Traitor's Chase

STUART GIBBS

For Suz, Darragh, & Ciara

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

Prologue

Part One: The Assassins

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Part Two: The Chase

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Part Three: The Aqueduct

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Other Works

Credits

Copyright

Back Ads

About the Publisher

PROLOGUE

Madrid, Spain
July 1615

T
HE
A
LCÁZAR, THE ROYAL PALACE, HOME TO THE KING OF
Spain and Portugal, was perched high on a hill above the city. Like the Louvre in Paris, it had originally been built as a fortress but was currently being converted to a more pleasant place for the royal family to live—which meant that, at the moment, it wasn't really pleasant at all. Despite the blazing sun and summer heat, inside the castle it was dark and cold. Michel Dinicoeur felt it was more like a prison—and he knew prisons. He'd spent over a hundred years of his life in one.

Michel was immortal. Long ago, he'd had grand plans to gain power and wealth. But things hadn't worked out the way he'd hoped, thanks to the Three Musketeers—Athos, Porthos, and Aramis—and Greg Rich. It had taken him centuries to recover from their meddling. Now he had a new plan—one that would not only allow him to get revenge on the Musketeers and Greg—but also provide him with even more power than he'd ever dreamed of.

Michel followed three guards through a maze of stone hallways and grand staircases until they arrived at the throne room. The decor was as drab as that of the Louvre, but Michel was surprised by the room's enormous size. Stained-glass windows allowed some sunlight to spill in, though the room was still so cavernous that torches were needed to fully light it.

King Philip III sat on a large wooden throne at the far end. He was only in his thirties, with a pointed beard and a twirled mustache. He wore what was considered extremely fashionable in 1615: bright yellow stockings, an ornately embroidered jacket, and a neck ruffle so large it looked as though his head was on a platter. Instead of a crown, a feathered hat was perched on his head. The look was supposed to inspire awe, but instead it made Michel think the man was a fool.

Unfortunately, Michel knew his own appearance was hardly impressive. He was dusty and weary from his long journey; his clothes were tattered and worn. And he was an invalid; there was only a stump where his right hand had once been, thanks to Athos's sword.

“Your Honor,” he said in Spanish, as he passed between a gauntlet of armed soldiers and knelt before the throne. “Thank you for seeing me.”

King Philip's eyebrows raised slightly in surprise. “You speak Spanish.”

“You are surprised?” Michel replied, standing. In fact, he spoke five languages fluently—and could read and write another ten. When you were immortal, you had plenty of time for self-improvement.

“I didn't think any Frenchman was smart enough to master our language.” The king's statement, though insulting, wasn't really unexpected. Every civilization in Europe thought itself better than every other.

“But the letter I sent you was in Spanish,” Michel said. “As was your reply to me.”

Philip shrugged. “I thought there might be a Spaniard helping you.”

Michel did his best not to sigh. He had sent the letter with the aid of Milady de Winter, a handmaiden from King Louis XIII's palace. He had intercepted Philip's response en route, which was why he was here right now, prostrating himself before this pompous idiot. “Do you still possess what I inquired about?”

Philip smirked and reached beneath his silken clothes, revealing a chain of silver links around his neck. He tugged on it, lifting out a large black crystal that dangled from the end.

The Devil's Stone
. Only one half of it hung on the chain, but there was something entrancing about it, as though it somehow wasn't of the earth.

Michel's heart pounded at the sight of it, though he fought to hide his excitement. The stone was the key to his plans. When both halves were combined, it had incredible powers. Long ago, it had given him the gift of immortality. More recently, he had used it to travel back through time, returning to 1615 from the twenty-first century with a plan to kill the Musketeers when they were only teenagers. However, Greg Rich had interfered. Greg was from modern times, and when he and his parents accidentally followed Michel back through time, they caused him to lose the Devil's Stone. Now Michel needed to find both pieces again. Fortunately, he knew where they were, as he'd tracked them both down once before, back when he had been known as Dominic Richelieu.

And yet, while he'd known this half of the stone was in the Alcázar, he hadn't expected the King to be
wearing
it.

Philip seemed to sense Michel's excitement and defensively closed his hand around the stone. “This must be of great value to you,” he said, “to have come all this way for it.”

“It is,” Michel admitted. There was no point in being coy. If everything went according to plan, Michel would have this half of the stone again soon enough. “Though its worth is sentimental, not financial. Long ago, my family used to own it,” he lied.

Philip gave a snort of laughter. “It must have been
very
long ago. This has been in my family for as long as anyone can remember.”

Then you come from a long line of fools
, Michel thought.
To have owned this for generations and never understood what it was
. But he replied deferentially, “That is correct, My Lord.”

“And you have journeyed all the way from Paris hoping to get it back?”

“Correct again.”

Philip laughed once more, but longer this time, as though Michel had told a joke. “Then I'm afraid you have wasted your time. I do not intend to sell this to you.”

Michel bristled. “But in your letter to me, you said you might.”

“That was when you were a man of power, a member of King Louis XIII's court.” Philip held the stone up and smiled at it dreamily, as though entranced by it. “But things have changed. From what I understand, you were ousted from your post in the palace. You are now a fugitive, a traitor, and a pauper. Your only worth is the bounty placed on your head by the king of France. A bounty I am tempted to collect.” Philip snapped his fingers and his soldiers swung their swords toward Michel. “So tell me, what could you possibly give me that could pay for this?” He dangled the stone tauntingly before Michel.

Michel didn't even glance at the swords aimed at his neck. Instead, he kept his eyes locked on King Philip's.

“I can give you France,” he said.

ONE