you really believe we could have stood by, letting such atrocities happen, if we had a choice? If you are not a spirit, then you must be a powerful sorceress. Help us! Help us, and we will be your slaves.» He got down on one knee, and suddenly, the whole group was kneeling. This was completely unfair.