The Baker's Secret(31)

Guillaume twisted the corporal’s arm till the shoulder dislocated. The soldier cried out feebly, his wind still gone, wheezing as he fell to his knees. The veterinarian took the pistol, emptied its bullets into his hand, then stuffed them in his pocket. He grabbed the soldier’s arm and lifted, making him scream.

“Can you hear me, you mouse?” Guillaume said. “Can you understand me right now?”

The soldier moaned but nodded.

“You have an army, so you can be any kind of damn fool you want. But you do not trifle with this one, do you hear me? This woman, you leave alone.”

The corporal gritted his teeth. “I will have you shot.”

“No. I could kill you now with your own gun, and there would be no witness to speak against me. But I am showing you mercy, because I believe you will obey.” He pointed at Emma. “This one you do not touch.”

Guillaume shoved the soldier on his back; he writhed in the dirt. The veterinarian threw the pistol, tumbling end over end before it fell in the tall grass. He nodded to Emma. “Come.”

Mutely she followed him back to her cart. He waited as she slid her trembling arms into the harness. Apollo ambled up, standing there blinking.

“Which way were you headed?” Guillaume asked.

Emma gestured with her chin.

“The harbor.” He lifted his blue bicycle, which was lying on its side. “I’m headed that way myself.”

She felt wobbly in her knees, but after a few steps Emma recovered her balance. Fear was swiftly displaced by heat. If Guillaume had given her the pistol, there would be one less soldier on this earth. Her mind boiled with how she might have shot him, while the ground passed unnoticed beneath her feet.

Apollo let them go, wandering off in the direction from which Emma had come. The veterinarian matched her pace, not speaking, his bicycle clicking as it rolled alongside. Soon she had resumed her usual clip.

At last he broke the silence. “You know that it is not safe—”

“The one person.” She cut him off. “The one person on earth permitted to lecture me is my father.”

“I think I know why you travel our roads every day.”

Emma increased her pace. “You have no idea.”

“Perhaps. But I know that you could be safer—”

“If I stayed at home. But I will not be staying at home.”

“I would never suggest such a thing, mademoiselle. Some animals cannot live in a cage.”

Emma felt herself softening. This man had healed her father’s livestock many times. And had just rescued her. “What is your business, then? I am glad you saved me, thank you. Though it is a fraction of the penance you owe for my father’s exile.”

“But of course,” he said. And with that, Guillaume stopped walking. Emma did not notice for a few steps, but then slowed the cart by turning sideways. He stood beside his bicycle; it looked like a toy compared with his bulk. “I had something else in mind.”

Emma looked down her nose. “Yes?”

He surprised her then by smiling. “That expression on your face. I can’t decide if it comes from your father or Uncle Ezra.”

“Both men I loved, one who the occupying army murdered and the other who they took away in a cattle car.”

“One day this army will pay for its deeds.”

“How nice to think so,” Emma said, scanning the harbor below. A pair of gulls chased a third, who cried and squawked down the shore. “The Monsignor says that when I die I may go to heaven, too. But neither belief will fill anyone’s belly today.”

“Exactly,” Guillaume said. “That is why I want you to have this.” He reached into the satchel in his bicycle’s basket, producing a long black sheath. “This is a thigh harness,” he explained. Leaning the bike against his hip, he slid out a bright steel blade. “You can strap the weapon safely out of sight. A person would have to grope you to know you carried it. But if the need arises, this knife is high-quality steel, with a gutter along one side for the blood to flow without splashing you.”

“I, well . . . hmm,” Emma stammered.

“You might think to stab in this area,” he continued, gesturing at his chest. “But ribs make a surprisingly protective cage. It is more effective to plunge the knife lower, here.” He pointed below his sternum. “No protection. And if you can, hook the blade upward so it punctures the important things.”

Emma’s mouth went dry. It was as though her bluff were being called. Was she capable of stabbing someone? The red-haired corporal had made her think so, not five minutes before. But the steel reality of this weapon far exceeded her angry fantasy.

“I don’t want it,” she said at last.

“If you embark on activities that cause people to depend on you, then you have a responsibility to protect yourself.” Guillaume slid the blade into the sheath, placing it in her hands.

The weapon was heavy, and the leather smell reminded Emma of saddles. “I told you.” She spoke more firmly, holding the knife back toward him. “I don’t want this.”

“Yes you do,” Guillaume answered mildly. He threw a leg over the seat of his bicycle, gripped the handlebars, put one huge boot on a pedal. “I heard you tell the Monsignor yesterday with my own ears.”

“What did I say?”