It being close on midnight, this will be put in your hands by nine of the clock tomorrow morning. If you have any additional questions in regard to this case, I will be honored to answer them.
Vive la France!
Vive Lyon
Vive la Revolution
Jules Topinard, physician
#27, Rue des Bergers
3
“The prisoners will be moved within the city walls in four days, which is a performing day for our commedia; the next will be tomorrow,” Roger informed da San-Germain three days after the attack upon him; it was mid-morning and the troupe was already setting up the stage on the two wagons in the inn’s yard in anticipation of the next day’s performance, and the sounds of their labors drifted up to their room. “Their run has been extended by two more performances. The Revolutionary Tribunal approves of it, and thus far there has been no scandal about Enee’s attack, or his accusations. Heurer has changed the script so that they won’t need Enee.”
“How set is that—the day they will move the prisoners? This makes the sixth change so far; is it likely the day will be changed again?”
“It may, but probably not. The weather isn’t going to stay clear for much longer, and they don’t want to move them in a downpour, or worse.”
“And the horses? Have you purchased the number we agreed upon?”
“Yes. They’re being kept at a stable on the Saone Road, half a league from the city gates.”
Da San-Germain sat a little straighter. “Were they bought outside the city?”
“Of course. And I made sure there was no connection with any member of the troupe. The agent I employed was informed that the horses were needed for a courier service.” He did not smile, but a look of satisfaction came over his features.
“How does Photine feel about the run being extended again?” da San-Germain asked abruptly, glancing toward the window and the sound of the players’ preparation. For once the sky was nearly clear, and the hazy sunshine brought a brilliance to the world that it had lacked for the greater part of a week.
“She says little to me: only tells me that she expects you to provide the music. Other than that, she isn’t forthcoming; Pascal says she’s embarrassed by what happened,” said Roger. “I believe that embarrassment is a factor for her, but not the only one.”
“Does she mean Enee’s attempt to kill me when she says ‘what happened’?” The question was sharper than he intended, and he cleared his throat and added, “I understand why she might want to express it that way.”
Roger nodded. “It’s her hope to put the incident in the past; she is giving all her attention to the play and her troupe. That’s why they’re rehearsing again today, and why she’s said she has to have the music for the parade tomorrow, and in four days, since the license for it has come through. Heurer agrees.”
“So nothing more about Enee.”
“He remains in jail, or so Constance tells me,” said Roger.
“I gather he will not be brought to trial soon.” For all his voice revealed, they might have been discussing the stenciled decoration above the windows. “By the way, of what crimes has he accused me?”
“Seduction, lewdness, fraud, coercion, endangering Photine’s welfare. There may be more, but these are what I’ve heard.”
“Being his mother’s lover and forcing her to come to France, in other words,” said da San-Germain as if he were talking about something from his distant past. “I suppose he’ll bring those things up at his trial.”
“It’s likely.”
“Do you think we’ll be here when he does?” He sounded even more detached.
In his long experience with da San-Germain, Roger knew it was folly to challenge him on his apparent indifference. “No; there is too much of a back-log for political cases—he will have to wait his turn, and by then we should be well away from France.”
Da San-Germain took a long, slow breath. “Which means that Photine will want to remain here until he’s been before the Revolutionary Court.”
Roger nodded his agreement. “So she has declared.”
“What does the rest of the troupe say?”
“Nothing that they will discuss with me.” He shook his head slowly. “No, that’s not quite accurate. Valence told me that they weren’t all in agreement with her.”
“That’s hardly surprising,” da San-Germain said as he fiddled with the bandage on his thigh. “I doubt they’d discuss it with me, either.”
“Probably not, though you are their patron. Pascal is encouraging the rest of the troupe to take no more money from you, and pay their way from the money their play brings in.”
“Do the others concur?”
“Some do.” Roger faltered, then went on. “The rest do not. They argue about it often. There is growing rancor in the troupe because of this debate.”
“All the more reason to keep their opinions to themselves.” He stretched awkwardly. “Well, I imagine it would be best for me to make an appearance before them, since there is a performance tomorrow, and with a parade. I’ll need something less fitted than most of my clothes.”
Roger pulled a black wool swallow-tail coat from the armoire. “Will this do?”
“I trust so; and one of the looser shirts.” Da San-Germain, sitting on a chest of his native earth, had recovered a little from Enee’s assault, though he still had moments of incapacitating pain; beneath his dressing-robe he was swathed in bandages, and both his eyes were black from the cut on his forehead. “Concerning the prisoners: do we know what time of day they’ll be moved?” He considered the possibilities. “It could be a ploy, to continue to announce changes and move them at an entirely different time.”
“That’s possible,” said Roger. “But in this instance, I think there may be some truth to what I’ve learned.”
“Why?”
He considered his response carefully. “It is how I came to learn of it: I had it from one of the Revolutionary Court clerks, who is making arrangements for the transfer and setting up the escort. He was at the Cinq Etoiles—you know, the tavern near the Revolutionary Court’s building?—complaining to his fellows about the complications they were encountering in arranging for Guards along the route they were going to use; I happened to overhear him.” He studied da San-Germain with concern.
“Happened, old friend?” da San-Germain inquired, a sardonic lift to his brows. “It was an opportunity you came upon by accident?”
“A fortunate chance,” Roger said, refusing to be needled.
“Fortunate indeed, if it is accurate. Were the clerks good enough to mention the time of this endeavor?”
Roger had observed this remote, sardonic mood before, and knew that it masked profound misgivings. “Not one of the clerks: a Guard was in the Cinq Etoiles, and he was upset that the plan was for the afternoon, during the riposino. He disapproved of the time: he doesn’t want to give up his nap.”
“The performance is supposed to be immediately after the riposino rather than before,” said da San-Germain, doubts making him critical. “Will the parade permission be upheld, or will the Department of Public Safety withdraw the license?”
“There has been no notice of withdrawal,” said Roger. “But that doesn’t mean that the Revolutionary Tribunal or the Revolutionary Court couldn’t change its mind.”
For a short while, da San-Germain said nothing while he pondered the likelihood of a change; when he looked up at last, he said, “I doubt they will withdraw it: it could give public attention to the transferring of prisoners, assuming that takes place according to plan, and the Department of Public Safety will try to keep everyone distracted while they move their prisoners. The parade will make that possible. It’s likely that they chose the time of the parade as a diversion.”
“That is likely,” said Roger emotionlessly.
“Or I want to believe it enough to decide it must be so,” said da San-Germain with a mirthless smile.
“You know my opinion on t
hat,” said Roger.
“Yes; and ordinarily I would share it, but just at present, I can’t,” said da San-Germain, rising from his earth-filled chest. “And for our plan to succeed, I will have to keep the troupe aligned with my purpose, and that will not happen unless they see that I am ready to carry out my part. So I will have to attend at least some of the rehearsal today and join the performance tomorrow, and the parade.”
“And what if they decide not to support your plan? That could happen.”
Da San-Germain sighed as he straightened up, assuming some of his usual manner. “Ah, you are too acute, old friend. I need to take stock of them, as much as they need to see that I am recovering, to find the answer to your question.”
“Are you certain they will tell you their thoughts? Matters here in Lyon are more volatile than they were in Avignon. There are apt to be rifts among the players, as there are rifts in the Revolutionary Court here. The Girondais are holding to their position, let the Assembly in Paris say what it will.” Roger glanced toward the door as if he expected to be interrupted. “And there’s still the matter of Enee to deal with.”
“When we have Madelaine safe, I’ll give Photine money enough to buy his release. That should inspire her to continue with our connivances.”
Roger stared at him, unable to conceal his disbelief. “Do you truly want that boy released?”
“Not as a gesture of altruism, I admit: to be certain of Photine’s good-will, and to make sure she honors our agreement,” said da San-Germain slowly.
“He won’t be grateful,” Roger warned.
“No, he won’t.” He untied the sash of his dressing-robe. “He will resent anything I do, or fail to do, so I must put emphasis on Photine, not her son.”
“He may try to kill you again.”
Da San-Germain shrugged. “If he wants to keep his mother’s good opinion that would be unwise.” He reached for the shirt Roger held out to him. “He can be bribed out of a cell once, but not twice.”
“Do you think that would stop him? He is as likely to defy her as not.”
“Very probably,” said da San-Germain, taking the shirt as he turned away and took off the dressing-robe in order to don the shirt.
Roger watched him dress, noting the care he took with his movements, the way he guarded his left side where most of the wounds had been inflicted; there was an air of fragility to da San-Germain that Roger rarely detected in him, and it worried him to think that his master was preparing to undertake something as hazardous as removing Madelaine from the Department of Public Safety in just four days. He was aware that da San-Germain would persevere in his plans whether or not he was hurt, and that mentioning his reservations would do no good. Without a word, he gave da San-Germain his black wool unmentionables and watched while he pulled them on. “Do you want help with the coat?” He knew as soon as the words were out that he should not have made the offer.
“I think I’m strong enough to put on a coat,” he said, and did his best to demonstrate, taking more time than he would have before the attack, but not bungling the attempt. “There. You see?” He felt the garment, satisfied with what his fingers revealed. “The sleeves aren’t twisted and the collar is lying correctly.”
“And playing the cimbalom—will you be able to do that?”
“Not terribly well, but enough to satisfy the needs of the play; I’ll ask for a stool to sit on at rehearsal. That should help,” da San-Germain said as he turned around to face Roger. “You can tell me if the buttons are—”
“Your appearance is quite satisfactory,” Roger conceded. “Not quite as elegant as usual, but not disheveled, either.”
“The bandages aren’t obvious.” He felt the front of his coat.
“No. Your eyes are black, but there’s nothing beyond that that would suggest you survived a murder attempt three days ago. I’d recommend that you don’t overplay your recovery; take the time to show some sign of discomfort, at least.”
“It would be nothing less than the truth,” said da San-Germain ruefully.
“Good,” Roger told him. “They must see the pain of all those stab wounds, or they will begin to wonder.”
“Such is my intention,” said da San-Germain with genuine satisfaction.
Yet Roger persisted. “And sustenance? have you made any arrangements for that? You won’t get over your weakness until you get living blood into you.” This blunt a statement was unusual for him, and he emphasized his apprehension with a hard stare. “If you’re going to help Madelaine, you need to take nourishment before then.”
“I know,” da San-Germain admitted. “I think I can find one or two women to visit as a dream, and that will provide enough for now.”
“Not Photine?”
“No; she’s caught up in performing and would find me disquieting.” He said nothing more as he reached for a neck-cloth and began to tie it around his neck.
“She’s a risk to your contrivance to gain Madelaine’s freedom, my master.” He did not add that he thought she was not as reliable as she had been before Enee’s assault on da San-Germain.
“Not just at present, I think. She’s too concerned about Enee.”
“I’m not so sanguine. It seems to be quite a gamble to trust her now, if you ask me—although you didn’t.” Roger did not raise his voice, or make any sign of distress at da San-Germain’s position, but added, “As you say, she is concerned about Enee: who knows what she might use to bargain for his release.”
“You mean she might inform on me?”
“Directly or indirectly, yes. She might even believe that she was doing you a service.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because she wants her son out of prison, and I’m not convinced that she would hesitate to use you to bring that about.”
Da San-Germain took a minute to ruminate on Roger’s worry. When he looked up, he said, “Revealing the intention to remove a prisoner from the Revolutionary Court would not be sufficiently remarkable to warrant any favors beyond something very minor; everyone knows that such attempts are possible, and revealing such a plot—it would not be sufficient to get Enee out of jail no matter how persuasive Photine may be. The spies report constantly on such rumors, and nothing comes of them. To have such a account from a player would likely be regarded as more common gossip.”
“But she does know what you plan to do,” Roger reminded him. “That could lead to the kind of investigation that—”
“Actually, no; she does not know what I plan to do. Neither she nor Theron knows that: they know what I’ve told them, which is not my actual plan. Other than you, only Feo knows what I intend, and he won’t mention it to anyone.” He looked toward the armoire and the chest that stood next to it. “My walking shoes—where are they?”
“I have them in the closet. I refilled the soles and heels yesterday.” He went to get them, a little surprised that da San-Germain had not asked for his boots.
As if aware of this, da San-Germain said, “The cut on my calf is too tender for boots. The shoes will be more comfortable.”
“They will,” Roger agreed, bringing the shoes and stockings to him. “The stockings aren’t high enough to bind on the cut.”
“Fortunately, they aren’t.” Da San-Germain went to the upholstered chair at the end of the bed and sat down to allow Roger to put on his stockings and shoes. “When the bandages are off, I can do this well enough, but right now, I can’t bend my waist very much, and won’t be able to for another month or two.”
“Not as bad as Sankt Piterburkh, or Mexico,” Roger remarked.
“Or Delhi, or Moscow, or Gorwiecz, or Cyprus, or Lo-Yang, or Fiorenza, or Tunis.” He sighed. “Or, or, or.”
“It’s a long list.” Roger put the stockings on with care, and then slid the shoes on. “Try standing.”
Da San-Germain complied. “They’ll do. I may need to go down the stairs one at a time, but otherwise I can manage.”
“Would you like to have a cane?
” Roger suggested, anticipating the answer.
“No, old friend. That would give rise to comments from the troupe that could be troublesome.” He crossed the room with only a slight limp to show how badly he had been injured.
“You conceal your pain very well, my master,” said Roger drily.
“Not well enough if you can see it,” was da San-Germain’s rejoinder.
“But I know what to look for,” Roger said.
“Point conceded,” da San-Germain told him with a slight bow. “You have the advantage over the others, old friend, and for that I am relieved.”
Roger gave him an austere smile. “Then be willing to take my advice: do not walk far today. There is no reason for you to do more than play for the rehearsal; you need not join the parade before tomorrow’s performance.”
“Photine wants music, or at least noise, to attract attention. I will need to provide that for her, though she won’t expect me to carry the cimbalom and march with the rest.” He paused. “Besides, Corpse costumes aside, I want it established that I am part of the parade, so that I will be able to account for my time if I’m asked to do so.”
“So you can be elsewhere,” Roger said in Byzantine Greek. “You have two drums in your chest that haven’t been used, and there is that Turkish trumpet; they can provide noise.”
“That’s why I brought them,” da San-Germain said. “I thought we might have use for them.”
“Would you like me to take them out of their trunk?”
“If you would, and bring them down to the inn-yard in an hour or so,” said da San-Germain. He started to the door, then stopped. “The physician’s report that the Guard demanded: do you know if he has completed it yet?”
“He has. It’s with the Department of Public Safety,” said Roger.
“Do you know what it says?”
Roger was nonplussed by the question. “I haven’t seen it. Does it matter?”
Da San-Germain avoided the question by asking another. “Did the physician tell you anything?”
“Only that you were lucky to be alive, and that your pulse was so faint he wasn’t sure you would survive.”
Commedia della Morte Page 33