Knaves (18 page)

“
An old friend!” Sebastian muttered under his breath as they began the rounds of call and counter-call. He was clearly angry but, to Valmont’s annoyance, he still won the hand when the points were eventually decided. Jeanne seemed disturbed by the turn of events and placed a restraining hand on his shoulder but he shrugged it off.

“
This is thirsty work,” he said at last, his hard eyes fixed on Valmont who began to wonder what was going on. “Do you mind if we get a drink?”

“
Of course,” Valmont replied, his charm masking his inner thoughts. As they proceeded through each of the following two hands, Sebastian regularly sipped from a martini: it only seemed to help him once, however, as he lost two of the hands and only won the third. Nonetheless, as they had agreed that the stakes would double for each round, now it meant that everything was on the table for the sixth and final hand.

Sebastian was clearly fighting hard to control his anger now, and Valmont couldn
’t resist a chuckle as he dealt the cards.

“
You know you’ve lost, Sebastian,” he said before turning his attention to Jeanne. “I shall very much enjoy our time together.”

For some reason, she seemed to have lost her sense of enjoyment in the game. She still smiled and made flirtatious nods in his direction, but Valmont could clearly see that her eyes were betraying her nervousness. So, in the end she was as much a whore as Eloise, if perhaps a slightly more clever one: all she had ever wanted was his ten million
—but Valmont had never intended to part with that.

As the hand continued and the cards were to be overturned for a final time, she leaned closer
to Sebastian’s ear. It didn’t matter what advice the ignorant bitch was going to offer her poor lover, Valmont thought: Sebastian was so far behind in points now that he would definitely lose—and she with him.

“
Do it, Sebastian,” she said. “For Safiyah.”

For a moment, Valmont frowned. Then a sharp, icy feeling filled his limbs.
“What did you say?” he asked.

Jeanne ignored him.
“Just get this over with,” she said to Sebastian, her voice filled with tenderness.

“
I don’t want to,” he growled, looking at her with eyes filled with pain. For a man who had shown himself more than able as a professional gambler, Sebastian Rider was now revealing a storm of emotions across his face. Unfortunately for Valmont, all these signs told him nothing.

When he turned back to the Marquis, however, those blue eyes were filled with cold hatred.
“It’s over, Valmont. You win. Except that you don’t, not really.”

“
Monsieur le Marquis is the winner with cent et un des points,” Marie declared.

“
I have no idea what you’re talking about, Monsieur Rider,” Valmont said, extending one arm in Jeanne’s direction. “Madame Duval, if you would please take my arm?”

Now her eyes were flickering between him and Sebastian. When they alighted on him, Valmont saw with some surprise that they showed a moment
’s disgust before she managed to control herself.

“
Jeanne!” he said imperiously this time. Again she refused to take his hand, instead her fingers moving towards her head nervously In anger, he reached across and yanked hard on her lobe, tearing the earring from it as Sebastian, his eyes blazing, stood up and intervened. As he started to push away from the table, Latour started to lumber towards the group and Marie—looking disconcerted—was moving her hand beneath the table, obviously pressing a panic button.

“
What is this?” Valmont whispered.

“
It’s finished, Valmont,” Sebastian said, slowly pushing Jeanne behind him. “We know about Safiyah Sidi—and the others.”

That name turned the Marquis
’s blood to ice. “Who are you?” he asked.

“
It doesn’t matter,” Jeanne said. “You won’t get away with this.”

For a few seconds, Valmont stared at the pair of them. It was pathetic, really, the way they
clung to each other. Sebastian—or whoever he really was—clearly thought that he was going to change the outcome of the game in some way, while Jeanne’s revulsion for the Marquis was clear. Not that that mattered. In some ways, it would make the night ahead much more interesting. It didn’t matter what they knew, or thought they knew, about Safiyah Sidi. Valmont as usual was going to get his way.

“
Take her,” he told Latour. “You lost the game, Monsieur
Rider
. Accept the outcome like a man.”

“
He’s more of a man than you’ll ever be!” Jeanne shrieked, making no attempt now to preserve a French accent. That caused Marie and even Latour to stare at her in astonishment, but Valmont began to laugh, bouncing the diamond earring in his hand.

“
Whoever you really are, I’m going to enjoy this.”

“
You’re not going to touch her!” Sebastian shouted, pressing her backwards as Latour advanced on them. As the hulk reached out to shove him aside, he threw a punch against the giant of a man which, to Valmont’s surprise, actually made his manservant stagger backwards slightly.

“
You had no intention of paying, did you Valmont!” Jeanne hissed. The Marquis now recognised her accent as Irish.

“
I’m impressed,” he said, moving forward as Latour and Sebastian began to struggle together. Although the Englishman was giving a good account of himself, it was clear that he was going to lose the fight as he’d just lost the card game. “You had me fooled. Indeed, had you not disappeared so quickly,
Jeanne
, I would never have realised.”

“
You never intended to part with the money,” she continued, her eyes shifting between her lover and him, ignoring his comments. “But it doesn’t matter now. You couldn’t pay if you wanted to.”

That caused him to pause.
“What do you mean?” he asked, his voice becoming like a razor of ice.

“
You’re finished, Valmont. Wiped out. We just needed to keep you busy long enough to get away with it.”

Thinking this a joke, the Marquis looked. But the look in those determined, fierce eyes, eyes full of hatred towards him, convinced him that Jeanne believed she was telling the truth.

As Latour and Sebastian continued to fight, he ran forward and grabbed hold of Jeanne’s hair. To his horror, she jabbed a sharp stiletto into his thigh and rabbit punched him in the throat, making him stagger back. He recovered quickly, though, and when she turned to run away, half tripping on those same heels, he leaped forward and swung his fist as hard as he could into the side of her head. With her yell cut off she crumpled immediately.

“
Karla!” Sebastian shouted, and with a roar launched himself away from Latour. That was a mistake. Seeing his chance, the other man turned more swiftly than would have been expected for someone of his bulk and brought his thick forehead into contact with the back of the Englishman’s skull. It was Sebastian Rider’s turn to fall unconscious.

Two security guards were running into the room and stared in consternation at the scene before them.

“Monsieur,” one of them said in French. “What has happened?”

“
Take that man,” Valmont said calmly, rubbing his knuckles. He’d hurt himself when he’d hit Karla who was now beginning to stir on the floor, shaking her head.

“
The police are on their way,” the guard continued, unsure what to do at the sight of a man standing over a groaning woman.

“
Do you know who I am?” Valmont said, his voice dropping a few degrees in temperature. The guard gulped.

“
Yes, Monsieur le Marquis.”

“
Good. That man is a thief and an imposter. Take him away.” The guards looked towards Marie who nodded tersely then began to drag the prone form of Sebastian towards the door.

“
Pick her up,” he told Latour, gesturing towards Jeanne, “and let’s get out of here and find out what the hell is going on.”

A violent motion woke Karla.

For a second she panicked, thrown around without any clear sense of where she was or what was happening to her. Her head hurt like hell and her body was being crushed and suffocated, her legs twisted awkwardly and painfully beneath her, her ears filled with a roaring noise.

When she lifted an arm to try and protect herself, it hit something hard and cold in the dark just above her head and she was thrown to one side again.

Calm down! Calm down!
she almost screamed inside her head. From the way she was being tossed from side to side, she must have been in the boot of a car. She couldn’t remember what had happened and she had no idea how long she’d been out, but she didn’t doubt for a moment that Valmont had taken her.

Valmont.

Her panic was replaced by a deep and utter sense of dread.

She tried to take deep breaths, but in the confined space she felt stifled. Her fingers scrabbled against cool metal and a fingernail broke as she attempted to gain some purchase on the smooth surface, all to no avail. She barely felt any pain as fear filled her stomach, a sick, visceral terror.

Oh God! What was going to happen to her? Hayden—help me!

She was close to breaking down into a mess of tears and horrified self-pity, but instead she cursed herself and dug a broken nail into her arm, forcing herself to remain calm. Snivelling wasn
’t going to help. Her grogginess wasn’t aided, however, by the throbbing ache in her head. Had she ever been hit that hard? Who’d done it? Latour? No—he’d been struggling with Hayden. She’d seen him. It had to be Valmont.

For a second that made her feel even more miserable. He
’d not even thought twice about hitting her, and she felt desperate as she remembered how hard she’d pushed Hayden in the past, how she’d wanted to hurt him—and how much he had restrained himself.

Oh God, Hayden, will I ever see you again?

That did it. Tears burst from her and she hammered her fists against the metal above her, howling and shrieking. It did nothing to help her escape, but at last—exhausted—she collapsed into a calmer, analytical frame of mind.

As her fingers began to search along the edges of the boot, looking for anything that might release the door or help her break it open, she forced herself to concentrate on what had happened, to try and build up a clear picture of the evening before. It didn
’t matter that she might fall from a speeding car: anything was better than being taken by Valmont. At the same time she fought down the fear that she didn’t actually know where they were heading—and thus if Hayden and Uncle Coilin would be able to find her. She fought against the panic inside her. Stick to what you know.

The problem was, she realised, that she didn
’t
know
enough. She didn’t even know for certain that the first part of their plan had worked. Hayden’s brother, Toby, had assured them that the run on Valmont’s fortune would happen at a certain time, but she was trusting a stranger simply because he was Hayden’s brother. She’d trusted her own Uncle to arrive at the right time with the police, but that hadn’t happened. There had been too many ifs and buts and maybes, and now it was clear that at least part of that plan had failed—and that she was going to pay the price.

She dreaded that they might be heading to Chateau de Tour, with all its terrible secrets. But even more she dreaded that Valmont might be taking her to somewhere completely different, another place that she knew nothing about? How would Hayden find her then?

She didn’t know how long she lay there, her breath coming in short sobs, her body wracked from the journey, but at last she heard the road change beneath her and the car eventually skidded to a halt. There was an angry, muffled voice and then suddenly the metal coffin opened and she was blinded by a bright torch.

“
Take this slut inside,” she heard Valmont say and felt large, heavy hands on her shoulders, dragging her from the car. She fought immediately, viciously, kicking out, biting a finger that strayed too near her, but one of those massive plates of meat slapped her casually across the face, a lazy motion as though swatting a fly, and her eyes lost their focus as shimmering lights flashed before her.

For a while she was too dazed to do anything as Latour manhandled her, lifting her onto his broad back, but when her senses returned she began kicking and screaming, fury mingled with her fear now. The mute, evil giant didn
’t care, however, but simply strode on up the steps she recalled from their previous visit.

Karla vaguely recognised portions of rooms as she was carried through the chateau, still
yelling and fighting her captor, refusing to give up. None of it helped, and at last she was dragged through a doorway built from old, cold stone. She gripped it with all her strength, trying to prevent Latour from carrying her through, but his relentless steps forced her to release her hold as though she were a child holding onto a rag doll. She could hear Valmont cursing and swearing somewhere ahead of them as she was hauled up an ancient stairwell.

At last they came to a standstill and, before she could renew her desperate efforts against Latour, she felt his huge hands on her waist, lifting her up before dropping her to the hard, granite floor. Wincing in pain from the fall, she only gradually became aware of her surroundings.

The terror returned.

Valmont was standing before some kind of vaulting horse, with huge metal staples in its side. He was pulling on a pair of black, leather gloves, ignoring her for the moment and concentrating instead on various implements on a table which she couldn
’t quite see. She knew this room, and the recognition almost made her vomit with revulsion.

The video had been dimmer, not as clear, the perspective very different as though looking down, but she recognised the table and the horse as well as the iron bed behind it. This was where the Marquis indulged his vilest secrets, his most disgusting and perverse acts. This was Bluebeard
’s hidden chamber.

More from desperation than courage, she flung herself upwards and began to run for the door, but Latour
’s huge hand grabbed hold of her, yanking her from her feet as though she were a piece of chaff. At this, Valmont looked at her, his face twisted and ugly.

“
So, Jeanne Duval,” he almost spat out the name she’d assumed. “Here we are at last. How very different it might have been.” His smile was evil, calculating. “I could have been interested in your pleasure, but not now.”

She struggled in Latour
’s grasp but it was fruitless. Slowly, Valmont came towards her. “Who are you?” he asked.

“
Does it matter?” she asked, lifting her head and attempting to stare at him defiantly, and she no longer even pretended to maintain a French accent. His smile assumed a different form at this, becoming more reflective.

“
Before tonight, I would have treated that as an interesting question—a philosophical speculation. Who are we? What are we doing here? Where are we going?” Without warning his hand shot up and he gripped her face between his leather-clad fingers. “But tonight I need to find out who you are so that I can get back what’s mine!”

He released her face and took a step backwards, his face grim and stern now. He nodded tersely in the direction of the horse and Latour began to drag her towards it. She tried to dig her feet into the floor but it was no good. At last, he forced her one arm next to one of the staples and Valmont slipped a leather strap through it, buckling it around her wrist.

As they tried to move her arm across the back of the horse, which had a strange, horrible smell to it, for a second Karla’s hand came free and she managed to rake her hand across Valmont’s face, her fingers tearing into his skin. He staggered back slightly but then, with a fierce, animalistic snarl he punched her hard again and the shock of that made her go limp, allowing him to bind her other hand in place.

She was too weak now to resist as the Marquis moved behind her quickly, strapping her legs against the instrument of torture so that she could no longer move other than to lift her head.
“It might surprise you to know that usually I abhor this kind of violence,” he said. “It’s too crude for my tastes, though I must admit in your case I am willing to make an exception.”

She couldn
’t see him as he spoke, but he then slowly walked around in front of her before bending forward. Speckles of blood ran across his cheek.

“
I’ll try again,” he said quietly, in a voice that was even more terrifying because of its forced calmness. “Tell me who you are.”

Arching her neck upwards, she spat at him and had the pleasure of seeing him recoil slightly. Then he laughed, rubbing at his eye.

“Oh, Karla—that’s what he called you, wasn’t it? Karla. I am going to take such pleasure in breaking you tonight. I don’t think I’ve ever looked forward to something so much for a very long time. I should thank you really.”

Turning his back towards her, he walked over to the table and began to lift various implements. Karla saw whips, chains and objects she could only guess the use of, and he let them all fall back on the table as though dissatisfied with them. He didn
’t look at her as he continued to talk.

“
One thing I do know, and I knew it before tonight: you’re not Jeanne Duval. Of course, there was a Jeanne Duval, who did indeed live in Switzerland, in Jura. But she died in the nineties, when she was a poor, sweet teenager. I think I would have liked to have met that innocent girl, but then she’s dead, and I’ve never been especially fond of necrophilia.” He paused, as though thoughtful. “Though to tell the truth,” he continued, as though speaking to himself, “I’ve never tried.” The evil smile returned and he stared straight at Karla. “When I fuck you, I suppose in one very real sense I’ll be fucking a corpse.”

“
Are you going to kill me?” she hissed. “Like you killed Eloise? Like you killed Safiyah?”

Valmont shook his head at this.
“Such melodrama,” he sighed. Taking off his jacket, he placed it on the back of a chair and then fished around in one of the pockets before retrieving a small, silver cigarette case. Lifting one of these out, he concentrated on lighting it and leaned back against the table.

“
I didn’t kill Safiyah. Oh, I did some interesting things with her—no doubt you would consider them terrible things. I’ve always enjoyed girls of a certain type, a certain age, but I’ve never needed to kill them. By now she’s probably already on her way to a brothel in Belgrade or Moscow. Perhaps she is dead, though not by my hands. I doubt it though. There’s always a market for damaged goods. As for Eloise, I simply ensured that she got what she wanted. After so much time being clean—and she was clean; I’m capable of being benevolent, of being generous, when I choose… After so much time off heroin, there was no chance she could take such a pure quantity.”

“
You bastard!” Karla snarled, struggling against her bonds.

Drawing on the cigarette so that it glowed fierce and red, Valmont walked slowly towards her before dragging her head up by the scalp. His eyes were vicious.

“I’ve never murdered anyone,” he said, coldly. “I’ve always paid others to do that for me, the few times I needed it. I realise now that I’ve denied myself the ultimate pleasure.” Without warning he dropped his head to a level with Karla’s and hissed: “What have you done with my money? Tell me! Who are you?”

Karla was stubborn, staring at him silently. He glared back at her and then nodded, taking another long, deep drag on the cigarette before releasing her and stepping backwards. She didn
’t look at him as her head fell forward, but she did groan as she felt Latour’s hands on her back, tearing at her dress. The fabric resisted for a second but then gave way and she shuddered as she lay exposed, her limbs bound to the horse.

There was a faint shout somewhere in the distance and the sound of something being broken. Karla was vaguely aware of Valmont saying something and thought she heard Latour move
away, then Valmont’s hand was on her head again, dragging up her face to look at him though her despair was such that she was barely aware of him.

“
Stay with me, Karla,” he said quietly. His eyes were dead and black, watching her coolly. “You and I have a lot to do this evening, and I want you to experience every moment of it.” He sucked on his cigarette again, the ashen tip once more blazing into life. “Do you smoke?” he asked.

“
I’ve been trying to give up,” she responded weakly. “It’s a bad habit, like falling for sick bastards.”

He laughed at this.
“Bravo, bravo. This must be an example of your Irish humour. Well, I doubt you’ll find much to enjoy this evening.” He gazed at the cigarette in his fingers. “It is a filthy habit, and one of the few I rarely indulge, but there are other uses for it.” Waving his hands, he glared at Karla. “Perhaps I should burn off one of your nipples.” His hand came close to her face, causing her to flinch. “Or perhaps I’ll start with one of those pretty green eyes of yours.” She tried to bury her head in the horse. “Or maybe I should just—Agh!”

She felt his hand wrenched away from her head and instinctively looked up, just in time to see something throwing Valmont away from her. Hayden had crashed into the Marquis who fell so hard against the table that it collapsed beneath them. Taken entirely by surprise, Valmont was unable to do anything at first as Hayden pulled back an arm and then launched a fist into his antagonist, punching him with all his strength before he stumbled, tangling himself in a whip that caused him to fall. As he went down, his face white with fury, he caught hold of the Marquis and dragged him to the floor, determined to hit him again.