He started reading.
MALONE APPROACHED ONE OF THE BROTHERS, A MAN DRESSED like the other five in jeans and a woolen coat, a cap atop his short hair. At least six more were outside-that's what de Roquefort had said-but he'd worry about them once the six inside the church were subdued.
At least then he'd be armed.
He watched Stephanie as she grabbed a shovel and started to tend one of the fires, shuffling the timbers and reigniting the flames. Cassiopeia was still at the generator with Henrik, waiting for him and Stephanie to position themselves.
He turned toward Cassiopeia and nodded.
She yanked the starter cord.
The generator sputtered, then died. Two more pulls and the piston caught, the engine emitting a low rumble. The lights on the two tripods came to life, their glow intensifying with the growing voltage. The halogen bulbs heated fast and condensation started to rise from the glass in wisps of mist that just as quickly vanished.
Malone saw that the event caught the guards' attention. A mistake. On their part. But they'd need a bit more to give Cassiopeia time to fire four air darts. He wondered about her shooting ability, then remembered her marksmanship at Rennes.
The generator continued to growl.
Cassiopeia remained crouched, the tool bag at her feet, seemingly adjusting the dials on the engine.
The lights seemed at full intensity and the guards appeared to have lost interest.
One set of bulbs exploded.
Then the other.
A lightning-white flash mushroomed upward and, in an instant, was gone. Malone used that second to land a punch on the jaw of the brother standing beside him.
The man teetered, then collapsed to the floor.
Malone reached down and disarmed him.
STEPHANIE SCOOPED A BURNING EMBER FROM THE FIRE AND turned to the guard a few feet away, whose attention was on the exploding lights.
"Hey," she said.
The man turned. She lobbed the ember. The chunk of white-hot timber floated through the air and the guard reached out to deflect the projectile, but the ember struck him in the chest.
The man screamed and Stephanie slammed the flat side of the shovel into the brother's face.
MALONE SAW STEPHANIE TOSS AN EMBER TOWARD THE GUARD, then pound him with the shovel. His gaze then shot toward Cassiopeia as she calmly fired the air gun. She'd already ticked off one shot, as he saw only three men standing. One of the remaining guards reached for his thigh. Another jerked and groped at the back of his jacket.
Both collapsed to the ground.
The last of the short-hairs at the altar saw what was happening to his compatriots and whirled to face Cassiopeia, who was crouched thirty feet away, the air gun aimed directly at him.
The man leaped behind the altar support.
Her shot missed.
Malone knew she was out of darts. It would only be an instant before the brother fired.
He felt the gun in his hand. He hated to use it. The blast would certainly alert not only de Roquefort, but also the brothers outside. So he raced across the church, planted the palms of his hands on the altar support, and, as the brother came up, gun ready, he lunged and used his momentum to kick the brother into the floor.
"Not bad," Cassiopeia said.
"I thought you said you didn't miss."
"He jumped."
Cassiopeia and Stephanie were disarming the downed brothers. Henrik came close and asked, "You okay?"
"My reflexes haven't had to do that in a while."
"Good to know they still work."
"How'd you do that with the lights?" Henrik asked.
Malone smiled. "Just upped the voltage. Works every time." He scanned the church. Something was wrong. Why hadn't any of the brothers outside reacted to the exploding lights? "We should be having company."
Cassiopeia and Stephanie came close, guns in hand.
"Maybe they're out in the ruins, toward the front," Stephanie said.
He stared at the exit. "Or maybe they don't exist."
"I assure you, they existed," a male voice said from outside the church.
A man slowly crept into view, his face shrouded in the shadows.
Malone raised his gun. "And you are?"
The man stopped near one of the fires. His gaze, from deep-set serious eyes, locked on Geoffrey's sheathed corpse. "The master shot him?"
"With no remorse."
The man's face clinched tight and the lips mumbled something. A prayer? Then he said, "I'm chaplain of the Order. Brother Geoffrey called me, too, after he called the master. I came to prevent violence. But we were delayed in arriving."
Malone lowered his gun. "You were part of whatever it was Geoffrey was doing?"
He nodded. "He didn't want to contact de Roquefort, but he gave his word to the former master." The tone was tender. "Now it seems he gave his life, too."
Malone wanted to know, "What's happening here?"
"I understand your frustration."
"No, you don't," Henrik said. "That poor young man is dead."
"And I grieve for him. He served this Order with great honor."
"Calling de Roquefort was stupid," Cassiopeia said. "He invited trouble."
"In the final months of his life, our former master set into motion a complex chain of events. He spoke to me about what he planned. He told me who our seneschal was and why he'd taken him into the Order. He told me of the seneschal's father and what lay ahead. So I pledged my obedience, as did brother Geoffrey. We knew what was happening. But the seneschal did not, nor did the seneschal know of our involvement. I was told not to become involved until brother Geoffrey requested my help."
"Your master is below us with my son," Stephanie said. "Cotton, we need to get down there."
He heard the impatience in her voice.
"The seneschal and de Roquefort cannot coexist," the chaplain said. "They're opposite ends of a long spectrum. For the good of the brotherhood, only one of these men can survive. But my former master wondered if the seneschal could do it alone." The chaplain stared at Stephanie. "Which is why you are here. He believed you'd bring the seneschal strength."
Stephanie appeared not in the mood for mysticism. "My son could die thanks to this foolishness."
"For centuries this Order survived through battle and conflict. That was our way. The former master simply forced a confrontation. He knew de Roquefort and the seneschal would war. But he wanted that war to count for something-to end with something. So he pointed them both toward the Great Devise. He knew it was out there, somewhere, but I doubt if he really believed either one of them would find it. He knew, though, that a conflict would erupt, and a winner would emerge. He also knew that if de Roquefort was the winner, he'd quickly alienate his allies, and he has. The deaths of two brothers weigh heavily on us. All agree there will be more deaths-"
"Cotton," Stephanie said. "I'm going."
The chaplain did not move. "The men outside have been subdued. Do what you must. There will be no more bloodshed up here."
And Malone heard the words that the somber man had not spoken.
Below us, though, is altogether different.