“You will find it more than amenable to your needs. It is a charming city, with a cosmopolitan population, and many things to do and to see.”
Monsieur Roquer beamed, “I leave you both in good company. Messieurs.” Then he left.
There was nothing but silence between the two men.
Jake broke it, “How is it that you come to be such an honored guest at the Château Meilleur?”
Tyran spoke as if Jake had not, “I was not there. But I have heard what transpired from many mouths. In 1805, anyone with any kind of power or authority in the Traversier Trust was summoned to Nantes by order of Xavier Traversier himself. They were either housed here, or in luxury apartments downtown. One morning, they were all brought into the main foyer, the Carrara Room. Perhaps you entered there.”
“I believe I did.”
“Chairs were placed in the room for all, facing the one that Xavier would occupy. He came down the staircase to their right with l’Oublié. He sat, l’Oublié stood.”
“Who is l’Oublié?”
“A very dangerous man.” Tyran saw the look on Jake’s face, and a dark laugh escaped his lips, “You think I am dangerous, do you? No. I am a Summer’s day compared to l’Oublié. He is a killer golem. No one knew anything about him, nothing, not even his name. Time has not unraveled the mystery.”
“Who are you?” Jake asked quietly, “What is your name?”
Tyran nearly shouted, “Jacques Bonhomme Cale. Does that help you?”
Jake looked downward, “No, Monsieur Tyran, it does not.”
Tyran calmed and continued, “Xavier nodded at the recording secretaries who wrote the minutes, his traditional signal that the meeting had officially begun, then spoke, ‘I have just received word from the doctors. My illness, that I have heretofore hid from you and the world, can no longer be obfuscated. If the doctors know their craft, and their diagnosis proves accurate, I’m afraid that within a fortnight I will have perished.’ It was news to them. As far as everyone knew, Xavier was as healthy as a draft horse. Xavier had to slam the butt of his cane into the marble three times to quiet the room. ‘Let us proceed apace,’ he said, ‘I do not wish to talk of the specifics of my illness, nor do I wish to hear exclamations of surprise or condolence. Let us assume all of it is implied, and get on with more important business.”
“Which was?”
“His will, of course. Xavier looked around the room before he spoke again, ‘The first order of business is for every man to certify that I am of sound mind and body. Is there anyone here who would dispute this?’ He waited long enough for someone to make themselves known. No one did. ‘Then the matter is settled,’ he said. He went on to describe how he wished to transform the Traversier Trust into what it is today: a mindless, predatory leviathan, ruled by a board of directors whose only concern is that the creature kill, eat and become larger.”
“And not trade in slaves.”
Tyran said nothing for a long heartbeat, then continued, “Traversier told them the Trust would be given over to the next person who possessed the Cross of Nantes. On its face, the order was absurd. They argued. ‘Monsieur, if you give the Cross to an unknown recipient, and he is waylaid in an alley and the Cross taken from him, it is entirely conceivable that the murderer of your heir would come to us, demand his inheritance, and receive it.’ But Xavier would have none of it, ‘Then he will receive it,’ he said. He went on, ‘When the bearer of the Cross of Nantes appears, whenever he or she appears, in a month, or in a century, however they appear, be they white, black, yellow, red or otherwise, be they angel or devil, be they hateful, stupid, inarticulate, vapid, dissolute or saintly, you will immediately confer ownership of the company upon them. That ownership will be immediate and unconditional. The Board of Directors will then exist solely to fulfill the wishes, and even the whims, of this new owner, whoever he or she might be, until such a time as the owner dissolves or changes the board, depending on their wish - or whim.”
“Was he in a mental state and simply too forceful to be gainsaid?”
“No. Stable as a Greek pillar, he was.”
“It doesn’t make any sense, does it?”
“None at all. His men argued, ‘We have already agreed that you are of sound mind, Monsieur. But one must admit, objectively, that this is an unusual request. Of course, we will fulfill it. But may we ask, for the honor of knowing... why you have made it of us?”
Tyran fell silent. Jake spoke, “What did he say?”
“All parties, with whom I spoke regarding this, remarked on what happened next. It was as if Xavier seemed to deflate. In an instant, he looked ten years older, even beaten. For a moment, it seemed as if he wouldn’t speak again. But then the golem, l’Oublié, standing motionless by the stairs, suddenly took one step forward. Every man took notice, as if a stone gargoyle had suddenly come to life. His action changed the air in the room. One step forward, and Xavier’s authority remained. Xavier shuddered, then the color came back to his cheeks. He looked up, and gently smiled before he spoke, ‘My directive must seem strange, I know. All of you have served me for years, some for decades, and your collective livelihood depends on the Traversier Trust. You deserve to know my reasoning. I’m afraid, however, that my words will not detract from the mystery. I would only ask that what I am about to tell you never leaves this room.’ The men silently nodded their acquiescence, and Xavier began to speak. When he was finished, they understood his motivation, but the mystery of the Cross had only deepened, and its eventual destination was still hidden.”
And Tyran fell silent once again. Jake spoke, “What did he say exactly?”
“If you find out what he said, it will not be from me.”
“You do not know then?”
“I do know. I am simply not telling you.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Regardless, there it is.”
“Are you mad, Monsieur Tyran?”
Tyran thought about it. “No,” he finally said, quietly.
Jake calmed, “I suppose I am going to Haïti.”
Tyran looked at him with contempt, “Is that what you think? After reading that log?”
Jake was frustrated, “Yes, it is precisely what I think.”
“You are a fool, then.”
“How so, Monsieur?”
Tyran spoke as if Jake had not interjected, “Exactly one week later, Xavier passed from the earth. L’Oublié was emotionally unaffected – which made no sense at all, for if Monsieur Traversier died, the first action of the board would be his separation from the company, l’Oublié being a frightening monster. This led to the rumor that Xavier was not truly dead, that he had somehow faked his own death. But when Xavier’s body was displayed on a mountain of flowers at the Cathédrale Saint-Pierre-et-Saint-Paul, l’Oublié utterly lost his composure. He tried to throw himself upon his master, but was restrained. He did not regain his composure even as he was hustled outside. He ran from the church making wretched sounds, and greatly affected the demeanor of the mourners waiting outside. Traversier had been no friend to the church, and sometimes even its enemy, so the presence of his body in the cathedral was thought strange. But he was the most powerful, wealthy and influential man in Nantes - and he had left extraordinarily specific instructions for his burial. After his display, a huge hole was dug in the grounds of the Château Meilleur, with ramps leading to its bottom at two opposite sides. His casket was placed inside his ebony german, and trotted into the hole. After the horses were retrieved, the entire carriage was buried until only a cairn mound remained where the entire affair had once been. It is here, this mound - outside this very room, to this day.”
Tyran pointed out the window, and Jake saw a mild hill, covered with grass and hydrangeas, lying in the expansive grounds.
“He is buried there, then,” Jake said.
“Yes.”
“Where am I going, Monsieur Tyran?”
“Tír Chonaill, and the Forest of Ards.”
“Why
on earth would I go there?”
“You are not just looking for the Cross of Nantes, Monsieur Loring, but for the Crimson Heirlooms, in case you have forgotten.”
Jake had forgotten, as a matter of fact. The second Heirloom was ridiculous, the product of madness.
“There is something else you should know, Monsieur Loring. L’Oublié may be still alive, although if so he is no longer young.”
“He has not been seen since the death of Xavier Traversier?”
“No, he has not. But that fact, in and of itself, may mean nothing at all. There is one other of whom you must be wary. His name is Marc Marie-Florent Avenir, a riverboat captain.”
“His presence in all of this seems random.”
“Not at all. He is one of the oldest employees of the Traversier Trust. He was present at the last meeting. He is crafty, violent and dangerous. He has carefully followed every search for the Cross, and has been spotted observing its searchers.”
“You think he will steal it, if the opportunity presents itself?”
“I think most of world would steal it, if the opportunity presented itself. But not all are as dangerous, nor as smart as Avenir. He would manipulate events to bring the opportunity about, while others would not, or could not. I think he would kill for it.”
“Do you think he would kill me?”
“For the Cross? Don’t be ridiculous. He would kill you in half a heartbeat, Monsieur Loring.”
Jake tried to think. He could not be gullible, he could not rely on anything as fact. He had to see through things, to perceive machinations. His head hurt with the attempt, but it did avail him a thought. He turned to Tyran, “Why were you not at the meeting?”
Tyran, for once, looked off-put, “Which meeting?”
“You know which one. The final meeting, where the captains and presidents of the Traversier Trust were summoned.”
“Why on earth would I be there?”
“Because you either worked for the Traversier Trust, or you were a contractor for it, or a friend of Monsieur Traversier, were you not?” Jake was proud and relieved to hear his own voice – he had not heard such steel in his words since the barricade.
Tyran leaned back in his chair, and exhaled. “Your conclusions are absurd. And, besides, it is not your job to investigate me.”
“Your very presence as an honored guest of this house proves me right. Monsieur Roquer is not the sort to be bought. He is ideological, and loyal to his duties. You are here. He welcomes you. Why?”
“I could have worked for the Trust after the death of Traversier, could I have not?”
“Perhaps, but your age and success would indicate otherwise.”
“There is an easy answer to your question. I lied. I was at the meeting. I did work for the Traversier Trust. You are right.”
Jake nodded, as if he was sated. He was not. There were two things that Monsieur Tyran did not want him to know. The first was that he worked for the Trust. The second was his presence at the meeting. Perhaps Tyran had finally given him one truth, in order to keep one lie.
Tyran spoke, changing the subject, “The Forest of Ards still exists, and is called by that exact name, making it easier to discover. I have found it to be a small wood in a place called Donegal, near Londonderry. Tír Chonaill was harder to find, for it no longer exists. But with such clues, it was not impossible. Tír Chonaill was the old Irish kingdom of the area, before the coming of Cromwell’s army. Many of their nobles fled to France, but her commoners were left to the cold mercy of the English. They killed or enslaved half the people on the island, the English.”
“Enslaved?”
“Indeed. They were sent to Barbados, Montserrat, and Jamaica, mostly. For centuries – but not anymore. In fact, they say black slavery in the British colonies won’t last the year.”
“At least, in this, the French were ahead of the British. We abolished it in 1794.”
“And then we brought it back, as soon as the Revolution was crushed, and have it still. Which is, of course, very French, as well.”
Jake said nothing.
“You will take a coach from Nantes to Calais, a ferry from Calais to Dover, then travel by rail - horse-drawn and steam locomotive, as opportunity presents itself - to Liverpool. A sail-steamer could be found to Londonderry from there.”
“When do I leave?”
“Tomorrow will be fine.”
Ce bâtard!
Jake kept his thoughts to himself. “I think, perhaps, I will do some additional research while I am in this house. I’m sure I will return at some point, but there is much to learn.”
“As you will,” and with that, Tyran went back to his newspaper.
Jake left his chair, and exited the room.
Foutu le bâtard Tyran!
The coach to Dover alone would be ten days on his arse.
Jake vowed not to think about it. He went to the library, and was soon met by Monsieur Roquer. “Monsieur Roquer, how well do you know this library.”
“Fairly well, Monsieur.”
“Can we perhaps find records of the final meeting between Xavier Traversier and the principles of the Trust?”
“Easily, Monsieur.”
Exactly one hour later, Jake found the lie. Jacques Bonhomme Cale had been summoned to Nantes from Cuba, a Spanish colony, no less. But Jacques Bonhomme Cale had not attended the meeting. To Monsieur Tyran, it seemed this was the more important lie to keep.
There were few other records of Jacques Bonhomme Cale, mostly references to communications, but not the communications themselves. He was not an employee of the Traversier Trust, either – exposing another lie from Tyran.
Jake had found just enough truth to make him utterly confused.
Xavier, 1786
Chapter Twenty
It was extraordinarily time-consuming to load a ship with slaves. They each had to be carefully chained. It could not be done quickly, for the slaves were mostly captured warriors. If they saw the slightest opportunity, they would kill their captors and to try to escape. The warriors were from a bewildering array of tribes and peoples, however, and hated each other perhaps more than they hated their slavers. Indeed, they would not have come into contact with Europeans at all, had another rival tribe not captured them.
They were chained together so closely in the hold that they literally defecated on each other. They would have to be regularly taken to the deck in small groups for food, water, and cleaning. As the hold filled, the sound of crying, moaning and screaming gradually became louder. The ship bellowed like a doorway to hell, the unsettling howling of the damned plainly heard.
Xavier said his goodbyes to Mademoiselle. “I am truly sorry to leave; your company is delightful.”
“Likewise, Xavier. But the next time you come, do bring more news of fashion and style. And more instruments, and better clothes.” It was only humorous admonishment. It brought a smile to his face.
“As I am ordered, so shall I engage.”
“Goodbye, mon ami.”
“Goodbye, Anne.”
He kissed her hand, and they parted.
***
They made excellent time to the Americas, using the strong current and trade winds. Nothing else was excellent.
In fact, Xavier found himself in hell. He was stuck on a small ship with hundreds of people, most chained in his hold, like stacked spoons on two levels of shelf. They were given very little to eat, and only when they were brought to the deck. They defecated and vomited and sweated. The smell, and the sound, was overwhelming, and could not be avoided anywhere on board. Barrels of seawater were poured over them to clean and cool them, but conditions were still horrific on deck for the sailors, much less for the slaves in the hold. The Africans began dying on the very first day of travel, and one seemed to die nearly every day they were at sea. After three days, they began to lose their minds, and became loud and aggressive.
Xavier noticed the crew was now loathe to go down and bring up the small groups
to be fed and cleaned. He was on deck when a team of three came back, one with blood on his face. Xavier knew this was a bad development, and crossed to the man immediately. He found l’Oublié had shadowed his movements, and now stood behind him.
“What happened?” Xavier asked.
For just a moment, he saw the man’s eyes burn with resentment, seemingly at Xavier. But when he spoke, he was deferential, “They kick now. They are insane, and do not care if we punish them, Monsieur Le Capitaine. One struck me, and knocked me off balance. I went face first into a bulkhead. We beat him with straps, but...”
Xavier nodded. He turned, and noticed all eyes of the deck were upon him. This was not unusual, for the crew now looked to Xavier for leadership. But Xavier realized he had no idea what to do.
He suddenly found himself in the memory of the Cœurfroid Summer ball. It wasn’t his loyal crew who looked upon him - but the young ladies behind their fans. In a heartbeat, he was totally bereft of confidence and filled with shame. A second heartbeat later, a savage wave of anger gripped him like a tentacle of fire. His temples pounded and his vision darkened.
Xavier tried to calm. He could not allow his men to sense his indecision or emotion. He forced himself to nod, “This will be handled, and will not continue. Get your wound some attention.”
The man looked relieved, and walked on. The tension left the deck. It was the perfect thing to say, but now Xavier had to back up his words with action - and he had no solutions.
L’Oublié spoke softly, “What do you wish of me?”
“I have no idea,” Xavier said, in a voice that carried only to him.
L’Oublié nodded, then simply walked away. Xavier wanted to know where he was going and what he was doing, but he purposefully did not look in his direction - so, to the men, it seemed as if he had ordered him to do what he was doing, whatever it was.
If the slaves did not want to come on deck, they would not eat or drink. They would become needful and weak, and then order would return. But if the slaves were even more poorly tended than usual, disease might rip through their ranks, decimating them wholesale, and perhaps even endangering the crew. The easy and slow way would simply not work.
The Crimson Heirlooms Page 36