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  “That’s true, of course,” Rene Lacaze shrugged, “but Dottore… I am from here. My father is from the valley, my father’s father, and his. There have been stories here for hundreds of years, long before this grave tumbled open. Stories every schoolchild in Blois was raised on. That this holy relic was here, in Blois, a thousand years ago.”

  Mazzini had seen a hundred purported relics like this, but the tremendous power of this one gripped and unnerved him. A reverent force gave him the urge to kneel on the stone floor.

  Finally, that’s what he did—as if he was in the presence of Jesus Christ.

  “I waited until your arrival to place a call to Cardinal Perrault in Paris,” said Lacaze.

  “Forget Perrault,” Mazzini looked up, moistening his dry lips. “We are going to call the Pope.”

  Alberto Mazzini couldn’t take his eyes off the incredible artifact on the plain white sheet. This was more than just the crowning moment of his career. It was a miracle.

  “There’s just one more thing,” said Ms. Lacaze.

  “What?” Mazzini mumbled. “What one more thing?”

  “The local lore, it always said a precious relic was here. Just never that it belonged to a duke. But to a man of far more humble origins.”

  “What sort of low-born man would come into such a prize? A priest? Perhaps a thief?

  “No,” Rene Lacaze’s brown eyes widened. “Actually, a jester.”

  Part One

  THE ORIGINS OF COMEDY

  Chapter 1

  VEILLE DU PERE, a village in southern France, 1096

  The church bells were ringing.

  Loud, quickening peals—echoing through town in the middle of the day.

  Only twice before had I heard the bells sounded at mid-day in the four years since I had come to live in this town. Once, when word reached us that the King’s son had died. And the second, when a raiding party from our lord’s rival in Digne swept through town during the wars, leaving eight dead and burning almost every house to the ground.

  What was going on?

  I rushed to the second-floor window of the inn I looked after with my wife Sophie. People were running into the square, still carrying their tools. “What’s going on? Who needs help?” they shouted.

  Then Arnaud, who farmed a plot by the river, galloped over the bridge aboard his mule, pointing back towards the road. “They’re coming! They’re almost here!”

  From the east, I heard the loudest chorus of voices, seemingly raised as one. I squinted through the trees and felt my jaw drop. Jesus, I’m dreaming, I know I said to myself. A peddler with a cart was considered an event here! I blinked at the sight, not once, but twice.

  It was the greatest multitude I had ever seen! Jammed along the narrow road into town, stretching out as far as the eye could see.

  “Sophie, come quick, now,” I yelled. “You’re not going to believe this.”

  My wife of three years hurried to the window, her yellow hair pinned up for the workday under a white cap. “Mother of God, Hugh….”

  “It’s an army,” I muttered, barely able to believe my eyes. “The Army of the Crusade.”

  Chapter 2

  EVEN IN VEILLE DU PERE, word had reached us of the Pope’s call. We had heard that masses of men were leaving their families, taking the cross, as nearby as Digne. And here they were…. The army of Crusaders marching through Veille du Pere!

  But what an army! More of a rabble, like one of those multitudes prophesized in Isiah or John. Men, women, children, carrying clubs and tools straight from home. And it was vast—thousands of them! Not fitted out with armor or uniform, but shabbily, with red crosses either painted or sewn onto plain tunics. And at the head of this assemblage… not some trumped-up duke or king in crested mail and armor sitting imperiously atop a massive charger. But a little man in a homespun monk’s robe, bare-foot, bald, with a thatched crown, plopped atop a simple mule.

  “It is their awful voices the Turks will turn and run from.” I shook my head, “not their swords.”

  Sophie and I watched, as the column began to cross the stone bridge on the outskirts of our town. Young and old, men and women; some carrying axes and mallets and old swords, some old knights parading in rusty armor. Carts, wagons, tired mules and plow-horses. Thousands of them.

  Everyone in town stood and stared. Children ran out and danced around the approaching monk. No one had ever seen anything like it before. Nothing ever happened here!

  I was struck with a kind of wonderment. “Sophie, tell me, what do you see?”

  “What do I see? Either the holiest army I’ve ever seen, or the dumbest. In any case, it’s the worst equipped.”

  “But look, not a noble anywhere. Just common men and women. Like us.”

  Below us, the vast column wound into the main square and the queer monk at its head tugged his mule to a stop. A bearded knight helped him slide off. Father Leo went up to greet him. The singing stopped, weapons and packs were laid at ease. Everyone in our town was pressed around the tiny square. To listen.

  “I am called Peter,” the monk spoke in a surprisingly strong voice, “called by his Holiness Urban to lead an army of believers to the Holy Land to free the Holy Sepulcher from the heathen hordes. Are there any believers here?”

  He was pale and long-nosed, resembling his mount, and his brown robes had holes in them, threadbare. Yet as he spoke, he seemed to grow, his voice rising in power and conviction.

  “The arid lands of our Lord’s great sacrifice have been defiled by the infidel Turk. Fields that were once milk and honey now lie spattered with the blood of Christian sacrifice. Holy churches have been burned and looted, sainted sites destroyed. The holiest treasures of our faith, the bones of saints, have been fed to dogs; cherished vials, filled with drops of the Savior’s own blood, poured into heaps of dung like spoiled wine.”

  “Join us,” many from the ranks called out loudly. “Kill the pagans, and sit with the Lord in Heaven.”

  “For those who come,” the monk named Peter went on, “for those who put aside their earthly possessions and join our Crusade, His Holiness Urban promises unimaginable rewards. Riches, spoils, and honor in battle. His protection for your families who dutifully remain behind. An eternity in heaven at the feet of our grateful Lord. And, most of all, freedom. Freedom from all servitude upon your return. Who will come, brave souls?” the monk reached out his arms, his invitation almost irresistible.

  Shouts of acclamation rose throughout the square. People I had known for years shouted, “I… I will come!”

  I saw Matt, the miller’s oldest son, just sixteen, throw up his hands and hug his mother. And John the Smith, who could crush iron in his hands, kneel and take the cross. Several people, many of them just boys, ran to get their possessions, then merged in with the ranks. Everyone was shouting, “Dei leveult!” God wills it!

  Inside, my own blood surged. What a glorious adventure awaited. Riches and spoils picked up along the way. A chance to change destiny in a single stroke. I felt my soul spring alive. I thought of gaining our freedom, and the riches I might find on the Crusades. For a second I almost raised my hand and called out, “I will come! I will take the cross.”

  But then I felt Sophie’s hand pressing on mine. I lost my tongue.

  It minutes, the procession started up again. The ranks of farmers, masons, bakers, maids, whores, jongleurs and outlaws, hoisting their sacks and makeshift weapons, swelling in song. The monk Peter mounted his donkey, blessing the town with a wave, then pointed west.

  I watched them with a yearning I thought had long been put behind me. I had traveled in my youth. I’d been brought up by Goliards, monks who entertained from town to town. And there was something that I missed from those days. Something my life in Veille du Pere had stilled but not completely put aside.

  1 missed being free, and even more than that, I wanted freedom for Sophie and the children we would have one day.

  Contents

  Front Cover
Image

  Welcome

  Acknowledgments

  A Preview of The Jester

  Prologue: THE CHOIR KIDS

  Part One: THE WOMEN’S MURDER CLUB—AGAIN

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Part Two: JUSTICE WILL BE SERVED

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Part Three: THE BLUE WALL OF SILENCE

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Chapter 89

  Chapter 90

  Chapter 91

  Chapter 92

  Chapter 93

  Chapter 94

  Chapter 95

  Chapter 96

  Chapter 97

  Chapter 98

  Chapter 99

  Chapter 100

  Chapter 101

  Chapter 102

  Chapter 103

  Chapter 104

  Chapter 105

  Chapter 106

  Chapter 107

  Chapter 108

  Chapter 109

  Chapter 110

  Chapter 111

  Chapter 112

  Chapter 113

  Chapter 114

  Chapter 115

  Chapter 116

  Chapter 117

  Chapter 118

  Chapter 119

  Chapter 120

  Epilogue: I’LL FLY AWAY

  Books by James Patterson

  Second to None Acclaim for James Patterson’s: 2nd Chance

  Praise for James Patterson’s Thrillers: 1st to Die

  Copyright

  BOOKS BY JAMES PATTERSON

  The Thomas Berryman Number

  Season of the Machete

  See How They Run

  The Midnight Club

  Along Came a Spider

  Kiss the Girls

  Hide & Seek

  Jack & Jill

  Miracle on the 17th Green (with Peter de Jonge)

  Cat & Mouse

  When the Wind Blows

  Pop Goes the Weasel

  Black Friday

  Cradle and All

  Roses Are Red

  1st to Die

  Suzanne’s Diary for Nicholas

  2nd Chance

  Violets Are Blue

  SECOND TO NONE ACCLAIM FOR

  JAMES PATTERSON’S

  #1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER

  2ND CHANCE

  “PRIME PATTERSON: FIRST RATE ENTERTAINMENT. Patterson’s richest, most engaging novel since When the Wind Blows. THE STORY RIPPLES WITH TWISTS AND REMARKABLY STRONG SCENES…. But what makes this Patterson stand out above all is the textured storytelling arising from its focus on Boxer’s personal issues.”

  —Publishers Weekly (starred review)

  “RE-ESTABLISHES PATTERSON AS ONE OF THE TOP MYSTERY-THRILLER WRITERS IN THE GAME TODAY. 2ND CHANCE IS A FIRST-RATE THRILLER.”

  —Grand Rapids Press

  “PATTERSON AT HIS BREEZY BEST.”

  —Fort Worth Star-Telegram

  “A SOLIDLY ENGINEERED WHODUNIT. BOTTOM LINE: WORTH CHANCING.”

  —People

  PRAISE FOR

  JAMES PATTERSON’S THRILLERS

  1ST TO DIE

  “TERRIFIC… A GREAT THRILLER…. What’s not to love about a ‘club’ formed by four women to catch a psycho killing newlywed couples?”

  —Providence Sunday Journal

  “I CAN’T BELIEVE HOW GOOD PATTERSON IS…. HE’S ALWAYS ON THE MARK.”

  —Larry King, USA Today

  “PATTERSON BOILS A SCENE DOWN TO THE SINGLE, TELLING DETAIL, THE ELEMENT THAT DEFINES A CHARACTER OR MOVES A PLOT ALONG. It’s what fires off the movie projector in the reader’s mind.”

  —Michael Connelly, author of City of Bones

  “HIS CLEVER TWISTS AND AFFECTING SUBPLOTS KEEP THE PAGES FLYING.”

  —People (Page-Turner of the Week)

  “DELIVERS A SHARP PUNCH.”

  —Chicago Tribune

  “THAT RAPID-FIRE, IN-YOUR-FACE, YOU’D-BETTER-KEEP-READING-OR-ELSE FORMAT WILL MAKE YOU FINISH 1ST TO DIE IN ONE SITTING (barring World War III, a 9.1 earthquake or the Ebola virus).”

  —Denver Rocky Mountain News

  “PATTERSON KNOWS WHERE OUR DEEPEST FEARS ARE BURIED…. THERE’S NO STOPPING HIS IMAGINATION.”

  —New York Times Book Review

  “Patterson’s prose style is smart… powering the plot along smoothly…. Works to keep readers glued tight right to the end. A WALLOPING GOOD RIDE.”

  —Buffalo News

  “[A] NEAT TRICK OF AN ENDING.”

  —Janet Maslin, New York Times

  “A clever plot with enough LAST-MINUTE REVELATIONS TO KEEP YOU GUESSING.”

  —Entertainment Weekly

  “JAMES PATTERSON WRITES HIS THRILLERS AS IF HE WERE BUILDING ROLLER COASTERS. He grounds the stories with a bare-bones plot, then builds them over the top and tries to throw readers for a loop a few times along the way.”

  —Associated Press

  “A SLICK, TAUT THRILLER…. Patterson keeps the pace moving at top speed. 1St TO DIE is a darn good book.”

  —Orlando Sentinel

  “A good story with a murderer as twisted as any Patterson has created—and AN ENDING THAT WILL TAKE READERS BY SURPRISE.”

  —Newark Star-Ledger

  “POLISHED, BRISKLY WRITTEN ENTERTAINMENT… DELIVERS THE SPINE-TINGLING GOODS.”

  —Sunday Oregonian

  “A SURE BET FOR A BESTSELLER.”

  —Cleveland Plain Dealer

  “HE’S DONE IT AGAIN…. CLEVER KICKOFF TO A NEW SERIES… A GLEAMING MACHINE OF A NOVEL…. Patterson… isn’t afraid to reach as a writer.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “If you want to—gasp—scare yourself silly, GRAB JAMES PATTERSON’S LATEST THRILLER.”

  —Fort L
auderdale Sun-Sentinel

  “PATTERSON, WHO FIRST HOOKED CRIME-THRILLER FANS WITH HIS SERIES OF ALEX CROSS NOVELS, DOESN’T MISS A BEAT. The plot moves at breakneck speed…. Patterson manages a fine balance… and he keeps the reader guessing right up to a scary double-twist ending.”

  —Memphis Commercial Appeal

  “PATTERSON SHOWS HE’S 2ND TO NONE…. Patterson catches us again with book in hand and fingers turning those pages just as quickly as we did for other favorites, Along Came a Spider, Pop Goes the Weasel, and Kiss the Girls.”

  —Oakland Press

  “SOLID, THREE-DIMENSIONAL CHARACTERS… newcomers to his work will be enthralled.”

  —Fort Worth Star-Telegram

  “ONE OF THE MOST CREATIVE AND SADISTIC KILLERS SINCE HANNIBAL LECTER…. There are surprises in store right up to the last page.”

  —BookPage

  “PATTERSON AGAIN PROVES HIMSELF A MASTER OF THE CRAFT…. Such a great book: every time you think you’ve got it all figured out, you realize the killer is still a step ahead.”

  —Providence Sunday Journal

  “PATTERSON KEEPS UP THE SUSPENSE UNTIL THE VERY LAST PAGE and will have readers looking forward to the second installment in the series.”

  —Booklist

  “READERS WLL ENJOY THE HEART-PUMPING PLOT AND ROOT FOR THE LADIES TO SUCCEED.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  “THE RELENTLESS VELOCITY is guaranteed to hook fans of the bestselling Patterson.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  ALONG CAME A SPIDER

  “JAMES PATTERSON DOES EVERYTHING BUT STICK OUR FINGER IN A LIGHT SOCKET TO GIVE US A BUZZ.”

  —New York Times

  “WHEN IT COMES TO CONSTRUCTING A HARROWING PLOT, AUTHOR JAMES PATTERSON CAN TURN A SCREW ALL RIGHT…. James Patterson is to suspense what Danielle Steel is to romance.”

  —New York Daily News

  KISS THE GIRLS

  “TOUGH TO PUT DOWN…. TICKS LIKE A TIME BOMB, ALWAYS FULL OF THREAT AND TENSION.”

  —Los Angeles Times