“He’s in the grave, where you left him, obviously,” Father DuChard said as he arrived, slightly out of breath. All eyes turned to him like he was a judge passing sentence. “You know Simonet is dead and buried, Helena. Perhaps you imagined seeing him. Like a recurring nightmare. Some people who experience tragedy suffer delusions of –.”
I charged at him, seizing his robes. “Where is he? How did he escape?”
“Helena, please! CCalm yourself!” he sputtered as I pushed him backward through the crowd.
“Let him go, Mademoiselle!” Lieutenant-General ordered, marching toward me.
No chance of that, I thought as I snarled into Father DuChard’s jowls. “You’re finished in La Rue Sauvage, do you hear? I don’t know how you did that and I don’t care. I’ll find Simonet and I’ll kill him again, as often as I need to. And I’ll take you with him.”
I shoved him to the ground as the crowd parted. Celia gasped and stared at me in shock as her father reached to help Father DuChard to his feet. Then she stared at DuChard.
My arm was yanked backward. Lieutenant-General Vitton held me in a steel grip. “That is enough, Mademoiselle,” he ordered. “If you continue these mindless attacks, I’ll be forced to arrest you.”
“Wait!” Father Vestille pleaded, raising his hands. “There must be more happening here than we can see. Helena must have seen something to act this way.”
The LieutenantGeneral heaved an angry sigh. “Whatever she saw, it’s not enough to justify this. I’m warning you for the last time, Helena. Any more of these wild accusations or violence, without any grounds, I’ll lock you in a cell.” He turned to the driver. “We’re done here. You can go.”
The timid driver picked up his reins quickly. “Yah- Hyahh!” he called, whipping the horses forward, their hooves clattering on the cobblestones as the people backed away. Lieutenant-General handed me my crossbow and bolts, then stepped away with a look of disgust.
Father DuChard stood hunched over, as if he needed Monsieur Verdante to support him. “Helena, I don’t know why you hate me so much,” he rasped, playing to the crowd once more. “But if you insist on accusing me, you will need to uncover some sort of proof.”
Father Vestille and Touraine surrounded me closer, as the rest of the crowd moved away. They had learned all they needed, enough to satisfy them that this incident was a further delusion of the girl who dressed in trousers and chased wolves. Celia continued to stare after me, even as her father pulled her away and Monsieur Denue sneered at me. She kept glancing over her shoulder as they departed with Father DuChard, who now pretended to limp.
“Red,” Pierre said, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. “I don’t think shoving a priest to the ground is the best way to make your point.”
“It is if I’m making it to him,” I argued.
“True,” Touraine said with a shrug.
Father Vestille frowned, unconvinced. “We should leave, and think this through. Another scene such as this and you could be in real trouble, Helena. And we’ll be no closer to the truth.”
I stared at my useless crossbow and bolts. “That’s what we need,” I said. “The truth.”
Father Vestille nodded. “Let’s return to La Maison, and discuss a plan.”
“I have a plan,” I said.
Touraine raised an eyebrow.
“All right, Red,” Pierre said, sounding doubtful. “Can I help you?”
“You can all help me,” I said, biting my lip, wishing for another option. “Tonight.”
“Whatever you need, Helena,” Father Vestille said.
“Thank you. I need a lot.”
They huddled closer and Father Vestille bent toward me. “What?”
I lifted my head, meeting their eager faces. “We need to dig up Simonet’s grave.”
33.
The moon had risen higher above the graveyard, where Touraine and Pierre’s shovels continued to scrape in the rectangular pit they had dug. I stood above ground with Father Vestille, reassured by his mere presence.
The night air was cool and damp from the light rain that fell earlier, which made their digging easier at first. I slept through the storm at the underground longhouse until Father Vestille knocked on the overhead door to wake me. He insisted on letting Crimson rest as we traveled to the graveyard on his slower and quieter Palomino, Moses. I couldn’t argue.
I glanced over my shoulder at the Leónes’ house in the distance. I wouldn’t need Crimson tonight. We could easily march to their doorstep to confront Father DuChard, if needed. I was thankful Pierre had successfully snuck out of the house without incident. Now, with Father Vestille’s lantern and the full moon overhead, giving us plenty of light to dig, we would gain proof that the Lycanthru had faked Simonet’s death.
Touraine stood up and stretched, arching his back to rest a moment. He stood more than halfway down Simonet’s grave, the ground at his hips, while Pierre continued digging beside him in smaller scoops.
“Let me dig again for a while,” Father Vestille suggested , holding his lantern closer over the hole.
“A few more minutes,” Touraine gasped. “Then I’ll take a rest.”
“I can help, you know,” I offered.
Touraine shook his head, flinging beads of sweat that sparkled in the moonlight. “Thank you, Mademoiselle. But this is no job for a young girl.”
Pierre stopped digging long enough to check my reaction. Then they both returned to their work, as Father Vestille put his arm around me.
I shrugged off the remark. Of course, Touraine, I thought. You men dig the graves and leave me the easy task of killing all the wolves.
But he was right. None of this was a task for a young girl. But I had chosen to see it through.
Touraine tossed more dirt above ground, with renewed vigor. “Once we open the casket, what’s our next move?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “We’ll have to watch Father DuChard for anything we can use to prove he’s the Prime. And I should return to DeSarte tomorrow to keep searching for the Serrones and Claudette.”
Pierre struggled to hurl dirt high enough. “That place is so creepy. I can’t imagine going there at night. You should’ve seen it, Monsieur Touraine.”
“No, thank you,” Touraine replied, shaking his head. “Never heard anything that would make me want to visit DeSarte. Especially after all this. Strange place. You know that, except for a handful of farms, DeSarte only has two real sources of income? The asylum, and the Vorace tavern. That’s it.”
I recalled the blaze rising from the Vorace. “Well, now they only have one,” I said.
“I think we’re almost there,” Pierre said.
Thunk!
We all paused to stare at the tip of Pierre’s shovel. “We’re there,” Touraine said.
They shoveled faster, tossing up flying heaps of dirt.
Father Vestille backed away but I maneuvered to the side for a better view, and he followed after me with the lantern. “Now we can finally get some answers,” he said.
“And have something to show the Li eutenant-General,” I added, my spirits lifting as I regarded Father Vestille. “Thank you for being here.”
He squeezed my shoulder . “Where else would I be?” Pierre and Touraine dug and scraped away dirt, sweating and struggling but refusing to slow down. These were the people I could count on, and these were the moments that proved their friendship. Who else would dig up a grave for me in the middle of the night?
After another few minutes, a rectangular outline appeared beneath the dirt. They continued to dig around its sides, giving themselves room to open it. Touraine forced the shovel under the lid at an angle, then stomped down twice, to pop the nails from the lid. Father Vestille hung the lantern right over the coffin as I held my breath. This would provide more than enough proof to convince Lieutenant-General Vitton that Simonet was still alive and the Lycanthru were actively plotting against the town. We would finally get his help.
Father Vestille lowered the
lantern to Touraine, who threw open the lid. He held the light inside the coffin to reveal a large burlap sack, stuffed with something that looked like a body. He handed the lantern to Pierre and took a knife from his rear pocket, which glinted in the dim light.
“Is that a silver knife?” I asked.
Touraine smiled. “Would’ve helped the other night, wouldn’t it? I’m keeping a silver one handy from now on.” He gripped the edge of the burlap and cut it open down the middle of the bag. Pierre brought the lantern close.
They looked inside and gasped.
Within the bag, we saw a gaunt face.
The face of Siegfried Simonet.
His body lay still.
Prone and peaceful.
Hands folded across his chest.
Dead.
No one spoke. The wind chilled my shoulders and chin.
I tried to force my brain to understand what was happening. But I couldn’t. Simonet lay dead in the coffin. But I had seen him twice!
“Red,” Pierre rasped. “It’s – It’s him.”
I struggled for words. “It can’t be,” I said. “I saw him.”
Pierre and Touraine looked up at me. “But he’s right here, Helena,” Touraine said. “Right where they buried him after you killed him.”
“I saw him in that coach today!” I snapped. “And the other night, at the Leónes’ party. That’s – That’s not him!”
“It is him,” Touraine said. “Who else could it be?”
“No one move!” a man called. I turned to see LieutenantGeneral Vitton approaching on foot, his pistol raised. Father DuChard followed him with a lantern, as Monsieur Leóne hurried after them. My nerves flared. This was the worst imaginable time to confront any of them.
“Pierre!” Monsieur Leóne barked. “What are you doing out here? And Father Vestille?”
“I can explain this, Frayne,” Father Vestille said, putting up his hands.
Father DuChard jogged alongside Lieutenant-General Vitton, stopping beside him and panting. “I told you, LieutenantGeneral. I heard rumors in town, but I didn’t think she would actually dig up a man’s grave!”
“What’s the meaning of all this?” Vitton demanded.
I stepped forward, trying to suppress my rage. I couldn’t afford to lose my temper. “Monsieur, we need your help. Simonet is plotting something. I don’t know what, but –.”
The Lieutenant-General lowered his chin, his voice stern. “We’ve been through this, Mademoiselle. Monsieur Simonet is dead. You should know that, better than anyone.”
“But he’s not, Monsieur. He’s –.” I turned to the grave. Where Simonet’s body now lay.
Pierre stepped forward. “She saw him this afternoon. In that coach.”
“So she claims,” Vitton snapped. “Did anyone else see him?”
A gentle breeze tickled my skin in the dead silence. Pierre, Father Vestille, and Touraine all gaped, unable to answer. Touraine finally made an effort. “Simonet was – gone when we arrived.”
“According to Helena,” Vitton dismissed.
I swallowed. “That’s why we – why we needed proof.”
Vitton took an angry step forward. “So you dug up his grave, is that it?”
“Lieutenant-General, you asked me to look into things for you, about the Lycanthru’s activity. And –.”
His eyes bulged. “I did what?”
“The – The Lycanthru,” I said. “You wanted my help. To investigate them.”
“The same way that couple in DeSarte wanted your help to find their missing daughter that doesn’t exist? Now you think the police of La Rue Sauvage need your help investigating imaginary crimes?”
“But –.” Now Lieutenant-General Vitton was denying he sought my help. Could I have misunderstood him? Could I have forgotten his instructions? “You told me to watch the Strineaus. To learn what the Lycanthru are planning.”
Vitton snorted out breath like a bull. “All I know about the Lycanthru are the things you keep telling us. Which are becoming harder to believe and far more dangerous. Now I’ve warned you before, several times, and I’m out of patience.”
I felt myself trembling. Wondering myself if I had imagined seeing Simonet. At the window of the Leónes’ house. Inside the coach this afternoon. Could I have imagined the Strineaus’ daughter, and the Prime, and the entire Lycanthru cult as well?
No. I hadn’t. But all the evidence suggested I was lying. Or worse.
“That’s not Simonet!” I burst, pointing at the corpse. “It’s someone else. Simonet is alive and here in La Rue Sauvage, and he’s plotting something.” I pointed at Father DuChard. “With him! They’re in this together somehow, and they have been from the beginning! This is some sort of trick, to – to -!”
“To do what, Mademoiselle?” Lieutenant-General Vitton demanded. “What is it you think this dead man is plotting?”
I stepped back, glancing around at each horrified face. I had no support. Even Father Vestille and Pierre didn’t know what to do or say. Or believe.
“He’s not dead!” I shouted. “But he will be!”
I dropped into the grave, landing on top of Simonet himself as Pierre and Touraine threw their backs against the dirt walls. Touraine had dropped his silver knife onto the burlap sack surrounding the body. I snatched it up and jammed it deep into Simonet’s stomach.
Nothing.
I stabbed again and again, the blade sinking deep into his slender belly and back out again. In and out, over and over. Over and over.
No blood.
No screams.
No reaction at all from the lifeless hunk of flesh lying in the casket.
Simonet was dead.
I had gone mad.
I stood over his corpse, gasping, I didn’t turn to either side, where Pierre and Touraine remained pressed against the walls to give me room. Perhaps also to protect themselves from my crazed outburst. Nor did I lift my head to locate the voices overhead, saying I had gone insane, wondering what to do with me.
“No, wait!” Pierre cried. ‘Red!”
The wind whistled at my neck. I turned to glimpse LieutenantGeneral Vitton’s scowl before something hammered the back of my head, knocking me onto Simonet’s dead body, where everything went dark.
34.
I woke slowly, groggy and sore. Someone had laid me on a wooden floor to rest. Why not on a bed? I kept my eyes shut, taking another moment to recover. I moved to sit up and discovered that I couldn’t.
My arms wouldn’t move.
I opened my eyes in a panic and tried again, looking around the floor. I was in a small room with a wooden floor and walls. Soft blue moonlight crept through a small window in the door.
A window with bars.
I struggled again to rise, looking down at myself. My trousers and cloak were gone, replaced by a plain white dress and slippers. Thick ropes covered my stomach. As I twisted, I realized my arms had been bound behind me. Securely.
I rolled toward the wall and pressed against it for leverage, then edged my back up the wall to stand. I hurried to the window.
Outside, the Lieutenant-General stood talking to Father Vestille, Touraine, and Pierre and his father. It had grown darker, probably past midnight. A small crowd of villagers had gathered, listening in as Lieutenant-General Vitton spoke. I recognized the Denues and Celia Verdante’s father among them. Father DuChard must have roused everyone from their beds, alerting them to a disturbance at the graveyard.
“Hey!” I called. “Pierre! Father Vestille! I’m in here!”
Father Vestille turned toward me with an expression of pity and helplessness. He started toward me.
LieutenantGeneral Vitton held him back. “Father, we’ve discussed this. She needs help. Talking to any of you will only add fire to her delusions.”
“They’re not delusions,” Pierre argued. “The wolves are real.”
“Perhaps they were,” Vitton allowed. “But everything she’s described lately has come from her own hea
d. Wolves capturing her and letting her go? Wolves stealing a child and killing the mother, when in fact the woman in question is alive and has no children? And now Helena’s raving that Simonet came back from the dead to threaten us all? You all saw how she was acting. I had no choice but to knock her out. She’s become dangerous.”
“She’s always been dangerous,” Pierre snarled. “That’s why the wolves are afraid of her.”
“Which wolves?” Vitton asked. “The ones she said she killed off when she killed Simonet? How can we know now whether those wolves at the ball were a pack of ordinary wolves that invaded the chateau and sent everyone into a panic? Likely the same rabid wolves that killed Helena’s parents and the others. As far as men turning into wolves, all the reports of that are coming from Helena herself.”
“That’s not true,” Touraine said. “We saw them transform into wolves at the ball. And at my tavern the other night.”
“We all did,” Father Vestille agreed.
“Or that’s what you think you remember, because you were in a state of panic from the attacks, and that’s the explanation Helena kept telling everyone.” Vitton shook his head. “Look, this isn’t just about Helena or any of you. I have a duty to protect the rest of the community.”
“By locking her up?” Touraine pressed. “She’s the only one protecting us all from the wolves!”
Vitton lifted his hands in surrender. “All right, enough! I’ve explained this every way I can. Now you all need to stay back and let the police handle this. Helena’s problems are beyond anything we can help her with.”
“But you knew about this,” Pierre insisted through clenched teeth. “She said you told her to watch that couple, the Strineaus, and report back to you on anything unusual.”
“Why would I encourage this?” Vitton asked, jerking a hand in my direction. “I ordered her to stop this nonsense before she got herself into real trouble. She obviously didn’t heed my advice.”
“He’s lying!” I burst, pressing my face to the bars. “He’s part of this, whatever they’re planning! Don’t listen to him!”
Everyone turned toward me, looking uncertain. Vitton shook his head sadly. “And now I’m her enemy as well, it seems.”
Red Rider Revolution Page 23