Free The Lazarus Vault by Tom Harper Page A

for success.’
    At last they were approaching the heart of the city. The street widened into a grand boulevard lined with handsome neoclassical buildings, then swung along the edge of a vast ravine filled with trees. Ellie could see houses spilling down the steep slopes of the gorge, as if the city could no longer contain itself. Across its depths, glass office blocks faced vast stone bastions, impossibly high. The setting sun shone off the ramparts and cast them in a fiery, medieval light.
    The car dropped Ellie outside the Sofitel. A porter appeared to take her luggage, but all she had was a black shoulder bag she’d bought at the airport with a few toiletries and a change of underwear.
    ‘Vivian said you had no time for baggage.’ Christine clicked her tongue. ‘This is my fault. Tomorrow I will show you some shops where you can buy clothes.’ She gave Ellie an appraising, motherly stare. ‘I think they will be very good on you. But now, I am sure you are tired after your journey. My number is in your phone if you need anything. I hope the hotel is not disagreeable.’
    If Ellie hadn’t had the Barbican flat to compare it to, she’dhave thought it was the most perfect room she’d ever seen. The bed alone was wider than her old bedroom; the towels in the marble bathroom were almost as big as the sheets. She ordered a gin and tonic from room service, shutting her eyes to the price, and went out on the balcony. Her room looked straight across the ravine to the old city perched on its plateau. She could see spires, and the turrets of the ducal palace, with the green waves of a forest rippling behind. It looked like a fairy tale.
    The beauty of it made her feel lonely. She thought of Doug. She’d tried to ring him before she left, but he’d been in the library, his phone switched off. With a pang of guilt, she realised he didn’t even know she was in Luxembourg. She got her phone and hesitated. Unlimited calls, Destrier had said. Did that include calls from abroad?
    It didn’t matter: Doug’s phone was still off. The library stayed open until eight – nine in Luxembourg – and Doug was quite capable of staying until it closed without coming up for breath. It was something they’d had in common.
    She undressed and ran herself a bath. The gin had warmed her blood; she felt drowsy. She’d call Doug in an hour or two. She closed her eyes and let the hot water cover her.
    Six storeys down and half a mile distant, the Mercedes prowled along the Boulevard de la Pétrusse. Christine Lafarge sat in the back, upright in the deep leather, and spoke softly into her phone.
    ‘She has arrived. She seems very sweet, Vivian; I can see why you like her so much. But are you sure she is suitable?’
    She listened while Blanchard summarised the Rosenberg Automation deal. She smiled.
    ‘Perhaps your little kitten has claws. Did you get my package?’
    ‘Destrier has him on the sixth floor.’
    ‘I hope he gets what he wants.’
    ‘He is very thorough. But be careful, Christine. There will be others. Watch Ellie closely.’

X
    Normandy, 1132
    I lie on my mattress and listen to the night. I hurt all over. My arm aches from practising my sword strokes, and my chest and shoulders from being practised upon. My hands are raw from cleaning other men’s armour, working the bristles of my brush into the thin holes between the rings. I smell of sweat, oil, blood and straw.
    It’s been three years since I crossed the sea, puking into the bilge as the storm battered us. I’ve taken service as a squire in the household of Guy de Hautfort. He’s my uncle’s cousin: my uncle arranged that I should come here to learn the skills of a knight. There are half a dozen of us, some from England, some from Normandy. I think Guy is a good man, but he has little concern for us. We’re thrown together like a litter of whelps, to snarl and chase and bite each other until we’ve found our places.
    I’m not happy here. When I arrived, the other