The Three Moons Tavern
Paris, Kingdom of France
The smell was the first thing to strike Marcus, then the sheer acreage of exposed flesh. Women with skirts hiked above their knees, bosoms pouring out of their tops, and no shame or modesty on display anywhere.
And the men loved it.
It was unlike any establishment he had ever before experienced.
He had heard of places like these, of course, though they were relegated to the darkest corners in the Holy Land, as there were more pious men than not in those parts. But here, in Paris, it was in plain sight on a busy street, and nobody paid it any mind.
God has been abandoned by these people.
Though he knew He would never abandon them.
All in good time.
“So, what do you think?”
Simon’s eyes were wide, his vows not as absolute as Marcus’, though strictly adhered to as far as he knew. “Umm, I’m finding I can’t think straight after the stench of fish earlier.”
“I’d prefer fish to this.”
“Then you have truly been touched, sir. Nothing is worse than the smell of fish.” He grinned as he looked around. “But I’m beginning to forget about it.”
Marcus chuckled. “I’m glad I brought you. David and Jeremy would be of absolutely no use to me.”
Simon laughed. “The poor boys would have fainted by now, or left the Order altogether.” He pointed at a group of women cloistered in the corner. “How about we start with them?”
Marcus nodded and they strode deeper into the establishment, a hush falling over the proceedings as their Templar markings were finally noticed. He glared at one man about to open his mouth, and the man paled, silenced before the first syllable could be sounded.
Marcus produced one of the sketches of Melanie Girard. “Excuse me, ladies.”
“Ooh, ladies! Who’s the gentleman, now?”
Marcus smiled. “We’re looking for this woman.” He showed the sketch. “Her name is Melanie Girard. Do any of you know her?”
“I’m sorry, Sir Knight, but I think she’s out of your price range now, what with you taking a vow of poverty. Or have you forgotten that one too!”
The table roared with laughter, immediately joined by the bar. Simon bristled beside him, but Marcus chose a different tact, tossing his head back and joining in. “I’m sure any of you fine ladies are out of my price range, should I be looking, but I’m not.” He wiped the smile from his face. “I’m afraid I am the bearer of bad news, but only to those who knew her.”
This elicited the response he wanted. “We know her. Or at least did. She hasn’t been about in months.” The woman eyeballed him. “What is this bad news you speak of?”
“She’s been murdered.”
Gasps from the table and those within earshot confirmed to him that they knew the girl. “How?”
“That doesn’t matter right now, what does, is who her current employer was. Have you seen her with anyone different? Anyone unusual?”
Heads shook then a redhead near the wall pounded her drink onto the table. “What about that bloke she met here that time?”
Sounds of recollection and a hurried, whispered discussion followed before Marcus was made privy to the details. “A few months back, she came in, and rather than join us, told us she was meeting someone, someone important. She sat at her own table, and he arrived a few minutes later. They spoke for about ten minutes, then left together. We haven’t really seen much of her since.”
“Can you tell us anything about him?”
The woman shrugged. “Not particularly. He wore a robe that covered him from head to toe. I couldn’t see his face. He was definitely not from these parts, though.”
Marcus’ eyes narrowed. “What makes you say that?”
“Dressed too finely, and when they left, they climbed into a carriage.” She motioned at the customers with disdain. “None of this lot have carriages.”
“Anything unique about it? Any markings?”
“There was probably a crest on the door, but I honestly can’t remember.”
Marcus frowned. “That would have made it too easy, I suppose. Anything else you ladies can remember?”
Another leaned forward. “Didn’t he have a cane?”
“Yes, that’s right!” cried the redhead. “He had a limp. Quite bad, if I remember correctly.”
“Did he seem elderly? Frail?”
The women all shook their heads, the redhead replying for them. “Not at all. He seemed healthy enough. In fact, he moved quite quickly, despite the limp.”
Marcus bowed. “Thank you for your help, ladies.”
A round of over the top responses devolved into laughter as Marcus and Simon left, Marcus drawing several deep cleansing breaths when they were far enough away, ridding himself of the filth they had just experienced.
“That man you chased, do you think he needed a cane?”
Marcus shrugged. “He certainly handled his horse well. I would have to say no, though if practiced enough, anything is possible. God knows I’ve seen men who could barely walk, handle a horse in battle as if they were one.”
“So, we could be looking for a man with a limp, or not.” Simon sighed. “I don’t know if we’re any further ahead than we were yesterday.”
“Unfortunately, I have to agree.”
“Then what now?”
“There’s a question I need answered, that I didn’t think to ask our coachman.”
“And what’s that?”
“Who delivered the letter and payment?”