The Revolutionary and the Rogue

by Blake Ferre

  “Money doesn’t solve everything.” It couldn’t bring people back from the guillotine. And for all the wealth the Republic’s new leaders had acquired, they failed to feed their citizens. He considered his recent skirmish with Chevalier over that very fact, and the officer’s naïve claim. These things take time. Surely Chevalier had to wonder what the hell the Committee was doing.

  “In this case, I think you can rest assured: it will.”

  “What’s that?” Perrin rubbed his ear, trying to remember what they’d been discussing.

  Quill, the flighty brat, pinched him. “La, I swear you’re swooning over that officer of yours again, aren’t you?”

  Perrin sputtered, spraying a bit of ungentlemanly spit onto the cobblestone. “Swooning? Dear God, no. The theater, Quill. I’m concentrating on the mission.”

  “I told you. Bribe the guard. What does he care if two people sneak about an empty theater? All the valuables will have already been scavenged by the Committee to be distributed amongst the people.”

  “I’d rather he not see our faces. But the idea of food has me thinking…” Perrin turned to the inn two buildings down. “If we paid someone else to lure him away. Like her.” He pointed at a woman washing the lower windows.

  “Better yet, look at the guard.” Quill snickered. “Food and fornication. The primary motivators in life.”

  When Perrin peered back at the guard, he was delighted to find the man staring at her.

  Perrin casually strolled toward the young woman. “Pardon me, citizen. You see that man over there.”

  “What man?” She dropped the rag in the bucket of water and ran her fingers through her hair, glancing across the street. “Oh, him.”

  “He’s shy, but I noticed he’s staring at you. He looks famished. Perhaps you’ve something inside. Warm broth? Any bread?”

  “I couldn’t.” She glanced over her shoulder. “My father won’t allow me to give anyone a free meal.”

  “And what if I paid for said meal? And a little extra for you to forget my face.”

  “What are you angling for?”

  Perrin rolled onto his heels, feigning disregard for whether or not she accepted. “Let’s call it a business venture. Name your price. We pay it. No one needs to know.” He winked, praying the woman would oblige.

  She offered a sly grin. “How much you got on you?”

  “You drive a difficult bargain,” Perrin grumbled, pulling out a pouch of coins and paper money. “Will this suffice?”

  “I don’t even see you.” She leaned against the wall and yawned.

  Perrin hurried across the street with Quill scurrying behind him.

  “Now what?”

  “We wait.” Perrin guided Quill to a line of people outside one of the Committee posts, awaiting bread rations.

  Quill pointed at the theater. “She’s crossing the street, holding something under a linen.”

  After a few flirtatious laughs, the pair swept off to her father’s inn, leaving the theater unguarded.

  “Now’s our chance.” Perrin sprang toward the theater.

  “Hurry.” Quill tugged the door open with a great deal of effort.

  They rounded the corner, heading toward the backstage area, and paused at a cracked beam leaning against the wall. Scraps of costumes and torn drapes littered the floor.

  “They’ve destroyed everything,” Perrin whispered.

  He paced the ruined greenroom, heartbroken by every shattered piece of glass that crunched under his footsteps. The destroyed mirrors were only a small reflection of the Committee’s harsh actions. The expansive space was surrounded by other such skeletal remnants: doors splintered and broken; drapes torn from windows; even costume remnants were sprawled across the floor, the fabric burned and torn.

  “Why couldn’t our leader simply retrieve this script on his own?” Perrin scowled as they stepped onto the barren stage.

  “I’d surmise utilizing other people is exactly how he keeps his identity a secret.” Quill pinched the bridge of his nose. “All I’m concerned about at the moment is that the guard we swindled outside the theater remains blissfully distracted by that woman long enough for us to find this evidence and escape.”

  “Look, that staircase heads below.” Perrin pointed to the opposite side of the stage, where the remnants of an intricate rope and pulley system loomed in the shadows.

  “We’ll need a light.” Quill glanced around the ransacked seats that could no longer hold an audience.

  “Wait here,” Perrin whispered.

  A few glowing sconces flickered along the walls like withering moons. Perrin hopped off the stage and ran to the closest one, snagging two stubbed candles. He caged a cry when a hot drip of tallow burned his finger.

  After quite an effort to balance the candles while climbing onto the stage, Perrin handed the spare to Quill.

  “It’s dark down there. Let’s find this script and get out of here,” Quill said.

  “I couldn’t agree more.” The stairs wobbled under their feet, and dust coated the air, but Perrin held his candle toward the underside of the stage, trying to ignore the cobwebs that lingered overhead.

  Lifting his flame as high as his arm could reach, Perrin stretched his neck, tilting his chin from side to side.

  “A trap!” Perrin’s eyes widened as it came to him.

  “Where? What?” Quill pushed Perrin aside, arms outstretched to protect him.

  “No, not that kind of trap. A trapdoor. It must be what the letter referred to. Stay three steps ahead of any traps.”

  “Three steps ahead.” Quill groaned. “Maybe he could have said beneath the trapdoor or something of that sort. Really, the man had already laid out treasonous facts in that note of his. The Scarlet Crest ought to use a cleverer means of communication.”

  “Be that as it may, the note worked, and we’ve found our spot.” Dropping to his knees, Perrin clawed his fingers across the planks, tapping with his knuckles at each board. Solid. All of them. “Come. Help me.”

  “I am helping,” Quill said. “Someone has to light your search. Are you sure you’re three steps ahead?”

  Perrin cursed and crawled forward until he struck a hollow board that wobbled under his touch. “I think I’ve got something.”

  Wiggling the plank beneath his fingers, Perrin carefully lifted it and set the board beside a gaping hole. Quill leaned over his shoulder, illuminating a compartment that was no larger than a foot’s width.

  Perrin sucked in a deep breath and dipped his hand in the opening. “I hope there aren’t any cobwebs. Damned things stick to everything.”

  “The man who’s cavorting with a Committee officer for a lover is afraid to get his hands sticky?”

  “He’s not my lover. And you’re the one who’s afraid of dirt.” Perrin continued to maneuver his hand, positioning his arm more deeply into the hole.

  “Point well made.”

  “Aha!” Perrin latched his fingers around the edge of a metal box.

  “It doesn’t look like much.”

  Perrin lifted the lid and retrieved a script. Quill illuminated the handwritten names with his candle as Perrin paged through it.

  “The names. Let’s get out of here.” Perrin tucked it inside his waistcoat.

  “I’m right behind you.” Quill exhaled.

  Perrin chuckled. “I thought you liked it the other way around.”

  “Don’t put words in my mouth. I’d rather leave room for other things.” Quill waggled his brows.

  They crept to the upper floor, and Perrin halted. Footsteps clicked nearby. He snuffed out the candles and raised a finger to his lips.

  “I don’t see anyone. They must have left already.” Chevalier’s voice rose from the backstage area. “We’ve searched all the rooms.”

  Damnation.

 
; Chevalier came into view, tugging one of the severed ropes. For a brief moment, his cohort glanced in their direction. Perrin pleaded for him to turn away. He wasn’t certain if they’d been spotted, but, to Perrin’s relief, Chevalier pointed his companion farther from the stage.

  “Out through the audience,” Perrin whispered, drawing Quill away.

  The guard from outside emerged from a dismantled row of seats. “You there! Stop!” he cried and raised a shaking pistol at them.

  “Move!” Perrin latched onto Quill’s arm and helped him off the edge of the stage, racing past the rows of ransacked seats, many of the cushions torn, the velvet pilfered.

  Quill yelped and wobbled on his heels. “My ankle.”

  The officer aimed and fired his weapon. The boom deafened Perrin’s ears, but the bullet didn’t come near them, shooting a tuft of a ratty seat cushion instead.

  The officer fumbled to reload his weapon. “Halt, I say!”

  Perrin cursed and hoisted Quill into his arms, heading for the exit.

  “La, I always knew you wanted to sweep me off my feet.”

  A loud crash thundered behind them as another shot rang out. Perrin glanced over his shoulder. Chevalier’s cohort pushed past the armed officer, cursing at him to give up the gun and run after them. The determined man leaped off the stage and hurried his pursuit, Chevalier on his heels.

  “Don’t let them leave!” their pursuer shouted as Chevalier stumbled behind him, eyes widened with either shock or fear. “Chevalier, you clumsy oaf. Hurry. They’re getting away.”

  Perrin pushed toward the courtyard exit, finding himself near the fountain where he’d stood with Chevalier only the other night. “The gate.”

  “They went this way,” the voice boomed from behind them.

  Another gunshot, but they were already out of the bullet’s range.

  Quill squirmed in his arms. “Put me down. They’re gaining on us.”

  “I won’t risk losing you. Let me change how I’m holding you.” Perrin bent his knees and hoisted Quill over one shoulder, his head at Perrin’s backside.

  “La, I must admit the view has improved.”

  Perrin slapped Quill’s bottom. “This isn’t time for flirtations,” he grumbled as he raced over the slick cobblestone courtyard.

  “There’s always time for flirting.”

  Perrin risked a glance back as his pursuers breached the doorway, small swords lifted in the air.

  “Stop! Catch them,” Chevalier’s cohort shouted.

  “Could you hurry it up?” Quill spoke in haggard beats as his body bumped with each of Perrin’s strides.

  “I’m trying.” Perrin increased his efforts. If they could make it to that vacant carriage and borrow it with the dosing driver in tow, they could make a hasty escape.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Dearest friend,

  Many lives will be protected on account of your bravery. Tonight, I shall be with you in spirit as you rescue two of our own.

  Enclosed are the supplies our thespian’s friends procured on your behalf.

  Julien would be proud of the man you’ve become.

  The Scarlet Crest

  Perrin leaned against his writing desk, tracing the patterned maple and walnut inlays as he stared blankly at the note. Once again, their mysterious leader had sent word in the hands of a scrawny messenger. The mention of Julien brought both a warming balm over his heart and a cold sheen of dread down his spine. Would Julien be so proud of Perrin’s actions when it came to his tryst with Chevalier?

  At the top of the desk sat Duclos’s parchment, still bound. Perrin grazed his finger across the ribbon and paused. Julien’s image filled his mind, and for a moment, Perrin wondered if perhaps his former lover might understand his actions. He’d gone for so long living with nothing but pain and misery. And Chevalier was nothing like his bloodthirsty cohorts. Perrin doubted he’d remain loyal to them for much longer—not once he came face-to-face with the Tribunal and its unjust treatment of the accused. Chevalier simply held too much compassion for other people, even for his enemies. Even for Perrin.

  Chevalier hadn’t arrested him yet, but Perrin doubted tonight’s mission would earn him the same kindness. Until now, his actions had been marginally questionable in nature. Tonight, breaking into prison and aiding with the escape of two prisoners…well…that was downright treasonous. Not even Chevalier would be able to excuse such an act.

  “I can’t wear this,” Quill protested, his lower lip protruding with a childlike pout. He theatrically jutted his hip out to the side.

  Perrin glanced at the mess Quill had made of the room. Stays, shifts, and petticoats were spread across the coral brocade settee. Assorted coats, cloaks, and breeches had been tossed to the floor in disarray. The disguises cluttered Perrin’s study. Yet the space was filled with an addictive energy as Quill wiggled in his plain black petticoats, one heeled slipper missing from his injured foot.

  Frowning, Perrin stepped away from the desk. “Is your ankle still bothering you?”

  “No. It’s not that. I can’t possibly wear this.” Quill gestured to his petticoats.

  “This was your idea. Besides, I thought you adored wearing petticoats. And we all know, no one pulls off a gown better than you.”

  “Sink me, I’ve no problem pulling off gowns. That’s not the point. This is not right.” He motioned to the undecorated navy bodice. “The colors are dreadful together, and not a single stitch of embroidery?”

  “We don’t want you looking like an aristocrat.” Perrin sighed. “The fashion these days is rather dull, I’m afraid. And you’ll need to wear one of these over your wig.” Perrin handed him a plain white mobcap.

  “Absolutely not!” Quill’s eyes widened, and he stepped away from the cap as if it were poisonous.

  “My friend, it’s the latest in Parisian fashion. You must wear it.”

  Perrin fluffed the top layer of the skirt as Quill placed the round pleated bonnet over his head. “Though these are rather bulky, the darker color accentuates your rosy cheeks and those large lips of yours.”

  Quill squeaked and fidgeted with his skirts, stumbling into the desk. Just in time, he caught Duclos’s rolled artwork before it toppled to the floor.

  “Sorry.” He looked up at Perrin with wide eyes. “Skirts got twisted around my ankle.” He slapped his palms over the fabric, freeing the bunched areas. “As much as I enjoy dressing in gowns, the layers upon layers of fabric on these modern skirts are idiotic, if you ask me. I don’t know how dressmakers expect people to manage walking a single step in these fabric shackles. Gowns ought to allow for great freedom and motion. Not to mention easy access for a quick romp.”

  “Perhaps it’s simply a means to keep unwanted suitors at a distance.” Perrin chuckled.

  Quill erupted into a fit of high-pitched laughter. “You’re right. And think of the great many weapons we could hide up my skirts! Ample room to store a little rope for tying up prison guards, hmm?”

  Perrin’s beautiful friend swept his long blond locks over his shoulder and strutted to the table, where a platter of sweets rested. He plucked one from the embellished silver plate and popped it into his mouth.

  “Thank God you still have some decent food in France.” Quill swallowed the treat and sucked on his fingers. “So, are you going to tell me what happened with your naughty revolutionary lover?”

  Perrin’s cheeks burned. “He’s not my…” Flashes of their tryst at Crimson Rose flooded his mind. The fierce passion held little love, but there had been a longing—perhaps the potential for affection. “I don’t know what we are.”

  He couldn’t imagine walking arm in arm with Henri through the Tuileries. Nor would they share a night at the theater. For that matter, Henri’s friends had closed the theater down. And since when was he thinking of Chevalier by his given name? Clearly, Pe
rrin had grown far too comfortable. The officer was still a danger.

  “Well, whatever’s happening between you two, don’t ruin it. You’re glowing so brightly I might have to cover my eyes.” Quill lifted his hands, shielding his face.

  Perrin slapped Quill’s fabric-plumped bottom. “Enough!”

  “My dear, I can see it on your face. I know the look of a man who’s enjoyed a good bout of bedsport.”

  “Don’t be crass.” Perrin turned away from Quill’s floating giggles.

  “Was it good?”

  “It was completely stupid. That’s what it was.”

  Quill quirked a brow.

  “Don’t lift that brow at me.”

  “You’re acting like I couldn’t hear your lovemaking through Crimson Rose’s walls. Sounded like damned good sex to me. La, I was practically ready to rub myself off.”

  Perrin growled, his cheeks heating up. “It wasn’t that good.” Dammit, it was. “And it didn’t go that far.”

  “Liar.” Quill chuckled. “Oh, Chevalier. Yes. Right there.”

  Perrin rolled his eyes. “I did not say that.”

  “So, you enjoyed yourself.”

  “Yes. It was fantastic, all right? And it needs to end. It’s over. Done.”

  “Oh dear. That’s unfortunate.” Quill hummed. “But I truly must say, I like what I see. This fire in you. Not just for the Scarlet Crest, but also for your new beau.”

  Perrin turned away. “Henri’s not my beau. The fact that he’s a Committee officer…” Blast, he’d used Henri’s given name aloud.

  “Hmm… It’s Henri now?” Quill gloated as if he’d won a great prize. “If I’m not mistaken, you and Julien shared the early revolutionary ideals. Is Henri so very different? You believed in the removal of church from government. Your freedom to love another man without fear of…”

  Silence settled between them. Quill cleared his throat and selected another sweet, nibbling on the flaky crust. “La, if French lovers are anything like their food, the sex must be fabulous.”

  Relieved for the lightened change in subject, Perrin arched one brow. “They do measure up.”