“Excellent. But I believe they were simply agents for a stronger, more insidious party.”
“Yes, they were. We caught him too. We have retrieved all of your effects, and all of your money.”
“Detective, I had over a thousand livre just in paper actions au porteur.”
“Yes, you had exactly two-thousand-three-hundred and twenty-three livres, in paper actions and coin.”
Xavier was completely taken by surprise. Something akin to a gasped chuckle escaped his lips. But immediately afterward, he was nearly overwhelmed with emotion. He realized he had won the fight with himself, even before receiving this news. Not only had he persevered in the face of total failure, he had not actually been defeated at all. He smiled, and shook his head,
The Detective continued, “Your friend, the one with the black eyes, he followed your five attackers.”
“Where did they go?”
“To the stones, Monsieur. He waylaid them, one on five.”
Such a thing could not be possible. “They were armed, in a fashion.”
“Indeed, they were. But he took them by surprise, and had a plan. He was a bit lucky as well, I’d wager. Perhaps more than a bit.”
But the man’s actions didn’t make any sense. He had simply watched, as Xavier was mercilessly beaten. But that conundrum was to be unraveled later. Xavier turned back to the Detective, “Tell me about the mastermind, the one who hired them.”
“His name is Marc Marie-Florent Avenir. He is perhaps thirty. He started with nothing and now owns a small fleet of barges. He became a guild bargeman, and perhaps did this to you on the orders of the masters. I suppose they saw you as a young buck after their does, so to speak.”
“How many? Barges.”
“Nine.”
“He has done well for himself.”
“Indeed, he has. In fact, if you were not who you are, there are those amongst the police of Tours who might not have searched for the one who hired your assailants with such diligence. His thugs would be punished, of course. At some point, Avenir would be spoken to, warned about what he can and cannot do. But you are who you are, Monsieur, and you know who you know. Marc Marie-Florent Avenir is in jail. And his advocates beat on our doors, to no avail.”
Xavier smelled opportunity. To a smart man, opportunity trumps vengeance - always.
“It would be a shame to disgrace a son of Tours,” Xavier said, softly and evenly.
The Detective looked up at Xavier, in surprise. The surprise quickly disappeared, and turned into a piercing, re-evaluating stare.
“How did you come to identify him?” Xavier said quietly.
“The five men who assaulted you were questioned for hours. They were in pain from their beating, they had not slept, they had not eaten. With patience, one doesn’t even need to raise one’s voice. And, once one of them cracks, it is easy to break the rest.”
“You have records of their testimony?”
“The King’s justice system is a carriage pulled by paper horses, Monsieur. We have volumes of accurate and collaborated records of every possible type regarding this incident.”
“It would be a shame to disgrace a son of Tours,” offered Xavier once again - but differently. It was subtle, but the slight tonal differentiations of the sentence carried a message, an offer.
“Yes, it would be,” the Detective offered wistfully, “It ultimately does not serve Tours, nor France, to have such a one as he in jail.”
***
Xavier, the Detective, and two tall policemen in civilian clothing waited in the carriage, on loan from Monsieur Greffier, which was fine and large indeed.
The door was soon opened, and Marc Marie-Florent Avenir climbed up, and stopped. He looked at all the occupants of the coach, hoping his observations would give him answers. Xavier, in turn, evaluated him. Avenir was dark, of medium build. He was not handsome, but had broad, masculine features that many women found irresistible nonetheless. He had a tough, brawling demeanor, but seemed intelligent, or at least crafty. He had turned zero barges into nine. Something was working inside of him. He had spent the night sleeping on straw, in a cell reserved for poor criminals who had committed the worst sort of crimes. His station and purse had availed him nothing, and he was not allowed to speak with his advocates. Considering everything, his appearance was remarkably adequate.
The Detective, as agreed previously, spoke first, “Sit down, Monsieur Avenir.”
He sat, “Detective.”
“Do not speak, unless you are spoken to.”
Avenir nodded. He appeared calm, in control and compliant. He had intelligence and survival instinct.
Good.
Xavier was impressed.
The Detective hit the roof of the coach with his cane, and the driver whipped the horses into a slow trot. Xavier looked out the window. Time was on his side, silence only reinforced everything he was about to do. He actually needed time, his plan involved timing. He knew also that looking out the window would give the man an opportunity to appraise him. Xavier had no bruises on his face, and none that were not covered by clothing or gloves. He looked pristine. He also knew he was handsome and well-built. He was a Traversier. There are ways one carries oneself that cannot be taught. Such things must be in the soil of one’s birth.
Xavier finally spoke, slowly and carefully, “Life is composed of choices. But choices are only meaningful if we commit utterly to them. There is no such thing as half a choice, because everything in life ultimately depends on action. Even to transmit thought requires action - that of speaking or writing. Our choices must always translate into action, or else they are meaningless. And there is either an action performed, or there is no action. There is no half-action. Perhaps there is ineffectual action, but that avails us nothing. And then we are back to the reconsideration of our choices, are we not?”
“Yes, Monsieur.”
“A wise man once said the King’s justice system is a carriage that runs on paper horses. If that is so, I wish you to imagine the paper horse that has brought you to this coach. Perhaps, in your mind, it is a fire-breathing nightmare. If so, you have spotted it true.”
Avenir did not reply. Xavier let him stew in his own angst, then continued, “Your first choice is to ignore the implications of your actions. You will spend coin and time to defend yourself in court, and your outlay of coin and time will be considerable, for you already perhaps understand the forces that are arrayed against you. Most likely, even with considerable expenditure, you will lose your fight. You will lose a percentage of your business, with one-hundred percent being an option, and perhaps even your freedom, or your life. It will be an ignoble end, and your talents will be lost to France.”
Xavier turned and looked at the man. He used every ounce of guile he could muster to give him a hard and piercing stare, “You became overconfident. Breaking the law endangered your business, far more than it helped it. But your present demeanor gives me hope. If you were lost and useless forever, you would not act in this manner. You would be imperious and demanding, or what passes for imperious and demanding on the streets of Tours, and your manner would be a choice, in and of itself. Do you understand where I am driving?”
“I think, Monsieur,” Avenir said very carefully, “I am open to other choices.”
“Your entire business belongs to me. You are a salaried executive for the Traversier Trust, in charge of riverine transportation on the Loire, under the license of my family - not the guild. Whatever muscle you employ will be used to protect our operations, but only from thugs and criminals arrayed against us. There will be no more offensive operations in this manner, the manner that has brought you inside this coach. You will find, if you have not already, that order is the greatest ally of business. The primary purpose of law and government is to ensure the smooth flow of goods and specie. The secondary purpose is the maintenance of power, but that becomes impossible if its primary purpose is neglected. Once the beast of law and government is harnessed for one’s business, it is
the most devastating weapon of all. If I become your benefactor, you will fall under the aegis of this protection. As you grow my business, you will be amply rewarded. As the rest of the business grows, I will aid you, in expanding your fleet. If you cheat me, or endanger my operations through illegal actions, you will be arrested for the crimes you have already committed against me, and tried.” Avenir nodded gravely, and Xavier continued, “A letter will arrive for you later today, with the name and address of a local legal advocate. If you agree to this second choice, you will appear at the given address at four hours after noon, with all necessary titles and paperwork to make this transfer official and proper.”
“I need assurance that I will not be prosecuted after signing over my business.”
“You have my word, the word of a Traversier of Nantes. Accept it, or do not. But I will say this: I will make you rich, and I will make you respected. I will deal with you honestly, and I will deal with our hired men fairly. It is the Traversier way.”
“My men. The five.”
The Detective spoke, “Commoners who commit such crimes are given the sentence of death by torture. You will watch them die when the time comes.”
“By the wounds of Christ,” Avenir said softly, “I knew these men well.”
“You are a commoner like us, are you not, Monsieur Avenir?” replied Xavier. “Perhaps there is a lesson here, one that needs to be injected more forcibly into your mind.”
The carriage stopped. Xavier had played this perfectly. They were in front of Avenir’s townhouse at the perfect moment in the conversation - the end of it. “It seems we are at your stop, Monsieur.”
One of the policemen opened the door and stepped out. Avenir exited the coach. The policeman reentered, shut the door, and the coach moved away. The detective shook his head, “You are formidable, Monsieur Traversier. I am glad we are not enemies.”
“No, we are the opposite. We are brothers. Not only that, I am in your debt and you have my gratitude. I am a man of manners: I always repay my debts, and I always show my gratitude. I am at your disposal.” Xavier smiled at the detective, who didn’t look convinced, “Do you perchance know any local legal advocates, one who can help us with this matter? Preferably a brother.”
The Detective shook his head in wonderment.
***
The man slept under the loose hay of the stable loft. It had cost him, this bed. He had been working all day, mucking out the stalls, brushing horses, buffing leather and moving bales. The amount of work was meaningless. What mattered is that he had eaten his fill, and had a warm place to lay his head. The best way to sleep under hay or straw was to have a blanket or sheet between one and the hay. The man had nothing, and it wasn’t as warm as it could be, but it was the warmest bed he’d had in weeks, and he slept soundly – until he was abruptly awakened by noise. Looking down, he saw the stable doors open. It was the police again. Another man entered, a gentleman. The police handed him a lantern, and shut the door after him. The gentleman crossed beneath his eyesight, and began climbing up into the loft.
Xavier climbed to the top of the ladder and saw the man with dead eyes, staring at him as he did before, now from under a layer of hay. He crossed to him and sat down, moving the hay next to him to place his lantern directly on wood. “We meet again.”
The man said nothing.
Xavier suddenly flicked a coin at the man’s face. It hit him hard in the forehead before he could react. The man’s eyes flared in anger and pain. Xavier was not impressed. “I believe that was yours. You left it on the cobblestones.”
“If I didn’t take it, it isn’t mine.”
“I’ve had enough of your riddles. Why did you watch them beat me, only to ambush them later? It wasn’t to steal what they took from me. You gained nothing. Seemingly you helped me, but you truly did not. I could have been dead on the stones for your concern, correct?”
“What do you want?”
“I want to know why.”
The man inhaled slowly, and exhaled. He looked away, then spoke, “What did he say to you that night? Something about not returning to Tours.”
“Yes.”
“You, and your barges.”
“Correct.”
“It was what he said, how he said it. You were not some villain who had dishonored a woman. They were not the starving poor, waylaying a mark to feed their children. They did it because they could, for an increase in their benefit. They reminded me of the field overseers, hired by the nobles, who had no aim but profit, at any cost. Such motivations can be a rock that starts a landslide of horror and tragedy. I decided to catch the rock before it hit the slope.”
Xavier had calmed. “How did you defeat five armed men?”
“I have always had a way with such things. With my hands, with movement. I don’t know why or how.”
“You had no fear.”
“I have nothing to fear. And nothing to lose.”
Xavier nodded, as if the man had passed some kind of test. “I do not believe in God, nor am I sworn to a King. My loyalties lie with my family, my friends and my business. I believe in the power of man, and the beauty of just law. I am an honest and honorable man. I never steal and I never cheat, except my taxes, and only when I can safely do so. My reputation and standing amongst men is of paramount importance to me. I plan to be a slaver, as soon as I am able. The African slave would like nothing more than to conquer and enslave those who conquered and enslaved him. He simply lost a battle he would rather have won. There is no injustice in their minds, only a negative outcome, one that I will soon exploit. I wish to benefit from their savagery.”
“Why do you tell me this?”
“Because you must know everything about me.”
“Why?”
“I want your undivided loyalty. And I cannot have it if I lie about who I am, and what I wish to do.”
“Why do you wish my loyalty?”
“I want you to be my right hand.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” Xavier said truthfully, surprised at his lack of inner discernment in the manner. “Truly, I don’t know.”
“I am nothing.”
“No, you are simply forgotten. And I now wish to remember you.” Xavier, without knowing why, was suddenly filled with compassion. He spoke again, only now softly, “None of us choose to be born, or reborn for that matter. But you are now returned.”
“Yes.” And in that one word was lifelong loyalty: to grave, gold, victory or ruin.
“What do I call you?”
“L’Oublié.”
The Forgotten.
Later it occurred to Xavier that the man had smiled. He would never see such a thing grace his face again.
Jake, 1832
Chapter Six
Jake was roughly shoved awake. He blinked at the white light of dawn, and found himself looking at a middle-aged Bavarian he had never met. The man tapped his gun, then pointed south over the barricade. Jake’s heart began to beat like a drum in his chest - a now familiar rhythm. He slowly stood, and cautiously looked over the barricade. In front of him ran the last fifty feet of Rue de Charenton, ending at the narrow crossing street of Petit Rue de Reuilly. A block to the north on Reuilly, a much-wider continuation of Rue de Charenton ran south-southeast. It emptied into a square at the Paris gates, and then continued to the village of Charenton.
With the defenses fifty feet from the intersection, the enemy had to advance down Reuilly, or up Charenton, then make a complete turn under fire in order to engage the barricade. It forced an action at point-blank range against prepared defenses, with no hope of using supporting heavy weapons. The zig-zag urban canyons gave attackers no other tactical choice.
Jake saw a knot of his men at the northeast corner, who peered south, down the continuation of Charenton. Whatever was worth seeing at this ungodly hour was most likely coming from that direction. Jake climbed the barricade to see for himself.
The day before, after Jake’s men had been i
ssued their Charlevilles at the cart rendezvous, they were hastily trained to load and clean them. The fifteen comrades at the cart were young but confident, aged within ten years of Jake at the outside, except for one man. A short, bearded badger of a man, who must have been fifty if he was a day, was the firearms expert. He was dressed in all grey with a grey hat, looking like nothing so much as a hairy tent, and his name was Citizen Loys. Although gruff and profane, he seemed very solicitous of everyone, and gave advice that appeared sound. His instructions on the Charleville were top-notch, and he tried to explain as much of real battle as he could. It seemed to boil down to finding oneself in complete ignorance of all surrounding events, being devastated by noise and friendly casualties, and still trying to do what one was supposed to do, without knowing precisely what that was. Pascal was duly issued a tricolor flag, and, without firing a single practice shot, they trooped to their barricade location, and began tearing up the street. Jake bought food and drink from the locals on Charenton, starting a raucous block party. The neighborhood came out, and dumped furniture on the barricade, and sang songs with the men. Most were shop owners or craftsmen. They were hard-working people who grew no food - they were hard hit when the price of bread went up. A local cooper said, “We spend too much of our damné coin on bread as it is anyway. Être foutu tout les messieurs! Long live the revolution!” Hearty cheers followed. A group of prostitutes came by and demanded weapons, and soon joined in the singing and drinking - weapons forgotten. A carriage was stopped, and Cyril asked for orders, “Jake, what do we do? Can we confiscate it?”
Jake thought about it, “Where is the driver from?”
“Montreuil.”
Just outside of Paris. En enfer with him.
Jake spoke, “Yes. If the driver isn’t from Paris, confiscate everything.”
And so it went. Drivers were stopped and, if the driver hailed from outside the city or a non-republican neighborhood, their goods were confiscated, their carriage destroyed, and the debris added to the defenses. Two drivers managed to talk themselves back on their way unscathed, with horrible stories of tragedy and poverty. The second had five of Jake’s men sobbing for a good minute, even after he left. It was utter chaos. They were pirates, except to the good citizens of Saint-Antoine, to whom they must have been like naughty, armed children with plenty of gold to spend, a barricade to build, and lots of songs to sing.
The Crimson Heirlooms Page 11