Free Citadel by Kate Mosse Page A

continued, ‘that the SOL intends to disrupt the demonstration. Drafting in reinforcements from Narbonne and Limoux. Our job is to make sure they don’t.’
    ‘How many are we expecting?’ Raoul asked.
    ‘No way of knowing.’
    ‘There were thousands at that demonstration in Place Davilla,’ Robert said, his bushy moustache wagging up and down as he talked. ‘Day of National Mourning, that’s what they called it.’
    Raoul nodded. ‘But that was two years ago. Demonstrations weren’t illegal then.’
    ‘True. People are more scared now. Too scared to stand up and be counted these days.’
    Raoul turned to Coursan. ‘The police must be aware something’s planned. Isn’t it strange they’re not trying to stop it?’
    ‘Getting cold feet, Pelletier?’ said Gaston.
    ‘Just assessing the situation.’
    ‘Not having second thoughts?’
    ‘Not at all,’ Raoul said quickly. ‘I’m just saying that if the authorities think they have more to gain by letting it go ahead than by preventing it, should we be worried?’
    Gaston poured himself another drink, slopping Pastis over the table. ‘Don’t know what—’
    Coursan held up his hand. ‘Let Pelletier finish.’
    ‘They want to prove that Carcassonne isn’t Paris,’ he said, warming to his theme. ‘But it’s also a good way to get us all in one place. The leaders of Resistance groups, partisans, together at the same time.’
    ‘You think there’ll be arrests?’ Robert said.
    Raoul was amazed he was even asking. He glanced at César to gauge his reaction, but his friend’s hands were laced behind his neck and he was staring up at the ceiling.
    ‘I’m certain there will be trouble,’ Coursan said, ‘but it’s a risk we have to take. Does anyone disagree?’
    No one spoke.
    Coursan returned his attention to the map. Raoul loosened his collar. It was very hot, airless. In the corner, the tap continued to drip, drip. Every now and again the pipes gurgled, as if someone was running a bath elsewhere in the building, then the plumbing sighed and settled down again.
    ‘Where’s Antoine?’ Robert said. ‘Isn’t he coming?’
    Raoul felt a kick in his stomach. Immediately, his hand went to his pocket, found the cold metal.
    ‘Another one with cold feet,’ Gaston was saying.
    César glared at him. ‘He’ll be here.’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ Raoul said, not sure what he was actually apologising for. He put the chain on the table. ‘I don’t know if it’s important, but I found this. I think it’s Antoine’s.’
    Straight away, there was a shift in the atmosphere. A sharpening of attention. César leant forward and snatched up the silver necklace.
    ‘Where did you get it?’ he demanded.
    ‘Down by the river, this morning. Near Païchérou.’
    ‘Did you see Antoine there?’
    ‘No. I’d have said if I had.’
    Raoul was aware of Coursan’s eyes fixed on him. ‘Something the size of this and you just happened to notice it, Pelletier?’ he said lightly.
    ‘No,’ he said, then stopped, wondering how to explain. ‘That’s to say, there was a girl . . .’
    Gaston bayed with laughter.
    Raoul ignored him. ‘There was a girl – don’t know who she was – had got into trouble. Come off her bike, tipped forward into the water.’ He shrugged. ‘She was holding the chain.’
    ‘And what time did you say this was?’ Coursan asked.
    ‘Ten o’clock, give or take.’
    ‘So you saw the necklace. Took it.’ He paused. ‘Why was that?’
    ‘I don’t know really,’ Raoul replied, feeling wrong-footed. ‘I suppose, because it looked like Antoine’s.’ He shrugged. ‘I didn’t really think about it.’
    ‘Did the girl explain why she had it?’
    ‘She was unconscious. Then I heard a car, and since she was all right – and obviously I didn’t want to get caught up in anything – I left.’
    ‘A real chevalier ,’ muttered Gaston. ‘Gallant.’
    ‘You’d have done the same, Bonnet,’ Raoul said. ‘Common sense.’
    Gaston