Selected Detective
THE ATEAU DE CASTELOMBRES

Layla stopped her rental car, a bruised Renault Clio, onto the sidewalk and, leaving the engine on, she pushed her body forward. through the windshield of the car he looked up at the castle of Montsegur high there. It remained that way for a while, observing the empty gray walls, the back, the stone dome shaped like a head so as to make the castle look like a ship riding the logo in the tidal wave; then, sit back and cast a glance at the map he placed in the passenger seat next to him, then continue on his way.

After twenty minutes, he arrived at Castelombres. He has bought several manuals in Toulouse, Toulouse, which is very helpful because without the books he would have trouble finding the village of Castelombres which is nothing more than scattered housing and agricultural buildings which are not even visible on the map and there would be no hope to find the location of the ruins, which are three kilometers outside small hamlets and wells. Even with the book the ruins are still not easy to find, involving a turbulent journey along the path that pinches its way to the hill, and then a walk across two muddy fields and up through a small, bushy collection of plants and growing a giant, giant, following a sharp uphill path that must have been well preserved but now overgrown with wild plants that make it almost no different from the surrounding plants. So far away was the location of the castle, completely hidden, that Layla was actually already at the point of stepping back, thinking that she must have made a wrong turn somewhere, and then she had to go, when the bush opened on both sides and he was already standing on the vast grassy terrace, deep within the hillside there is a spectacular view of the surrounding hills and down into the river valley below. The broken wooden sign on his left side announces ATEAU DE CASTELOMBRES.

Whoever had brought down this castle, he had done the whole job, for almost nothing else was left behind, just a few scattered blocks of stone, he said, some of the highest collapsed walls were no more than knee-length and a single pillar and stern lay on its sides in rotten wood-like grass. there was only one thing that was a sign that this had been a magnificent building, and it was a large arch at the end of the terrace, very tall, very narrow, carved stones plastered with black vines, black vines, its peak loomed until a sharp point that seemed to be clawing at the sky, like the writing of a chicken claw from the tip of a pen on a piece of gray paper.

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