The Duke turned casually from side to side, listening to each protest with great interest.
“But what if they’re real?” a woman asked. “What about all those attacks? All those children missing?”
“It’s not real!” the man bellowed in her face.
“Of course they’re not real!” Marceau shouted over everyone, silencing them.
“Marceau?” I asked. “What are you -?”
He stepped forward to face the surrounding crowd. “None of it’s real. How could they be?” he said, glaring at everyone. “You have nothing to worry about. They’re not real, and neither are my wounds. See?” He lifted his shirt and turned around, drawing gasps from the villagers. Every inch of his torso was covered with bruises, burns, and endless crisscross patterns of triple scars like the one that marked my face. The Duke leaned forward to study his wounds.
He dropped his shirt and pointed at me. “And Helena’s scars aren’t real, either. She was never slashed by a wolf. Even though the marks on her face match the ones on my belly and my back. I was not held captive by them for nearly thirty years. And neither were any of these people. These people who bear the same kind of scars on their arms and foreheads, from being beaten and clawed at by those monsters. Those things never happened. So you can all rest easy.”
He strolled about the room, meeting each villager’s eyes. “You can all go home. Have supper with your children. Tuck them into bed. Blow out the candles. Then crawl under your own sheets and sleep and dream peacefully. Because there’s nothing coming. No monsters. No wolves. It’s all just a little girl’s imagination. She wasn’t trying to warn you. She wasn’t trying to protect you or save your skins. No, this young girl was trying to trick you into thinking your lives were in danger, so that you would all cower in fear. Because Helena is the real monster. She’s trying to ruin your lives by telling you to protect yourselves. So just get rid of her. Send her back to the asylum, so she can add to her scars. By the imaginary wolves. And you can all sleep soundly tonight, knowing that you’ve taken care of the real threat, and you and your children will now be safe. Safe from a little girl who tried to save you.”
His face turned stone cold with disgust. Most people dropped their gaze as he passed, continuing to survey the crowd. Then he finally sneered and walked away. Monsieur Verdante seemed to weigh Marceau’s words, while Celia kept edging closer to us, perhaps to overhear any additional conversations. The Duke maintained his thin smile, but seemed to consider Marceau’s warnings.
Father Vestille cleared his throat. “You’ve heard my brother, Marceau. You’ve heard Helena, as well as myself and Monsieur Touraine. We’re now asking you to stand with us against the Lycanthru.”
A man laughed. “If we believe all this, you expect us to fight a bunch of monster wolves?”
“I fought them and killed them,” I said, finding more courage after Marceau’s speech. “About a hundred of them. Anything with a trace of silver will kill them. Each one of us can fight them, with the right weapons.”
“You’re still asking us to risk our lives and our futures on the word of a little girl!” a man argued.
“Not just on Helena’s word,” Father Vestille said. “On all of ours. We’ve all told you that these men are -.”
Father Vestille stopped as Monsieur Leóne strode quietly to the center of the room, his head drooping. Did he even command enough respect from Father Vestille to silence him, or did Father Vestille see that all the room’s attention was shifting? He and Touraine had said their piece, and some people seemed ready to listen. But Monsieur Leóne could easily dissuade them all, sowing the same seeds of doubt that Séverin DuChard had planted in their minds. And once he did, Duke Reichelon would order us all back to Asile de DeSarte.
I bit my lip. We had come so close to convincing them, but no one had committed. Now they would all turn away.
And the wolves would devour us all.
50.
Monsieur Leóne looked about La Maison tavern as the entire crowd waited for him to speak. To deliver his poisoned perspective on Séverin DuChard and the wolves.
And me.
I looked to Pierre, who returned my anxious gaze. We had tried to warn everyone. So had Marceau, using himself and the rest of the Asile de DeSarte inmates we had freed as proof of the Lycanthru’s cruelty. Only to have one man’s warped perspective and persuasive words twist everything, turning everyone into sheep for the wolves. I hung my head like a condemned prisoner and waited for the guillotine to strike.
Monsieur Leóne cleared his throat, though he already held everyone’s attention. “Séverin DuChard was a guest in my home,” he said. “He slept in our spare room. Ate from our table. Attended Morning Mass with us. Shared chores around the house. He even assisted me in my shop.”
He turned slowly about, his eyes seizing everyone’s attention. Even Duke Reichelon seemed impressed by the gracious manner of speech, as Monsieur Leóne addressed each person as though speaking to them across his own dinner table. Everyone seemed riveted. He held them all in his hands. “Day after day, he demonstrated himself to be a simple, humble man, with no hint of guile. No hint of corruption. No hint of any sin.” He finished his turn in the silence of the room, seeming to confirm that all eyes were focused on him. I held my breath, ready to run or fight.
Monsieur Leóne released a sigh. “But he lied.”
I blinked, snapping to attention. I blinked again at Monsieur Leóne stared straight at me with eyes full of pity.
He continued turning to address the others, as the Duke and others in the crowd leaned forward. “He said the wolves were not real. Wolves, perhaps, yes, but not the large wolves that Helena described. The truth is that those wolves – which stand upright and speak and make plans to attack us – those wolves are quite real. They’ve always been real. One of them –.” He swallowed, and seemed to choke back a sob. “One of those wolves killed my first wife, Fantine.”
All the air seemed to have been sucked from the room. No one even seemed to breathe.
Monsieur Leóne’s face paled as he shook his head, grieving. “I didn’t know what it was then. I had no way of knowing. All I knew was that some sort of monster took my wife from me, and I could do nothing about it.” He looked from one face to the next, his eyes pleading. “I don’t want to die. I’m terrified of fighting them. But I’m more afraid of not fighting. Those things – those monsters – they’re coming. If we don’t stand against them now, they’ll take everything from us.” He waved a hand toward me. “None of us believed Helena. But she still told the truth and fought the wolves alone when none of us would help. When –.” He swallowed hard, clearing his throat again. “– when I should have helped. A young girl fought the beasts we should have fought. If we don’t fight them now …” He shook his head, as if begging the crowd to believe. “… we might as well offer them our children to eat.”
A woman gasped, covering her mouth. Monsieur Leóne drew closer to each face as he circled the room. “Helena told us how to kill them. I haven’t seen it, but my son has. And she has. She’s killed dozens of these monsters. She can show us how to stop them, if we stand together and fight. Some of us – Some of us may die. But our children can live. We can save our homes and drive them off forever. Or we can choose to hide, and pretend there’s no threat – as I did, for many years. And am now ashamed.”
His chin sank to his chest. Madame Leóne broke from the crowd and strode quickly to take his hand, her other hand settling on his back.
Monsieur Verdante folded his hands behind his back. “We can appreciate all you’ve suffered and all that young Helena here has suffered as well,” he said. “Nevertheless, you are still asking us to risk our lives. If we accept that these beasts exist, you want us to challenge them in a bloody battle and hope we survive? We’re not soldiers or the police. It’s not our place.”
“Neither was Helena,” Madame Leóne broke in. “She simply chose to defend us, when no one else would.”
“Forgive me for being practical,” Monsieur Verdante continued. “But isn’t it also true that if we surrender Helena and the other escaped inmates, that these monsters will get what they want and have no need to bother us further?”
“No,” Monsieur Leóne said. “They’ll still come.”
“Will they?” Monsieur Verdante challenged.
“How can we know that for sure?” Monsieur Denue chimed in.
“Enough!” I burst, gritting my teeth.
Many in the crowd flinched, then froze, locking their gazes on me. I nearly startled myself with my abrupt cry. I simply couldn’t listen anymore.
I strode forward as several people took nervous steps back. “Decide what you want,” I said. “I’ve done everything I could. And it wasn’t enough. If you don’t want me here and you think turning me over to them will save your village, then they can have me. But don’t expect me to go quietly. I’ll fight them as long as I can. But I’m through fighting all of you.”
Silence. Silence and stony stares.
As they considered their options.
The Duke rose. “I have heard enough,” he said. “Thank you all for indulging me. I will have someone check back tomorrow to see what you all have decided.”
Everyone exchanged confused stares.
“You’re leaving?” I asked.
“Very observant, yes, Mademoiselle,” Reichelon said.
“But what about the Lycanthru?” I demanded.
He shook his head, as his guards stood with their muskets raised to meet any objections. “That is not a matter for me to decide, nor to involve myself in. As I told you before, Mademoiselle, I am here to clean up the mess you made, and maintain order. If your neighbors deem you insane and return you and these fugitives to the asylum, there will be peace, however brief. If they choose to fight the asylum officials, there will be war. I will not decide whether such a war is justified, based on the testimony of a socially awkward girl and some escaped misfits. If the people choose to stand united and fight with you, they might survive and even repel the so-called invaders. But I will not order them to risk death against their will, or instruct them who or what to believe.”
Pierre ran at the Duke, appearing as if he meant to grab him. He stopped short as the soldiers raised their muskets. “Your Grace! You can’t just let them give her to the wolves!”
Duke Reichelon raised an eyebrow. “I’m not letting them do anything. This province will rise or fall by its own choice. I’ll bear no responsibility for any of this.” He glared at me, as if in warning. “Unless things go badly, and there is a larger mess to clean up afterward. Then I must return to punish those who added to the land’s destruction.” He glanced about the room, meeting a few people’s stares. “Choose for yourselves how to live or die. When I send someone tomorrow to count the bodies, I’ll know what you decided.”
He waited another moment, as if daring us to argue. Then he turned and left, with his six guards surrounding and following him out.
We would receive no help.
The hall felt hollow, as if everyone had stopped breathing. Monsieur Verdante half-cleared his throat, breaking the chilly silence. “As distasteful as it may be, we have to consider the possibility of returning these people to –!”
Celia Verdante pushed past him. “No!” she cried.
Her father grabbed her wrist. “Celia, what do you mean by interrupting our –?”
She yanked her arm away. “No, Papa! This is wrong! We can’t let Helena fight them all alone. Not again.”
He leaned into her face. “Dearest, we have no authority to hide her here. The authorities in DeSarte have demanded we return them all.”
Celia shook her head, a small tear flying off her face. “What if they kill her? Who will stop them then? They won’t stay away afterward. They’ll come back, after the rest of us. You know that.” Tears streamed down around her soft cheeks. “I don’t want to fight those creatures. I want nothing to do with them. But you can’t sacrifice her to try to appease them. All she’s done is try to help. To protect us. Now we have to protect her.”
Monsieur Verdante tightened his lips.
Monsieur Leóne stepped forward, placing a hand on Celia’s back. “Celia is young. But she understands what we’re all trying to deny. The wolves will return. They’ll always return, if we let them.” His eyes scanned the room, searching each face. “We only have today. Less than one day to prepare. To decide and fight. Don’t hide like I did. They’ll still come after us, even if it’s years later. We’ve got to stop them now, while we know how to. Stand with Helena. With Father Vestille and Gerard Touraine, and Celia and my son. And me.”
No one spoke. I surveyed the stunned faces before me and realized I had forgotten to breathe. I shifted my feet, waiting.
One man stepped forward, his large legs carrying him like a giant. It was Monsieur Favreau, the pig farmer whose daughter I had rescued. “Mademoiselle Basque, I told you I wouldn’t forget you,” he said in a businesslike tone, tugging at his moustache. “I’ve got a good rifle. Just tell me where to shoot.”
Another man stepped forward. It was Doctor Renoire, who cared for me when I was first attacked by the wolves. He fixed his resolute eyes on me. “I’m a healer, not a soldier. But I’ve seen and heard too much innocent blood spilled by these creatures, whatever they are. I’ll be glad to help.”
Madame Denue stomped into place beside them. The mother of the boy who used to beat me for pleasure. “I don’t know what use I’ll be, but they took my son at that farce of a royal ball last season. We can’t let them take any more of our children. Just tell me what to do.”
Monsieur Denue glanced at Monsieur Verdante, both of them shocked that Madame Denue had volunteered without consulting her husband. Monsieur Denue sheepishly stepped forward. “I’ll fight as well. If you’ll teach us how.”
Monsieur Verdante pursed his lips. “I’m still not certain this is the best course of action,” he said. “But I can sense which direction the wind is blowing. And I’m not such a coward that I’ll let the women of La Rue Sauvage fight while we retreat to our homes.” He stared at Celia and swallowed. “More importantly, I couldn’t bear to find myself wrong and lose my only daughter. I fought in the war, during the invasion. I’ll fight with you in this one as well, for today, at least.”
One by one, other villagers stepped forth, both men and women, agreeing to fight. Agreeing to risk their lives for my sake, the way I had risked my life for theirs a few months back. My heart swelled and I found myself breathing hard, almost gasping. Less than a minute ago, I was preparing to fight my way through a crazed crowd of accusers. Ready to flee. Now I felt like a child surrounded by her mother’s arms. The people who cast me off as a pariah were now forming a wall of protection around me. The sudden change nearly frightened me as people moved into the center of the room and someone put an arm around me to draw me in with the others. Then I felt another arm around me, and looked up to see Madame Leóne smiling down at me with a look of pride. She led me into the center of the room, where Monsieur Leóne looked broken and sad as he approached me and hugged me. He squeezed me tight, and I didn’t know what to do, what to think. Then my arms came up around his broad back, accepting his embrace and clinging to him as I began to gasp and hiccup with unexpected sobs. I was surrounded by people who were ready to believe me and fight with me. To accept me.
I broke off the embrace, having to slap his side once and push against him to make him let me go. I smeared away tears and blew out a heavy breath, then straightened my stance. “We have to – have to get ready. As you said, we only have today.”
“What do you suggest?” Monsieur Leóne asked.
Everyone waited for my direction, just as the Asile de DeSarte inmates had waited for me last night. I turned to Pierre, who also seemed to expect a battle plan from me. “We need silver,” I said. “Any silver you can find in your homes. We need to melt it down. Then bring whatever weapons you can use, anything at all.
Knives. Pitchforks. Pokers. Shears. Get them ready and be sure you know how to use them well.”
“What about us?” asked a girl my age, her voice trembling. I didn’t know her name but I recognized her as one of Celia’s well-coiffed friends. “I – I want to help. But I’ve never hunted or – or killed anyone. I’ll try to learn, but – is there anything else a girl like me can do? Anything at all?”
Celia stepped forward, putting a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Yes,” she said, her eyes excited. “We must all learn to fight. But I have a better idea in the meantime, for several of you.” She gave me a firm nod, and I nodded back as if I knew what she was talking about. Whatever it was, I trusted her with it. I blinked, marveling at the fact that I actually trusted Celia Verdante. In a single hour, I had become part of the community that had always shunned me. I belonged.
“Pardon me, Mademoiselle,” said a woman behind me. I turned to see Madame Verdante. Her dark hair cascaded down her back, framing her intricately detailed and elegant dress. Her mature beauty and sophisticated presence almost made Celia seem plain. “We have more than enough silver for your needs, I believe. Utensils. Pitchers. Cups. Whatever is necessary.”
“Thank you, Madame,” I said, unsure how to respond. “But – what will you have left for your home?”
She raised an eyebrow, unperturbed. “Hopefully our dignity. And our lives.” She bent toward me. “I think we can all agree that this is more urgent than table settings.” She held out her hand. I took it. “You’ve done more than anyone should be asked to do, Mademoiselle. It’s time we did our part.”
“… Thank you, Madame.”
She squeezed my hand once, then turned away to join her husband, who was speaking with Monsieur Leóne.
Near them, Monsieur and Madame Denue had started up a conversation with Father Vestille, who gestured with his hands to reassure them all. “I’m hardly a soldier, either,” he said. “But as Helena tells me, it takes little to kill them. All we truly need is a silvertipped weapon, and courage.”
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