“The soldiers are defecting to our side. The French Guard are deserting in droves.”
This didn’t come as a complete surprise since some of the soldiers stationed to guard Paris had been defecting already. I had assumed their commanders would eventually bring them under control and continue serving the king. Apparently I’m wrong.
“That is good news.”
“It’s great news.” Rachel takes my shoulders, giving me a little shake. “What’s the matter with you? You should be excited. Everything we’ve worked for is about to happen.”
“Don’t get your hopes up, Rachel. There’s still a long way to go.”
Of course she gets her hopes up; she’s young. If she could live as long as I have, she would have reason to be more cynical about the future. Revolutions don’t happen in a single event and not without a significant amount of blood shed on both sides.
I let her take my arm to lead me to the door. I can see the smoke rising into the distance from the direction of the Bastille. “I’ll get my keys and lock up,” I say. Before I do lock up, I make sure to hide my money and other valuables beneath a loose board so they might survive the looting and destruction that’s sure to come.
***
By the time we get there, most of the excitement is over. The crowd is already swarming into the prison to take what they can. Rachel wants to join them, but I hold her back. “What are you doing?” she asks.
“You don’t want to go in there. You’ll get trampled—or worse.”
“But Andre is in there! I have to go.”
I slap her lightly across the face. This brings her around to reality. “You aren’t going to be able to find him in that mess. We’ll stay here until things get figured out.”
She pouts like a child, her lower lip trembling, but in the end she agrees. We wait in an alley, watching the chaos unfold. By nightfall the mob has finished its work and is hauling the beleaguered commander of the Bastille garrison away. Rachel sees Andre near the front of the mob and breaks free from me to run towards him.
I follow after her, arriving just in time to witness their tearful reunion. Andre’s clothes are torn, but he seems unhurt. The nobleman who refused to buy guns from me is one of the casualties, which I take to be cosmic justice.
“Where are we going now?” Rachel shouts to be heard over the mob.
“To the Hotel de Ville to give that pig de Launay what he deserves,” Andre says. De Launay is the commander of the garrison, the one being dragged along by the mob. Whatever punishment he receives, it’s not going to be pleasant.
I let the mob carry me along, staying close to Andre and Rachel. They chant and sing as if we’re in a parade, as if there’s something to celebrate. As Rachel said, I see soldiers among our group, far more than I had thought. This is a good sign, but at the same time it might lead to an escalation of the violence. Despite having captured some guns and gunpowder and won over some soldiers, Andre and the others aren’t nearly organized enough to fight a legitimate battle.
At the hotel, I’m reminded again of Morgana’s “trial” as de Launay receives his punishment for defending the Bastille. Andre and some of the other leaders of the mob discuss what to do with the man. In the end he dies like Caesar in a frenzy of stabbing. His head is sawn off and paraded through the mob. This makes Rachel violently ill. I take her away from the crowd so she can throw up on the street.
“What are they doing?” she asks once she’s finished.
“It’s mob justice,” I tell her.
She begins to cry, the first of her illusions shattering. She expected this to be a noble undertaking, the forces of righteousness battling those of evil. Instead it’s a storm of blood and hate on both sides, one that’s destined only to get worse.
I look Rachel in the eye and say, “Let’s get out of here. Out of the city. Out of France for that matter. I have a friend in Scotland with a house we can use until things calm down.”
“I could never leave Andre. I love him.”
“It’s only going to get worse, Rachel. It’s not going to end tonight.”
“I don’t care. As long as Andre stays, I’ll stay.”
This seems like a very old-fashioned idea for a girl who believes strongly in giving equal rights to women. Still, I can see the love in Rachel’s eyes. She will stick it out with him to the end, even though it will destroy her. I sigh and nod. “If that’s what you want. But as long as you’re here, I’ll be here too.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Of course I do. You’re my friend.”
With this settled—and Rachel’s stomach settled as well—we find Andre in the crowd again. By the time we return, there are more soldiers being beaten and killed. The crowd cheers raucously, as if they’re watching a sporting event instead of murder. I want to stop it all, to use my magic to end the killing, but I know I can’t. I can only stand back and watch.
None of us sleep that night. Once the killing has stopped, the mayor of the city executed along with the others, the real work begins. We begin to build barricades in the streets with whatever we have at hand. None of these barricades would stand up against military artillery, but that doesn’t matter. What does matter is that the people keep busy, that way they won’t have time to think about how hopeless all of this is if the king decides to really retaliate.
Throughout all of this, Andre becomes a leader of the mob. Rachel stays by his side as his loyal fiancée, her smile and spirit unflagging, though her eyes are tired and sad. I stick close to them, as a good friend and also as a bodyguard, should anyone try to assassinate Andre or Rachel. I don’t say much, not wanting to betray my feelings about this foolish idea.
Once the barricades are complete and the mob armed with what weapons we can manage—everything ranging from rifles to stones—the waiting sets in. Rachel falls asleep with her head on Andre’s shoulder, a satisfied smile on her face. Andre looks over at me and flashes a tired grin. “We’re doing it,” he says. “We’re liberating the people.”
“Were those executions part of the liberation?”
“Some people got out of control. It’s to be expected with so much excitement.”
“Excitement? It was murder.”
“If you don’t believe in what you’re doing, perhaps you should leave.”
“I already told Rachel that I’m going to stay as long as she does.”
He nods and strokes Rachel’s hair. She continues to sleep, blissfully unaware of everything going on around her. “She is strong—for a woman. Not as strong as you.”
He tries to lean over his fiancée to kiss me, but I shove him back. “What the hell are you doing?” I hiss at him.
“I want you, Suzette. Since the moment I saw you sitting in the corner of that tavern.”
“You have a fiancée, one who loves you enough to stay through all of this madness.”
“I love Rachel, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be together too. She doesn’t have to know.”
“I would never betray her like that. Neither should you.”
“That’s old world thinking. This is the new world, with new rules.”
“Those rules include hurting a girl who loves you?”
“She’ll only be hurt if she finds out.”
“When she finds out.”
“Suzette, be reasonable—”
I grab Andre’s right arm, twisting it until I hear something pop. He groans with pain. This isn’t as severe as when Glenda broke my arm after Sophie’s death, but he won’t have a Restoration potion to help him recover either. “You hurt that girl and next time it’s not going to be your wrist. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” he says through his pain.
“Good.” That’s all we say to each other for the rest of the day. Despite the flimsiness of our defenses and the relatively small size of our numbers, we’re successful. Louis backs down and dispatches the soldiers around the city back to the frontier.
Rachel first kisses Andr
e and then hugs me. “We’ve won!” she shouts.
“Yes, we won,” I say, though I know that it’s only just beginning.
Chapter 18
The king is dead. I keep telling myself that this is what I wanted. I wanted Louis XVI to die for all the senseless deaths he and all the other monarchs across the world caused—especially Henri’s death. I came here to Paris to watch him fall.
And yet I cry when I hear that he’s dead. I could have been there to watch it in person. Andre could have gotten me onto the platform if I wanted. But when he asked, I told him no.
Instead, I sit in my apartment. The wig shop is gone now. The aristocrats are on the run and powdered wigs are a symbol of the decadence of the old regime. This leaves me with nothing to do in Paris except to bide my time. Yet I’m still here.
My other business flounders because of my indecision. France is at war with Prussia and Austria, but for the first time, I don’t have any idea which side I should be on. There is no just side in this conflict, so I sit on the sidelines, ignoring the overtures of the Prussians and Austrians. The French don’t send anyone to me; much to Rachel’s chagrin, there is no equality of the sexes yet.
I haven’t seen Rachel in over a year—or at least she hasn’t seen me in that long. Andre has become a major player in the new government, the failed attempt at a constitutional monarchy, and Rachel has risen with him. I see them on the streets, but I always stay back so they won’t see me.
The last time we talked was after the latest constitution was ratified. This created the constitutional monarchy, that would supposedly allow Louis to stay on the throne while ensuring liberty for all French citizens—male citizens at least. Rachel came skipping up to my apartment with the energy of a little girl, despite the child in her belly about to come out.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” she asked. I only shrugged in reply. Her face instantly turned downcast, as if I’d scolded her. “What’s wrong?”
“What difference is this going to make?”
“It will make a lot of difference. We can finally bring everyone together and begin a new era.”
“But you let him have veto power. Do you really think he’ll let you get anything done?”
Rachel sighs and accepts the seat I offer to her. She arranges herself into a comfortable position, putting both hands on her bulging stomach. “You’re always so negative.”
“Someone has to be.”
“Then what do you want us to do?”
“Stop trying to appease both sides. Royalty or democracy: pick one.”
Rachel left in tears. She gave birth to a little girl a month later. The child died six months after that from a fever. If we had been on speaking terms, I could have saved her baby; I could have fetched one of Aggie’s potions to save the girl. Instead, Rachel’s child is dead, like Louis XVI—like all of our dreams for a new and better France.
Sitting in my apartment, sipping a glass of Scotch from my house in Edinburgh, I regret what I said to Rachel that day. Not just because it alienated her and Andre, but because they heeded my advice. After a year of failure to co-exist, the latest legislative body finally picked one form of government.
I finish my drink and then shake my head. During the storming of the Bastille I had been afraid things would get bad; I never thought they would be this bad. The last three years have been seeped in blood, Louis’s only the latest to flow. Such good intentions and yet how quickly they’ve dissolved into a stream of horrors.
Sitting in my apartment, in the dark, I wait to hear a knock on the door. I wait to hear Rachel tell me the “good” news. I wait but she doesn’t come. I should get out of here; I should go back to Edinburgh.
Instead I pour another drink.
***
Another year goes by before Rachel and I speak again—for the last time. The Revolution has failed. In its place is The Terror. There’s still a republican government of sorts, but one that forces farmers to surrender grain to the government and one that conscripts all men to fight in the war against all of our European neighbors.
The paranoia that killed Sophie in America is nothing compared to the paranoia that runs rampant under Robespierre and his cronies. Thousands are killed by that wonderful new contraption the guillotine. The liberty Andre, Rachel, and the rest fought for five years ago is nothing more than a sick joke now.
I’m sitting inside my darkened apartment with the bottle of whiskey that has become my best friend in the last three years. I once again tell myself that I should have gone back to Edinburgh years ago. At the very least I should have gone home to help Aggie. It can’t have been easy for her these last five years, not with so much anti-aristocratic paranoia. She’s my sister and Rachel is nothing anymore, not even my friend.
At that moment there’s a knock on the door. I stare at the woman standing there for a few seconds before I realize this is Rachel. The last three years have not been kind to her. She looks like a skeleton wearing clothes, bringing to mind Mama in those last few months before she finally died. Her hair, once so smooth and thick, has become thin to the point of balding and is matted as if she hasn’t washed it in weeks. When she opens her mouth, I see teeth missing. The most horrible change is her eyes, which look so empty, so defeated now.
“Suzette, you have to help me.”
Despite everything that’s happened, I can’t just turn her away. I let her inside, showing her to a chair. I don’t have any coffee or tea, so I fetch her a cup of lukewarm water. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Andre.”
“Is he sleeping with someone else?”
“No, it’s much worse. They’re going to kill him.”
“Who?”
“The new government. They’ve arrested Robespierre and the others—and Andre.” Rachel shakes her head sadly. “They didn’t take me only because I’m a woman.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“We have to save Andre.”
“Save him? But you said—”
“We can break him out of prison. We have to.” She begins to sob, burying her head in my shoulder. “He’s all I have left.”
“You still have me,” I say. Of course I could break Andre out of prison. I could walk right in there, killing anyone who got in my way, and then vanish him from there. Much as I couldn’t single-handedly overthrow Louis or save him, I can’t save Andre either, not with my magic. Then I would end up facing Glenda’s wrath again.
That is if I use my magic overtly. So long as I don’t let the mortals know I’m a witch, then the coven can’t say anything about it. I pat Rachel’s back and look into her eyes. “I’m going to get him out of there, all right?”
“You are? How?”
“Never mind that. You just have to trust me. Can you do that?”
She doesn’t need more than a second to decide. She loves Andre enough that she’ll embrace any chance of getting him back—even a crazy chance. “Yes. I trust you.”
“Good. I want you to get on a coach and go to Marseilles. Wait for us there.”
“Marseilles? But—”
“Trust me.”
She does trust me enough that she accepts the money I give her and goes to find a coach to take her south. Before we part, I give her a kiss on the cheek. I know I’m not going to see her again. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect your dreams,” I tell her.
“It’s not your fault. Dreams aren’t meant for the real world.”
“Rachel—”
“You were right, Suzette. You were right about everything. I should have listened to you.”
“Don’t be ashamed. What you tried to do was noble. You and Andre.”
We hug for one final time and then she’s gone. I wait until she turns a corner before I go upstairs and plot how to save her husband.
***
The French penchant for sexism plays into my favor this time. It’s surprisingly easy to get inside the prison. I only need to dress in a plain dress, cover my hair, and look down at the
ground as I shuffle towards the gates. The guards don’t bother asking me any questions before they let me go inside, assuming I’m nothing more than a humble servant.
The far more difficult part is getting to Andre’s cell. The first problem is that I don’t know where he’s being held inside the prison. The second problem is that as a woman I don’t have access to the corridors.
I solve both problems at the same time. Continuing to shuffle along, I make my way towards the cellblock. A guard stops me, seizing me by the arm. “Where do you think you’re going?” he snarls.
“I’m looking for the kitchen,” I say, trying to sound as meek as possible. “It’s my first day.”
“The kitchens are that way,” he says, pointing to the left. “Hurry up and go before I have you put into one of these cells.”
I take no small amount of pleasure in grabbing him by the arm and hurling him against a wall. Before he can recover and come at me, I kick him in the midsection and then finish him off with a knee to the face. Then I drag him into the nearest cell, where I take his keys and weapon.
“I want to know where Andre Perrault is being held.” The guard wastes little time in giving me the location, which is unfortunate because I would have liked to give him a few extra bruises. Instead, I only have to hit him once to knock him unconscious.
Once I’m sure he’s asleep, I use a Mirror Image spell in order to make myself look like him. This is a flimsy illusion, but so long as no one tries to touch me, I should be all right. It’s too bad there’s not a mirror around so I can check; I’ll just have to hope for the best.
The problem with the Mirror Image spell is the feeling of double vision it gives me. I can see the guard’s longer limbs, but at the same time I can see my own as well. Even something as simple as putting a key into a lock becomes a chore as I have to make sure to use the guard’s hands and not my own.
I pass by a few other guards and manage to exchange salutes without revealing myself. I keep waiting for someone to see through the illusion, but no one does. No one stops me as I enter the corridor where the latest batch of traitors to the new government are being kept. I hear Robespierre weeping in his cell, which I figure is just as well. For as many lives as he’s ruined, he deserves what’s coming to him. The same could apply to Andre, but Andre is Rachel’s husband and Rachel is my friend. That’s the only reason I’m risking death by either the new government or the coven by breaking him out.
Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Call Page 103