Duel at Dawn

by Kevin Berry

  “I am La Grande Cöesre, the Queen of Knaves,” she announces. Her voice rings with authority and echoes around the courtyard. Everyone else is silent. “You”—she points at you and Tempeste—“are in my domain, Musketeers. What do yer want here?”

  “We came here looking for a thief,” Tempeste blurts out. You wish she would think first.

  Laughter erupts from the group of thieves. What do you call a group of thieves anyway, you wonder? A band? A gang? A skulk?

  The queen of knaves raises her scepter skyward and the laughter abruptly ceases. “There are hundreds of thieves, knaves, vagrants, beggars, and all sorts of rogues here, young Musketeer. What did you want one for? To pick the pocket of yer pretty little pantaloons?” She grins.

  More laughter, again cut short by a gesture.

  “We were after a particular one,” Tempeste continues, blithely unaware of the hole she is digging you both into with this conversation. “Her name is Minni, and she’s maybe three years younger than us. And she’s already robbed me.”

  “So you don’t have no money,” the rogue queen says, jabbing her finger towards Tempeste, “but what about yer friend there?” The jabbing digit rotates towards you.

  They seem to have forgotten about your offer of a deal. You’d better remind them, otherwise they might soon swarm over you both like vultures picking the bones of some unfortunate creature. Except you’d be the unfortunate creatures in this scenario.

  “We want to propose a deal,” you say desperately. Now you only need to think of one in the next few seconds.

  La Grande Cöesre tilts her head. You have her interest. “A deal? What kind of deal?”

  Scarface leans over. “They talked some rubbish about making a deal, great chief.” His voice was soft and deferential, completely different to when he spoke to you earlier.

  The queen of knaves bangs her scepter into the mud with a soft thud. “And what,” she says, drawing the words out, “is the nature of this deal yer offering? Why would we be interested in a deal? We can take everything we want from you right now.”

  Tempeste whispers in your ear. “You know, if we hadn’t encountered that young girl, we wouldn’t be in this mess now.” She makes it sound as if it’s all your fault. “She probably grew up in this den of thieves and knew of no other way to live.”

  That gives you an idea.

  “Well? I’m waiting,” the queen of knaves says. Beside her, Scarface crosses his arms and scowls in your direction.

  It’s now or never. “This is the deal,” you say. “I have need of a maidservant, someone to do odd chores, cleaning, cooking, look after my horse once I’ve bought one, that sort of thing. I’ll provide lodging, food, and pay of five livres a month. She’ll live a modest, but honest, life, and be well-cared for in my employment. But she has to give back the stolen purse.”

  The queen of knaves frowns and scratches her nose, but makes no reply.

  “Is that acceptable?” you say. “It’s a far better future than if she stays here. What would she say?”

  “Ask her yerself.”

  You turn and see Minni peeking around the corner of the building. She must have come back when she realized she wasn’t being chased, and listened to the conversation.

  “What do you say, Minni?” you ask. Butterflies swirl in your stomach. If she says no, you’re out of ideas and out of luck.

  Slowly her mouth forms a gappy smile and she steps out from behind the building.

  “Yer free to go,” La Grande Cöesre says. “Gather yer stuff, Minni, and go with them.”

  Congratulations, this part of your story is over. You’ve joined the King’s Musketeers with your friend Tempeste. On your way to celebrate, Tempeste was robbed by a young cutpurse, and at some point you both decided to go and look for her to recover the money. You ventured into La Cour des Miracles, the Courtyard of Miracles, home to hundreds of Paris’s thieves, beggars and scoundrels, where some of the denizens blocked your way out. By using your wits and offering a job to the young thief, you managed to escape safely. But seventeenth century Paris is a dangerous place. There are plenty of other ways you can get into trouble. Perhaps that’s why it’s so exciting. Maybe you would like to try some other paths in the book?

  It’s time to make a decision. Would you like to:

  Go to the list of choices and start reading from another part of the story?

  Or

  Go back to the beginning of the story and try another path?

  Have a quiet walk along the river

  The two of you head out to walk along the banks of La Seine. As early evening approaches Tempest slows.

  “How long till we reach the river walk?”

  “About quarter of an hour,” you say.

  “I’m pooped. I think I’ll go back to the barracks for a rest.”

  You bid her goodbye and keep going. The best place—some would say the only place—to walk in Paris is the promenade built by Marie de’ Medici, who missed the gardens and walkways of her hometown Florence, and so created this public walkway in Paris.

  It takes you fifteen or twenty minutes to reach the start of the walk, and you smile in satisfaction to see that the superior drainage has left the esplanade mostly dry. A noblewoman nods to you in a friendly manner as she rides past.

  Le Cours de la Reine is long, straight and wide enough for carriages to pass each other. At this time, on this day, there are few other people about.

  Good. Some peace and quiet is what you need.

  You walk briskly, the only noise being the sound of your footsteps. A double row of elm trees stands on either side of the promenade, providing shade during the day, but now creating a chilly and dark, almost sinister, atmosphere. You shiver and wish Tempeste was with you for some company.

  After five minutes or so, another sound pierces the quietness, and you halt. It’s a man, weeping and talking to himself. In the dimness you can’t see him, but the sound comes from behind the rows of trees by the river.

  Does he need help? You decide to listen to see if his distress continues.

  It does.

  “Oh, woe is me, sob, sob. What a fate has befallen me! My heart lies with she whom I cannot have. Oh, no, never, not her.”

  Who is this? And who is he talking about?

  You edge closer, moving carefully so as to make almost no sound.

  “This arranged marriage will be the death of me. I do not love her; not at all. I’m merely a pawn in this ill-fated settlement. It won’t end well, oh no. Sob, sob.”

  You peer from behind an elm tree, but in the shadows you can’t make out who the person is, only that they are pacing a short distance back and forth along the riverbank.

  “There is but one solution for me, one way out of this sorry business.”

  The man tears the hat from his head and whirls it away like a discus. It flies past you and glides to a halt on the promenade. He kicks off his boots and shrugs off his jacket. With no further delay, he makes his way to the riverbank.

  No! You can’t let this sorry soul do this. “Stop! Wait!” you call, racing after him, dashing your own hat to the ground. He is already in the water when you pull off your boots, then your jacket. They are too heavy to swim in.

  You plunge into the cold, murky, polluted waters of La Seine after the mystery man. Chest-deep in water, he turns and looks at you sadly as you come upon him and seize his arm. “I’m getting you out of here, my friend,” you say. “Then you can tell me what has upset you so much this evening.”

  “I am merely a pawn of the king,” he mutters, but he allows you to lead him back to the riverbank and to his discarded jacket and boots. You redress yourselves and locate your hats.

  “Let’s sit there,” you say, gesturing to a level part of the riverbank not yet overrun by shadow.

  After you sit, cold and sodden, water dripping off your breeches and seeping into the ground, you finally get a good look at the person you rescued. It’s the king’s brother!

 
“Monsieur!” you say in surprise.

  “Gaston d’Orléans at your service. Thank you, young Musketeer. I fear I was going out of my mind with distress. The cold water has helped me regain my equilibrium.”

  “Whatever is the matter?” you ask. Your cheeks are burning. Is it imprudent to ask the king’s brother about his love life?

  “You saved my life, young Musketeer, and I owe you a debt of honor. I will tell you my troubles.” Gaston turns to you with a sad expression. “My brother, the king, insists I marry Marie de Bourbon, the duchesse de Montpensier. It would bring a lot of money into our family, much of which, I am sure, would find its way to his own coffers. Even Richelieu supports him in this.”

  Marrying a duchess for money. There are problems worse than that, you think. “But you do not love her?”

  “Alas, no, my heart lies with another.”

  Gaston weeps softly. After a minute, you put your arm around his shoulders, trying to console him.

  “His Majesty’s marriage to Anne of Austria was a political one too, was it not?” You’re not sure what to say. Maybe this will distract Gaston.

  He nods, drying his eyes with a silk handkerchief. “Yes, of course. Anne of Austria is the daughter of King Phillip III of Spain. The political alliance has prevented war.”

  “And are they happy, Monsieur?”

  Gaston sighs. “No. Not at all. They spend barely any time together. You must have heard the rumors that Anne favors the Duke of Buckingham, and Louis favors his Head of the Wardrobe, Henri, the compte de Chalais.”

  “Um … no, I hadn’t heard that.” Should Gaston be telling you any of this?

  “But, as you may know, Henri is married to Charlotte de Castille. He even killed her lover in a duel a couple of years back. But I think he fancies the duchesse de Chevreuse, Anne’s close companion, though she doesn’t return the favor.”

  “Sounds complicated.”

  “Indeed. But this is Paris, after all. What else could it be, but complicated?”

  You wring a little water out of the legs of your breeches, watching the sunset. After a while you say, “So you have to go through with your arranged marriage, Monsieur?”

  Gaston frowns. “Yes. My brother and that wretched Richelieu will force me to do it. But there may be a chance for me to change my fate.” A twinkle forms in his eyes, and he taps the side of his nose with a podgy finger. “I have friends. They have a plan to help me, to change everything. We will meet tonight to discuss this.”

  You’re puzzled. “If that is the case, why try to drown yourself in the river, Monsieur?”

  “Ah. My friends are putting themselves in great danger on my behalf. I became distressed at the risk they are about to take. But, young Musketeer, you came along at the right time and saved me. I must take this as a sign.” He grins and claps you on the back. “Your selfless act of courage to pull me from the water may change the future of France.”

  You stare open-mouthed. Is he talking about treason?

  “But I have already said too much. Good evening to you.” Gaston d’Orleans gets to his feet and walks off.

  You watch him go, thinking carefully about what he said. His friends have plans that may change the future of France, and they’re meeting tonight. They’ll help him at great risk. That sounds serious. Gaston could be on his way to meet them right now. What should you do?

  A folded letter lies on the ground by where Gaston had been sitting. It’s dry; it must have fallen out of his jacket. You pick it up and unfold it. You wouldn’t read other people’s private correspondence in normal circumstances, but the king’s brother hinted at treason, and the letter could be important evidence.

  It’s not a letter but a short list of names. At the top, Louis XIII and Richelieu are crossed out. You’re aghast seeing the other names, headed by Gaston d’Orléans.

  It’s surely a plot. But what will you do about it?

  It’s time to make a decision. Do you:

  Follow Gaston?

  Or

  Keep his secret and return to the barracks?

  Keep the secret and return to the barracks

  Though you’re curious, you decide Gaston d’Orleans spoke to you in confidence and you should keep his secret, even though your duty is to the king and this is perhaps something he ought to know about. With nothing else to do, therefore, you return to the barracks for an early night.

  You spend some time polishing your sword, cleaning your musket, scrubbing the mud off your boots, and chatting to Tempeste, though you don’t tell her what you learned from Gaston. All in all, it’s a mundane evening.

  Wasn’t being a Musketeer going to be more exciting than this?

  I’m sorry, this part of your story is over. You’ve become a Musketeer cadet in the King’s Musketeers. After a busy first day, you went for a quiet walk along Le Cours de la Reine. You saved the king’s brother, Gaston d’Orleans, from drowning himself in la Seine because he was unhappy with his forthcoming arranged marriage and because he didn’t want to endanger his friends, who have a plan to help him that may change the future of France.

  You should have gone to the king with this information, or at least to Monsieur de Tréville, your captain. It was your duty. But luckily this is a You Say Which Way book, not actual history. You can change your mind if you want to and follow Gaston to see if he goes to the meeting. Or you could try some other pathways in the book.

  It’s time to make a decision. You have three choices. Would you like to:

  Change your last choice and follow Gaston?

  Or

  Go to the list of choices and start reading from another part of the story?

  Or

  Go back to the beginning of the story and try another path?

  Follow Gaston

  Your duty is to the king. Gaston could be on the way to meet his friends now—he said they were meeting tonight. You decide to follow him to see if you can learn what they’re planning.

  Weaving between the trees, you follow Gaston silently at a safe distance. His footsteps crunch steadily along the promenade, while you keep to the grass by the trees. At the end, he veers onto the Quay des Tuilleries. You keep out of sight in the shadows along the wall. When he reaches Pont Royal, Gaston starts to cross it.

  You hesitate. There’s nowhere to hide on the bridge. If Gaston looks behind, he’ll see you. You hang back and hope you can catch him up once he’s crossed.

  Luckily, he turns left onto the quay on the other side of the river. You scurry across the bridge as quickly and quietly as you can, and hurry to close the distance between you. It’s hard to see him now. Minimal street lighting leaves the streets of Paris dark at night. Only the odd candle or torch outside a building provides a tiny island of light.

  Gaston walks another few minutes, turning this way and that, going further into the city along a mixture of main thoroughfares and narrow side streets. He looks back a few times, but you’re quick enough to step further back into the shadows, and you’re sure he hasn’t seen you.

  Suddenly, though, you’ve lost him. Has he entered a building? Which one? You look hopelessly around you, but there’s no sign of Gaston.

  “Spare a few sous for a poor old soldier who’s hit hard times?”

  You whirl in the direction of the voice. A beggar sits against the side of the building nearby, cross-legged. His clothes are tatty and he’s filthy. He must be desperate to do his begging at night, when there aren’t as many people about, or perhaps it’s simply his shift. You’ve heard some of them arrange a roster.

  You slip your hand into your pocket, withdraw a few sous and drop the coins into his outstretched hand. “Have you seen a gentleman come past here just now?”

  “Maybe.” The beggar’s voice rasps.

  You give him a livre, equal to twenty sous, a generous gift that you hope will loosen his tongue.

  “He went into that house there.” The beggar points at a large townhouse almost across the street.

  You
nod your thanks and cross the street. This is obviously the residence of an affluent person, but whom? You need to get inside to find out, but you can’t just go in the front door.

  Flickering light spills out of a first floor window. That’s your target. If Gaston is meeting anyone in the house, it’s probably in that room.

  Ivy clinging to the outside of the house helps you clamber up to a balcony just outside the window. With an effort, you pull yourself up the side of the balcony and tumble over the top.

  You land outside a tall set of double doors. Inside the room, the curtains are partially drawn, allowing you some cover while also letting out the light you saw from the street. A quick glance reveals people sitting around a table inside.

  Unfortunately, you can’t hear what is being said. You’ve got to get inside, so you cautiously try the doors. The one hidden by the curtain is unlocked. Good.

  You ease the door open, hoping it doesn’t squeak, and slip inside, pulling the door gently closed behind you. The heavy velvet curtain completely conceals your presence. You quietly breathe a sigh of relief. You’ve been lucky. Now, what’s happening?

  Gaston is speaking. “All I want is to not marry Marie de Bourbon. Are you sure there is no other way but this?”

  A woman speaks. “Of course. The king’s wish is his command. That is why you must be king instead of Louis.”

  You jerk your head up, startled. This is treason! You’ve stumbled upon a plot involving the king’s brother!

  Now you hear a man’s voice, not Gaston’s. “Don’t you mean Richelieu’s wish is the king’s command? The cardinal interferes in every matter of state, and more so when His Majesty is confined to bed with his various ailments. I am sure Richelieu is a sorcerer or a mesmerist, all the situations he manages to conjure.”

  A woman with a Spanish accent says, “Richelieu continually tries to drain power from the nobility. My husband is too weak in mind and body to stop him. That’s why you have to take the throne, Gaston.”