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shoulder and turned around. It was one of his customers, Baron Jean-Baptiste de Tuz, lord of Pontoise.
    â€œWell, Master Flamel, I never thought I’d see you at such a sorry s pectacle.”
    The man was in his forties. A black beard framed his chin. He’d been coming to Flamel’s shop for two years. A benefactor of poets, the baron wanted to write down the words of the troubadours who performed in his castle. He was one of a minority of enlightened aristocrats pressing for reforms in th e kingdom.
    â€œBelieve me when I say that I already regret having been led here , milord.”
    â€œYou’re a good man, Master Flamel. If only all Christians were like you.”
    Flamel smiled. The baron of Tuz was known for his kindness. On several occasions he had helped Jews and other people who had been forced into hiding. He had even had his guards thrash an overly zealous inquisitor. Fortunately for him, he was under the protection of the king’ s brother.
    â€œIt saddens me to see this poor man brought to the stake,” the baron said. “It reminds me of the stories about the Templars that my father told me. One day these dishonorable practices will have to stop.”
    â€œBaron, do you know why our king wanted him put to death? I mean the rea l reason.”
    â€œI see that you are as clever as always,” the baron said with a smile. “I heard the tale of the good king who was deceived. But John is not one to be easily misled. I suspect there’s more to it, but we’ll probably ne ver know.”
    A cl amor rose.
    â€œAnd the re he is.”

15
    Grand Orient Masonic Hall
    Evening of the initiation
    T he two men were just a few meters from each other. Marcas inche d forward.
    â€œHow could you have done such a shamef ul thing?”
    â€œSomeone needs to clean the stable. My rank authorizes me to do it.”
    â€œW hat rank?”
    â€œCome now, my brother. Show some wisdom. There aren’t many of us who can claim vengeance. Now sto p moving.”
    Marcas froze, his hand on his sword.
    â€œYou have no chance of escaping.”
    â€œMy poor brother, this is my home. I can go wherever I like.”
    Marcas glanced around. Where were the other brothers?
    As if the killer could read his mind, the man bent his knees and sprang forward, aiming his knife at Marcas’s gut. Without a second to spare Marcas leaped to the side and fell on the chairs, crashing to the floor. He swore and got to his feet, seeing the emergency exit already shutting behind t he killer.
    Marcas rushed out to the central staircase, following the sound of footsteps near the museum. He was heading toward the back exit, which had been blocked off when the building was renovated. The killer was trapped.
    The guard arrived, carrying a Taser X26.
    â€œWhere’d you get that? Only law enforcement can have those. I’ll take it. The guy has a knife.”
    â€œI got your back. They called me the Black Angel when I was w restling.”
    â€œWell, Black Angel, get ready. On my signal we’re heading in there.” Marcas turned the Taser on and pushed the museum door open.

16
    The banks of the Seine
    March 13, 1355
    A cross the Seine, a window lit up in the Louvre. The crowd cheered as the king, surrounded by his family, appeared on the balcony. Flamel looked at the henchman holding the torch near the pyre.
    The king gave the signal. The henchman lowered his arm, and the cheering gre w louder.
    As the flames encircled the pile of wood, the prisoner struggled to escape his death. But already thick smoke was swirling up. The henchman’s aids rushed to fan the blaze. They poked at it with pitchforks. The prisoner could die from the smoke before the fire ever got to him. And the people of Paris would be frustrated. Insults and curses were flying in the air, along with the fi rst ashes.
    Flamel made the sign of the cross.
    Just then a gust of wind inflamed the already strident