Duel at Dawn

by Kevin Berry

  You gasp. That’s the queen speaking!

  Silence. Then the first woman says, “What was that sound?”

  “Nothing,” a new voice, a man’s, says. “It’s just the wind. It gets drafty in here in the evenings. Do you not feel the chill?”

  “I do, actually. So … when shall we make our move?”

  You cannot hold yourself back any longer. You must see everyone in the room plotting against the king and Richelieu, his first minister. Cautiously, you peek around the edge of the heavy drape.

  Your knuckles whiten on the edge of the curtain. The five people around the table are all known to you by sight, for they are all public figures. They are the queen, splendid in a long, wide-hipped blue dress and a white headdress; her near-constant companion, Marie de Rohan-Montbazon, the duchesse de Chevreuse; Gaston, whom you met earlier; Henri de Talleyrand-Périgord, the compte de Chalais, Head of the King’s Wardrobe; and Jean-Baptiste d’Ornano, the marquis de Montlaur.

  Your eyes widen. Some of the people closest to Louis XIII are conspiring against him!

  The talk at the table has stopped again. The duchesse de Chevreuse’s steely eyes bore into yours from the other side of the table.

  “Jean-Baptiste,” she says quietly, “there is a young Musketeer behind your curtain.”

  “A spy!” the queen cries.

  Henri and Jean-Baptiste immediately leap to their feet and draw their rapiers. They come around the table towards you. Only seconds remain before they reach you. You must decide quickly. Will you escape out of the window? Or remain? If you stay where you are, they might run you through with their swords without even drawing the curtain. There isn’t space for you to draw your own rapier with the curtain in the way, and there isn’t time for you to step out from behind it and ready yourself for combat. If you try to talk your way out and they don’t kill you, they might try to entice you into their conspiracy, and then what would you do?

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

  Escape through the window?

  Or

  Give yourself up to the conspirators?

  Give yourself up to the conspirators

  You choose to give yourself up and hope the conspirators don’t decide to kill you. There are only moments before they reach your hiding position.

  “Stop!” you shout. “I surrender.”

  Henri wrenches the curtain aside. Jean-Baptiste, scowling, holds the point of his rapier up to your neck. The point of it tickles you as you stand with the back of your head pressed against the wall. A bead of sweat drops off the tip of your nose and runs along the blade.

  Henri searches you. He finds the folded-up list of the conspirators’ names in your pocket and pulls it out.

  The duchesse de Chevreuse comes over. “Who sent you?” she demands. “How did you know about this meeting?”

  “This paper has all our names on it,” Henri says. “And Louis and Richelieu crossed out.”

  “Wait,” Gaston calls from the table. “That’s the young Musketeer I told you about who pulled me out of La Seine earlier this evening.”

  De Chevreuse whirls around to face him. “You allowed yourself to be followed, Gaston?”

  Gaston’s face reddens. “I—I didn’t notice.”

  The duchess stands with hands on hips, clearly in charge. “You didn’t talk about our plans at the river, did you?”

  “Ah—I may have said something unwittingly—”

  “You idiot, Gaston. You talk too much.”

  “We can’t have witnesses,” Henri says, his face set. “We are on the brink of change here, and can’t risk anyone knowing our plans beforehand.”

  “Least of all a Musketeer, even a cadet.” That was the queen.

  You feel that the situation is not going well for you. “Wait. You can’t just kill me here.”

  “Why not?” the duchess asks.

  “It would make a mess,” Jean-Baptiste concedes. “This is my living room, after all.”

  You’re getting desperate now. “I can help you. Lower your sword and I’ll tell you how.”

  Jean-Baptiste’s eyes narrow. He lowers his rapier but does not return it to the scabbard.

  “Speak,” de Chevreuse says. “How can you help us? Why would you help us? Tell us why we shouldn’t simply kill you.”

  It’s clear that you won’t get out of this alive unless you convince the conspirators that you’re on their side and can be useful to them. That won’t be easy, but you’ll give it your best shot. It could be the last thing you ever do.

  “Your Majesty,” you say, turning towards the queen, “I understand His Majesty has been unwell for some time. Perhaps the burdens of state are too much for him. Who better to replace him than his own brother, who is … um … here.” You don’t think Gaston possesses any great skill or intelligence, so the end of your statement falls a little flat when you can’t think of anything to recommend him.

  Gaston beams. “Just so long as I don’t have to marry the duchesse de Montpensier.”

  “That’s a treasonous statement,” de Chevreuse says to you. “Excellent. But you are a King’s Musketeer. If you’re so quick to be a traitor to him, why should we trust you?”

  “It’s in the interests of his health, madame. He could retire to the south of France where the sea air and sunshine are bound to improve his complexion. So, you see, as I am sworn to protect the king, assisting you in your endeavor to replace him is the best thing for him.”

  “Hmmm …” De Chevreuse considers this.

  “Even if you agree with our plans, you haven’t said how you would help us,” Henri says, frowning.

  “I’ll talk with the other Musketeers about how the king is unwell, and raise support for Gaston. That will make it easier for the transition.” You cringe inside. How could anyone believe your weak arguments?

  “We don’t have time to dally further,” Jean-Baptiste says. “Do we include this young Musketeer cadet in our plans, or not?” He grimaces.

  It occurs to you that not being included in their plans would lead to a swift and unpleasant outcome for you.

  “We will take a vote,” the queen says. “In or out.”

  “In, of course,” Gaston says. Silently, you thank him.

  “Out.” Henri is unequivocal.

  “Out,” Jean-Baptiste says. He raises his rapier to your throat again as if the vote is a forgone conclusion. You swallow nervously.

  “In,” the duchesse de Chevreuse says.

  It’s tied, with the queen to give the deciding vote. After a few moments, she says, “In.”

  Jean-Baptiste lowers his sword and you let out a sigh of relief.

  “All right, it’s decided,” de Chevreuse says. “Go now, and start to gather support for Gaston from amongst the Musketeers. But do not tell anyone about our plans. Remember, what you have said tonight is already treasonous, even if, as you say, it is in the king’s best interests.”

  “I will escort you outside,” Jean-Baptiste says. “Unless, of course, you want to use the window again.”

  You think he’s joking, but it’s not clear. You shake your head and go downstairs, the marquis following closely behind. You have a prickly feeling in your back, wondering if he’s going to run you through with his sword on the stairs, but he doesn’t.

  He opens the door. You shiver. Was that from the cool breeze?

  “Don’t double-cross us,” Jean-Baptiste says. “You’ll be watched.” He closes the door. Thankful you’re still alive, you walk wearily through the Paris streets towards the barracks, contemplating your predicament.

  Should you go along with their scheme? You only said all those treasonous things so you could escape, right? But they did make some sort of sense. And if you don’t keep their conspiracy secret and do what you’ve agreed to do, you have the feeling that Henri or Jean-Baptiste will kill you.

  You shake your head. You’re a King’s Musketeer, you remind yourself. First day in the job, too. Are you really going to join a
conspiracy against Louis XIII?

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

  Tell Monsieur de Tréville about the conspiracy?

  Or

  Tell Cardinal Richelieu about the conspiracy?

  Or

  Go along with the conspirators?

  Escape through the window

  You decide to escape. You’ve heard enough of their conspiracy, and it’s probably best to get away and tell someone rather than stay and possibly be killed for spying on them.

  A diversion would help. You lift the heavy drape and fling it at the advancing Henri and Jean-Baptiste. It covers their heads so they can’t see and entangles them and their swords long enough for you to slip through the window onto the balcony.

  It’s too far to jump to the street without risking serious injury, so you vault over the balcony railing and grab hold of the ivy on the side of the house. Some of it tears away but most of it holds your weight. You scuttle down, hand over hand, using your feet to find further support from the ivy. A few seconds later you feel solid earth beneath your feet.

  There’s no time to waste. You must get away. You race across the street and towards the nearest corner. The beggar has moved on. Shame. You could have asked him to delay or mislead the count and marquis if they pursue you, which they surely would.

  You hear a door slam and the footsteps of two people after you. You run around the corner, relying only on moonlight and starlight to show the way. It’s too dark for them to be able to identify you at this distance, but you dare not allow them to get any closer.

  A glance behind reveals they are about fifty yards away. You stumble on a loose flagstone and sprawl heavily to the ground. Must get up. You scramble to your feet and hurry on. They are closer now. How can you give them the slip?

  You round another corner. Ahead of you, at the next intersection, is a tavern, The One-Legged Frog. Light and sounds of merriment issue forth. Maybe you could hide in there. Where’s the entrance? Is it on this street or around the corner?

  But your pursuers would guess that’s where you’ve gone. There’s nowhere else to hide. You’re breathing heavily and sweating. If you go inside they’d find you, and there’d be no escape.

  You round the corner, thinking hard. The tavern entrance is here. It’s busy inside. You could go in. But a better option presents itself. A handcart and some barrels stand a few yards beyond the doorway. You bound onto the handcart, leap onto the barrels and throw yourself upward, reaching for the edge of the tavern roof.

  Grunting with effort, you pull yourself up and over the overhanging edge, rolling onto the gentle slope of the roof out of sight moments before Henri and Jean-Baptiste race around the corner.

  They come to an abrupt stop. “Where’s that young Musketeer?” Henri says. “Disappeared?”

  “Probably gone into the tavern, you fool. Let’s look inside.”

  They enter the inn. You figure you’ve got a couple of minutes at the most while they look for you inside. You scurry up the roof, over the top and down the other side. The building next door is a bakery, and you make the leap to the rooftop there, clawing at the roof tiles as you land on all fours. One tile comes loose and starts to slide. You grab it before it gets away and shatters on the ground below, and put it back into place.

  You traverse another three rooftops in the same manner, then crouch behind a chimney. Henri and Jean-Baptiste are in the street below, knocking on doors. If they look up, they won’t see you in the shadows of the chimney. You watch until they go away, then wait a little more to be sure it’s safe then scramble down and start walking.

  This news is important. A conspiracy against the king and his chief minister! By the people closest to him, no less! And you have the letter containing all their names.

  But is that evidence of treason? No. It’s just a list of names. They could say it’s a list of their club members to play piquet, the popular card game, or some other such nonsense.

  You reach into your pocket to pull out the list anyway. Maybe there’s something incriminating you didn’t notice earlier.

  The letter isn’t there anymore. Your pocket is ripped half open. It must have fallen out, possibly when you fell on the cobbles.

  Even without the letter, you should tell someone, but whom?

  You probably wouldn’t get an audience with the king at this time of the night, even if you said it was important. But someone more important could.

  You could tell your captain, Monsieur de Tréville. He’ll know what to do. He might even take you straight to the king with this information.

  Or you could tell Cardinal Richelieu, the chief minister, about the conspiracy.

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

  Tell Monsieur de Tréville about the conspiracy?

  Or

  Tell Cardinal Richelieu about the conspiracy?

  Go along with the conspirators

  You decide you’ll join forces with the conspirators and help them as best you can. After all, if you don’t, they’ll probably kill you, and you’d prefer to avoid that fate. Perhaps it would actually be better for the king’s health if he was exiled to the south of France, and you’ll be helping to do him a favor. At least they don’t intend to kill him.

  It’s late when you reach the barracks, and you go to your rooms for a restless sleep.

  You awake nervous, but determined to put your plan into action. At breakfast, you sit next to Tempeste and share some croissants.

  “Tempeste,” you say quietly, “what do you think of Gaston d’Orleans, the king’s brother?”

  “Well … he’s a duke.”

  “No, I mean, what do you think of his personal qualities?”

  “I didn’t know he had any. What do you mean, anyway?”

  “I think he would make a good king of France. What do you think, Tempeste?”

  Tempeste cocks her head. “Why are you asking me that? Has something happened to the king? Surely I would have heard if it had.”

  “No. Nothing like that. Just that … the king is often unwell.”

  “I don’t like this conversation.” Tempeste gives you a sharp look, gets up and moves away.

  You are not to be deterred, and try to strike up the same conversation and ask the same question of two other Musketeers taking their breakfast. They stare at you with open hostility before you give up.

  An uneasy feeling forms in the pit of your stomach. This may have been a bad choice.

  In the afternoon, one of the younger Musketeers and her friend (though not cadets) challenge you and Tempeste to a game of jeu de paume, or real tennis. The four of you play in one of the large public courts. Your opponents are skilled in bouncing the ball high off the walls of the court, while you prefer to hit it low over the center of the drooping net.

  Afterwards, you all share a cold drink.

  “His Majesty is unwell, I believe,” you say. “When did he last perform any public royal duties?”

  One of the other Musketeers shrugs.

  “You know, his brother, Monsieur, is perfectly fit and healthy. I am sure he could carry out those duties, if, say, His Majesty were to retire to the south of France.”

  “Not this again,” Tempeste moans.

  The other two Musketeers give you a chilling stare.

  “I don’t like what you’re saying,” one of them declares.

  “Me neither. We are sworn to serve Louis XIII.”

  “Let’s go,” the first one says, and the two of them depart with another sharp look in your direction.

  “What’s got into you?” Tempeste asks, but she doesn’t wait for an answer.

  A few hours later, two Cardinal’s Guards seize you when you are about to pass them in the street. “You’re arrested and coming with us,” one of them says, a lieutenant, taking away your sword.

  “Unhand me! What is the meaning of this? Where are you taking me?” you demand. “What are you accusing me of?” There’s no need for you to as
k this—you know well enough—but you ask anyway.

  “You’re under suspicion of undermining the king’s authority and committing treason. We’re taking you to the Bastille.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. You’re getting locked up. The cardinal may speak to you later. Or one of his interrogators will.”

  That doesn’t sound good. You’re weak in the legs and knees, and you stare straight ahead as the Cardinal’s Guards march you to the Bastille and hand you over to the governor there. Two of his guards escort you to your room, a smallish one, though it is furnished with a comfortable bed and a desk and chair. You check the desk. There is a quill, ink and writing paper, but only two sheets.

  You’re now a prisoner of the crown.

  I’m sorry, this part of your story is over. You’ve had a rather short career as a Musketeer cadet. You uncovered a plot involving those closest to the king conspiring to replace him, but instead of taking this information to your commander, the captain of the King’s Musketeers, you joined the conspirators and tried to raise support for Monsieur amongst your companions. It didn’t take long before news reached Cardinal Richelieu, who had you arrested and put in the Bastille. Once your guilt was certain, you faced the executioner.

  Siding with the conspirators was a bad choice. Perhaps it would have worked out better if you’d tried to escape? You can try that path if you like, or try another adventure pathway in the book.

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

  Change your last choice and escape through the window?

  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?

  Tell Monsieur de Tréville about the conspiracy

  You reach Monsieur de Tréville’s hotel at about ten o’clock that night. It’s not too late to speak to him about a matter of this importance. The crowd of Musketeers who hang around the hotel and garden during the day has dispersed now. His lackey shows you up to his rooms.