FicWad

2.

When I walked out the doors of the train station in Rennes, I was so preoccupied staring at the low clouds and wrinkling my nose at the overwhelming odor of diesel exhaust that I didn't even notice the student propping up the wall. Or rather, I hadn't paid him any attention until he'd caught my wrist, yanked me around, and planted an exceptionally noisy set of quatre bises on my cheeks. He tried his best -- two kisses were as far as he got before he had to dodge my right hook.

"Violent women won't get passes from men who wear glasses," he murmured, pushing his heavy horn-rims back up his nose. "You could show more respect for the local customs."

"How was I supposed to know it was you?" I said, even though I'd know "Sir John Smythe," or whatever the hell his name really is, anywhere. He couldn't disguise those long lashes or the shape of his nose. This time, I saw, he was sporting a mop of badly cut black hair and a long, scruffy, tweedy coat that made him look like he'd been lurking around waiting for the coded directions to his cell meeting.

"I sent thee late a rosy wreath," he said with an aggrieved air.

"Which I might have never seen if it hadn't been for Gerda's bad bankshot at the garbage. Was there some special reason why didn't you send that postcard straight to me? So let's hear it," I ticked them off on my fingers, "what are you planning to steal, who's going to object to it, and why are you involving me?"

"Nothing, no one," he said, "and for the pleasure of your company. If the damsel desired a rescue, the offer was on tap. That was all that I'd envisioned."

I did notice that he hadn't answered my first question, and that aura of injured innocence he was radiating meant the sneakiness was definitely afoot. Prying the details out of him was going to take time, but fortunately for me, I'd had plenty of experience in that area now. "So the reason you kindly decided to meet me at the station?"

"To give you a lift to your hotel," he said. I held out my suitcase, and he stared at it. "A fine, healthy specimen such as yourself," he said, surveying the health slowly from head to hoof, "can manage splendidly on her own. Come along." With that, he turned and slouched down the street.

"I hope you'll be more a gentleman after the shooting starts," I snapped. I was following along behind, refining my ultimate vengeance, when he stopped so abruptly I walked straight into his back. Not in line with my plotting, but it'd do in a pinch. "So sorry," I said sweetly, "sometimes we fine, healthy specimens can be a teensy bit clumsy."

He glared at me. "I'm now questioning how much of a pleasure it will be if you intend to spend the entire week poking and peering into dark corners for imaginary villains."

"Imaginary?" I shouted. "My imagination isn't that wild."

"Having seen you in action, I'm inclined to disagree," he said archly. "I did mean what I said. A vacation of sorts. Only this and nothing more." He pulled a set of keys from his pocket. "Our transport."

I scanned the street. Nothing on the street resembled that sleek black BMW he'd had in Germany. "Where?" I said.

"Right in front of you."

The only thing right in front of me was . . . "My god, you must be joking?" It was a battered gray box with an oval country sticker on the back that read "B.Z.H."

"Not in the least," he said shouldering me aside to lift the rear hatch-door into the air. "The Renault 4 is not only a classic, but this particular vehicle has been generously placed at our disposal for free. He'll have no use for it for, er, six months remaining." He pointed at my suitcase. "If you would."

I dumped my suitcase and my overnight bag into the back. "So this vacation of yours . . ." I'd only seen one street of this town so far, and I was being underwhelmed by the gloom and the sogginess.

"My impression was that you wished to avoid reappearing in Munich for, what was it? A week or more?" I nodded glumly. I didn't bother to ask where he got his information; in this particular case it had been to my benefit. "You're scheduled to present on the second day, I believe. If you'll make your excuses and slide out of the conference after that, I shall be more than willing to provide for your entertainment."

"Two weeks of that?" I gaped at him.

He coughed. "For you I'd make every effort, but not even I have that sort of stamina," he told me dryly. "No, I meant the grand tourist experience. It's the end of the season here, so most of the locations will be relatively uncrowded. We're too late to see any of the /pardons/, the church festivals, but we'd make many of the sites before they tuck themselves in for the winter."

"What, in your opinion, constitutes a grand tourist experience?" I asked. "And why here of all places? I'm ready to wring as it is." The ongoing misting drizzle from those low clouds had managed to soak down my coat in only the amount of time we'd been standing on the street.

"Oh yes," he said placidly, "it's quite damp here. Wind and fog as well. You'll find similar conditions on both sides of the Channel, you know. I do hope you came prepared to be drenched and wind-blown."

"Charming." Other people took vacations in warm, sunny climes. I wound up in what was starting to sound suspiciously like a swamp.

"Those who've been reared in such places are accustomed to it," he said. While I was filing away that tidbit, he went on, "As for the tourism, knowing you, you've already decided what you'd like to see."

I looked away guiltily. I'd had my hands full evading Schmidt's prying and getting everything arranged for this spur-of-the-moment escape. I hadn't really had any chance to raid the library to learn more about what I'd find on the other end of that train trip. "What does my waiter recommend?" I said instead.

"Ah. For madam's consideration, then," he said in plummy tones, "our menu offers two main courses. You may choose which you prefer." He held up a finger and recited, with elaborate nonchalance, "Option one, for devotees of the fearless knight and courteous lord, and all other things Arthurian. Strolling among the verdant shades of Brocéliande, presently known as the Forest of Paimpont. This would be the legendary home of Vivian and Merlin, and you'll find there several castles that are not open to the public. However, you can make up for their lack of hospitality with the castles at Homburg, Vitré and the Loire Valley as well as the walled city of Nantes. And, er, whatever else presents itself."

I did want to see Nantes, no question about that. But the early renaissance castles really were outside my favorite period -- which he knew very well. As for the rest, legendary kings and fantasy fairies and magicians had never appealed to me very much, and I'd never bothered to spend much time on them. "What's my second option?" I asked.

"Option two?" No, definitely not my imagination -- he looked relieved. "Well," he drawled, "option two is not for the faint of heart." He reached into the pocket of his seedy coat, slid out a folded map, then proceeded to fan himself with it gently. "It may be far too much effort for someone who seeks merely to sun herself on some southern beach like a lizard." He sighed. "I can love both fair and browned to a crisp . . ."

Meaning I was supposed to pick option two. "Just gimme the damn map," I snapped, snatching it out of his hand. As I unfolded it over the damp hood of the car, I did notice the absence of any marks for those sites for 'option one.' I couldn't repress the note of incredulity. "You've marked the entire province?"

"Like anyone with taste, I prefer my architecture in a more classical vein. However, I'm given to understand that there are those who have an unnatural fixation on these structures." He tapped on the map and murmured, "Medieval. Cathedrals."

Bastard. "Yes, some people do like them," I said airily. I felt a bit irritated at being so transparent, but I couldn't deny that my inner Caesar was already wiggling his tail and standing in an expanding puddle of drool.

He was still pointing to circled cities. "Here. Also here, here, here . . . option two would be the 'Tro Breiz,' the traditional pilgrimage to the seats of the seven bishoprics of medieval Brittany. Each has its cathedral, you know. Also, along the way, here, there is a castle, here a walled city, and here the famous prehistoric monuments, of course. Just before you enter the Monts d'Arrée, you'll find a clutch of churches with /les enclos paroissiaux/, which, as you doubtless realize, are to be found nowhere but this region --"

"Stop, wait," I said, feeling a bit lightheaded. My normal, sensible resistance was crumbling under his ruthless onslaught. "But how do you intend to --? You can't be serious."

"Oh, but I am," said the vile seducer of a maiden's heart, resting his chin on my shoulder. "It's perfectly feasible if you bear in mind that you can't spend the entire day cooing over crude carvings."

"I do not coo," I pointed out loftily. "I am a respected art historian. Mine is an intellectual appreciation for the art of the period." I took a deep breath. "All right. You're the driver, just, just . . . drag me back to your rolling junk heap when my time's up."

"Right. You, in turn, must solemnly swear not to kick me."

I peered at him -- and past him. The backseat of the car had a pile of books. "Are those all for me?"

"When you become bored with my repartee," he said, "you can look up the sites and save us time by determining precisely what you wish to see." He added hastily, "If you have any tendencies to carsickness, do speak up in time to be chucked out the door."

"So what's in this for you?" My thumbs and an assortment of less visible body parts were pricking with suspicion. This was all too well prepared. "What do you want to see?"

"I appreciate your concern for my welfare," he said blandly, "but I'm already looking at it."

To my profound irritation, my face felt hot. All of this was a pretty good act, and I might even have been convinced back when I first met him. Back when I first met him, he'd been pulling a scam that ripped off half a dozen museums. He'd also been blond. "Would you care to explain why you're dressed like that?"

"Because I also would like a vacation," he said, sighing. "Avoiding unexpected, unpleasant encounters would be a step in that direction, wouldn't you agree?"

"Oh." It actually made a twisted sort of sense when you took into consideration the sort of people John generally did business with. "You'd said that you were leading an exemplary life these days."

"The fatted calf has been slaughtered on my behalf," he said without further elaboration. "But my past associates have no such aspirations. As you may have noticed."

Damn good point. I shrugged, resigning myself to letting "Jacques" or whatever variation he came up with next squire me around for a week or so.

"That seemed remarkably easy," he said, frowning. "Are you feeling well?"

"Shut up." I shook his map at him. "I want to see all of these. Everything. So let's see you prove this disaster on wheels can get me there."

"Ma belle dame sans merci," he sighed. "I'll drop you at your hotel. You can walk from there to the uni."

"Uh, does that mean you're not --?"

"I have other fish to fry, as your people quaintly put it. I'll be seeing you in two days. Besides," and here he gave me a stern look, "I'm aware of the riotous goings-on at these conferences, but should a scholar of your stature be luring innocent students back to her hotel room?" After a few moments, he reached over and gently closed my open mouth. "The last word," he murmured to himself. "How marvelous."