by C. S. Quinn
‘I do not work in possibilities,’ says Robespierre. ‘The thing shall be done. Men loyal to the cause are now on every customs gate. No one enters or leaves the city without the Society of Friends knowing.’
Robespierre says something else that I can’t make out. I stand on tiptoes, straining to hear. Then Salvatore’s voice booms out, loud and clear.
‘That is all? Very well. You may have it now.’
There is a faint rustling of cloth. I abandon the glass, hoping to catch what has been given over, but I’m too late. Salvatore has already handed him something I can’t see.
Robespierre’s smile appears to take effort. He straightens his clothing carefully.
Something else is said that I do not hear. I go back to the glass, straining to make it out, but it seems their conversation has come to an end. When I go back to watching, Robespierre is brushing down the sleeves of his coat, something in his hand that I can’t quite see. Desperately, I move to look through another crack in the ceiling, and as I do so, Robespierre turns, obscuring my view again.
He is leaving the room, tucking whatever Salvatore gave him inside his coat.
Something gleaming. Golden.
I need to see what. As the door closes behind Robespierre, I step back and my foot presses on something yielding, and suddenly the ground beneath me shifts.
‘Attica!’ Jemmy’s voice is urgent. As I look down I see his shocked face. Then the world spins, taking him with it. My hands fly out to steady me.
‘You’ve unhitched the mechanism!’ calls Jemmy. ‘Jump!’
But now the table is turning so fast I can’t get control of my balance. I only have time to see him draw his sword and plunge towards the spinning cogs.
My last thought, as the ceiling shoots towards me at terrible speed, is that Jemmy is doing just the wrong thing. If he breaks the system, the twisting riser will speed out of control, smashing me against the metal plates. But just before I hit the roof, the interlocking leaves fly apart, folding into one another to reveal the room above.
For a moment I cannot make sense of the switching scenes before me. Then the orbiting world slows. I am spun up into the room above. That’s when I realise. In his bid to save me, Jemmy has inadvertently left me trapped, sabotaging any chance I have of escaping back the way I came.
But before I can think through any of this properly, the spinning table comes to a halt and I crouch dizzily in the centre, trying to stop my whirling vision.
In the turning images in front of me I clearly see Salvatore’s face, furious and cruel, and four very unpleasant-looking guards.
‘Mademoiselle Morgan, I thought I explained you were not welcome.’ Salvatore is gritting his teeth in fury. ‘At least now we know what you really are. How much did you hear?’
I hold up my hands. ‘An honest mistake,’ I tell Salvatore. ‘A wrong turn on the way to the salon.’
Salvatore turns to his guards.
‘She is a spy,’ he says, making to leave. ‘An English one. I have business with the other nobles. Do what you like with her. Only be certain she is dead at the end of it.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
THE GUARDS UNSHEATHE THEIR SWORDS AND CLOSE IN ON me, grinning. As I draw my knife their smiles only widen.
‘A lady with a blade?’ says one. ‘You should have been better with a pistol from upstairs, darling. There might have been a chance of hitting one of us.’
He approaches, sword held out. And as he reaches the table where I stand, I kick a plateful of roast meat at him. He falters, and as he does I drop to my knees, grab his hair and sever the artery at the back of his neck. Blood cascades downwards as the other guards watch, open mouthed.
‘If you care for your lives,’ I tell them, wiping the blade on my dress, ‘come no closer.’
The truth is I’m praying they don’t come all at once, since Jemmy was right about my dress. It is dreadfully heavy and restrictive.
‘She’s all talk,’ says one of the guards. ‘That was a lucky blow with the knife.’
Even so, he approaches me with caution, sword outstretched.
‘I should rather not ruin my evening gown,’ I tell him, holding out the curved blade. ‘But I will if I must.’
His face darkens and he lunges. I dodge the blade, feeling the dress rip at the hip now. Cursing, I straighten. Something in my face causes him to back away.
‘Now, now, sweetheart,’ he says, holding his hands up. ‘There are three of us. No sense making it harder on yourself.’
Another guard comes from behind.
‘She is just a woman,’ he tells his fellow. ‘What is the matter with you?’
He strides towards the table and lifts the edge, sending it cascading to the floor with me on it. I am thrown back in a storm of fine foods and crockery. A dish of peach syllabub splatters across my skirts.
‘Have you any idea,’ I say, rising to my feet while I brush fruit from the folds of my clothing, ‘how hard it is to get cream out of velvet?’
The guards charge and I duck low, slicing upwards to kill the first before he reaches me. Another grabs me from behind, and I kick my legs out, further tearing my fine dress, to send him flying backwards.
I am mourning the chance of keeping the bloodstains from my lacy collar as the men regroup with surprising speed. I anticipated Salvatore’s having an excellent eye for guards, but the resilience of the attack is beyond what I would have thought possible.
Holding my knife aloft, formulating a strategy to pick-off the weakest. But the calibre of my attackers is such that I can’t distinguish between them. As I accept my overwhelming disadvantage, there is a shrieking of metal from the other side of the room.
As we all turn to watch, the metal rose in the floor opens, and Jemmy emerges, spinning violently atop another table, sword outstretched. Relief floods through me. With Jemmy, I have a fighting chance. My hope clouds as Jemmy staggers, the motion of the table rising seems to be giving him trouble standing.
‘Attica!’ Jemmy tries to regain his balance, then makes an ungainly leap from the table, landing uncertainly.
‘You’re too late,’ I tell him, elbowing the guard behind me. ‘My skirts are ruined.’
Jemmy puts a hand out in front of him, trying to dispel the dizziness. ‘Just a moment, so.’ He presses a palm to his forehead and squints at the guards. ‘Unless there are two of you, I’m seeing double.’
‘You’re too dizzy to fight,’ I tell him. ‘Stand behind me before you get killed.’
‘I’m a sailor,’ he replies, shaking his head and regaining his composure. ‘Well used to shifting decks. I’m well enough.’
He seems to have miraculously dispelled his unsteadiness.
‘If you make haste,’ I tell him, as a guard comes at us. ‘My shoes can still be saved.’
The guard grabs at my sleeve, and I turn, driving my knife up to its hilt into his stomach. He folds over in pain, pulling free a handful of Flanders lace.
‘Two to go!’ I call, turning in horror to see Jemmy, his ridiculous duck’s foot pistol in hand, pointed at my attacker and the other guard.
‘Don’t shoot!’ I shout in alarm. ‘Those things have no aim at all …’ The multiple barrels of the gun fire and I dive for the floor, covering the rest of my clothing in spilled food. I sit up to my elbows, taking in the complete destruction of my outfit.
‘You were right about aim,’ says Jemmy cheerfully. ‘Sprays everywhere.’ He looks happily into the smoking barrels of his pistol, and then back to the guards, lying dead on the floor with bullet wounds to the head and neck.
‘There’s no seamstress who can save you now,’ he adds philosophically, taking in my tattered and cream-covered ensemble.
‘You could have killed me,’ I say, putting out a hand so he can help me up. ‘And they would have heard your silly pistol in the next room.’
‘Ah.’ Already we can hear the party next door grinding to a halt. Shouts. ‘Best be going, then.’
; ‘Both exits are guarded,’ I point out.
Jemmy hands me on to the table he rose up on.
‘After you, your Ladyship.’ He hops up next to me. ‘Hold on tight,’ he adds. ‘And try not to let the nausea get to you. I think they go faster on the way down.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
IN THE LABYRINTHINE SERVANTS’ CORRIDORS THAT LINE THE foundations of the Louvre, Jemmy and I are quickly lost.
The dark underbelly stretches on for ever, and it seems we’ve walked one giant circle. And since we don’t want to lead anyone to us, we can’t risk lighting the wall-mounted candles, spaced at convenient intervals for servants.
‘I thought pirates could navigate,’ I say, aggrieved, as Jemmy holds his compass beneath the light of his tinderbox, frowning in concentration.
‘I can navigate well enough,’ says Jemmy. ‘Something is throwing the compass off. Lot of iron somewhere near here.’ He frowns.
‘Concealed weaponry?’ I suggest, calling to mind the earlier meeting. ‘What do you think Salvatore could have given Robespierre?’ I add, the puzzle of it dogging me.
‘Something small, you said?’
‘Small enough to fit inside a pocket. ‘But the way he held it … made it look heavy.’
‘Something valuable, perhaps. Poor men always carry things of worth as though they weigh a great deal.’
‘Just a few inches to one side, and I would have seen it,’ I sigh. ‘Whatever it is, Robespierre has some plan that Salvatore is on side with. Something the nobles want done, and cannot do themselves?’
‘You can hardly be sure Robespierre was telling the truth,’ Jemmy points out.
‘He was telling the truth about the customs gates,’ I say. ‘I was right about his influence there,’ I add with satisfaction, thinking back to Lord Pole’s scepticism. ‘And he is too cautious to risk the vengeance of a man like Salvatore.’ I ponder some more. ‘If all Robespierre wanted was to assassinate two female abolitionists, there are dozens of men he could have used, at far less personal risk.’
‘Salvatore has knowledge of the execution methods,’ Jemmy says.
‘So do a good handful of men who are for the revolutionary cause.’ I’m shaking my head. ‘There is something about the murders that doesn’t fit at all. Why kill two abolitionists in such a way? Robespierre has no interest in the colonies. He is against slavery. It must be something involving Salvatore’s weaponry connections, surely?’
Jemmy considers this, still peering at his compass as he begins walking. ‘Robespierre has no knowledge of armaments,’ he says. ‘He’s never fought in the army. The man doesn’t even carry a pistol. You saw the kind of men who deal in arms, Attica.’ Jemmy shakes his head emphatically. ‘I’m a betting man, and I’d wager every coin in my purse that your man Robespierre makes sort of trick.’
‘Whatever it is, Robespierre is playing a very dangerous game. A game I’m not even certain he’d want his own people knowing about.’
‘An aristocrat willing to do his dirty work,’ agrees Jemmy. ‘Hardly likely to go down well with the revolutionary boys.’
‘That’s just it,’ I say. ‘Robespierre is a man of conscience. This runs entirely counter to his principles. He must have something big planned or he should never stoop to such measures. I need to find out what.’
I’m running through possibilities and counting them out. Incendiary devices. Explosives. None would be small enough to fit in a coat.
‘Good news for your husband-to-be, in any case,’ says Jemmy, squinting into the middle distance and re-checking his compass. ‘If we get out of here alive, you can sail back to London on tonight’s tide.’
I furrow my brow in confusion. ‘Why should I do that?’
Jemmy snatches a look at me. ‘Isn’t your mission to discover who Salvatore is working with, then sever the connection? You need only put a knife through Monsieur Robespierre and you are complete.’
I shake my head in annoyance. ‘It’s also my mission to serve the English crown. This is bigger than we ever suspected. It’s a chance to find out what La Société des Amis’ plans are. Assassinating Robespierre would waste our advantage.’
‘You’re certain it isn’t that you cannot bring yourself to kill Monsieur Robespierre and return home?’
‘I—’
Jemmy comes to a halt, interrupting me. ‘We’ve found our iron,’ he says, pointing towards a door hanging slightly ajar.
To my disappointment, it’s not a cache of secret weapons, only a large neglected kitchen, hung with the largest array of cast-iron pots, pans, cauldrons and hanging tongs I have ever seen.
‘Salvatore must know we’re down here by now,’ says Jemmy. ‘Any ideas on which direction leads out?’
‘Kitchens are usually close to a servants’ entrance,’ I say. ‘Though that might also be a sound place for Salvatore to deploy his guards without alerting anyone upstairs.’
On cue we hear muttered voices from a corridor beyond. They don’t sound friendly. There’s a glimmer of light, as though candles are headed this way.
‘This way,’ hisses Jemmy, abandoning his compass. ‘Press back against the wall.’
‘You seem very certain. Pirate instinct?’
‘Sometimes a man must navigate by his wits,’ agrees Jemmy. ‘But if those men have come from above stairs, we need only wait until they pass and follow the candles back the way they came.’
He points to a glow of light, where the men have used wall candles. Sometimes, Jemmy’s self-satisfaction can be very tiresome.
We follow the little row of flames, and just as Jemmy predicted, it isn’t long before we reach a narrow staircase. What he didn’t account for, however, was reinforcements. A second pack of guards appears at the top of the steps.
‘Double back!’ I tell Jemmy. We run in the other direction.
‘There must be more than one way out,’ pants Jemmy. ‘This place is enormous.’
‘At least six exits on ground level,’ I tell him, breathing hard. ‘But we’ve missed all of them so far. And there are guards coming from both directions.’
We hear shouts up ahead and come to a halt. Voices from the other direction confirm we are surrounded, trapped underground with bloodthirsty men to either side of us. I pull out my knife. Jemmy draws a sword in one hand and a very plain-looking pistol in the other.
‘No duck’s foot pistol?’
‘I listen to you on occasion, to be sure,’ he says, noticing me staring at it. ‘This one is for when I need to aim true.’
‘Reassuring to know we’re really in danger.’
He doesn’t answer, only turns with his back to me and faces the approaching guards.
Before they appear, however, there’s a movement in the shadows. A dark figure, moving in a doorway.
I can’t work out how a guard could have got ahead of us, but this doesn’t look good.
‘Jemmy,’ I whisper, directing my thumb to the movement and drawing my knife. He nods, standing back to let me lunge for it, blade high.
But as I bring the knife down, a familiar face rises out of the gloom, the whites of the eyes flashing in candlelight.
‘Centime?’ I lower my blade just in time.
In reply she raises a finger to her lips, then beckons. Now I can see her better, I realise she is no longer in her toga, but wearing the same dress she arrived at the party in. I can’t work out how she might have got down here to find us, and can only assume it to be another trick of Salvatore’s.
‘There’s another way out, back here, hidden,’ she whispers. ‘Follow me.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
I STARE AT CENTIME, WONDERING HOW SHE GOT DOWN HERE unaccompanied – and whether she can be trusted.
‘How did you know we were down here?’ I demand.
‘I overheard Salvatore,’ she says. ‘He’s covered all the escape routes. I … I didn’t want you dead.’ Her eyes sweep across my face and then down again. I still can’t decide if she’s trying to trick u
s.
Centime sees my hesitation. ‘There’s a secret way out,’ she says. ‘An exit he doesn’t know about.’
‘How do you know?’ I ask.
‘I used to work here,’ says Centime. ‘A long time ago, as a younger girl,’ she adds, swallowing. I get the impression Centime’s employment beneath the palace was more than just ferrying plates and washing dishes.
I glance back at Jemmy, who is staring into the shadows.
‘Is she who I think she is?’ he manages finally, staring at Centime.
‘She knows a way out.’ This at least I believe.
‘That is Salvatore’s courtesan?’ he whispers. ‘Why do you think we can trust her?’
‘Because you have no choice,’ says Centime. ‘There are armed guards in either direction. You could never overwhelm them, just one man and a woman.’
‘I wouldn’t be so certain of that,’ says Jemmy, adjusting his sword.
Footsteps are coming closer now. It sounds like there are a lot of them.
‘Why should you want to help us?’ I ask.
Centime takes a breath. ‘Is it true what you said before?’ she asks. ‘You could save me? From him?’
‘Yes.’
She looks hard into my eyes.
‘I give you my word,’ I tell her. ‘You will be taken to England. To safety.’
‘Then we have an agreement.’
Something tells me she is not telling us everything, but she is right about one thing: we have limited options.
‘Show us the way out,’ I say, ‘and I will keep my promise.’
Centime leads the way, and Jemmy and I follow a little distance behind.
‘Do you know what you’re doing, helping that girl?’ whispers Jemmy, pulling me by the arm so we fall back far enough that Centime can’t hear us.
‘She knows something about La Société des Amis and Robespierre’s plans,’ I say with certainty. ‘We just need to persuade her to tell us.’
‘That girl is courtesan to the deadliest arms dealer in Paris. In case you had forgotten, there has been a lock-down on customs gates, and Robespierre has infiltrated the guard.’