The Revolutionary and the Rogue

by Blake Ferre

  Blast, the man was always right. “Ka-kaw.” Perrin made an atrocious sound that was almost like that of a dying bird.

  “Did you hear that?” one of the guards questioned the other.

  “Just some bird. Probably got himself stuck inside. You’re looking for an excuse to keep me from taking your earnings,” another guard accused in a deeper voice.

  After several other attempted bird calls failed to lure the guards from their gambling, Perrin lifted the basin and struck it on the side of the wooden doorframe.

  “What was that?”

  Darkness engulfed Perrin’s every sense as he waited. Thank goodness his eyes had begun to adjust as the footsteps approached. He clenched the twine and planted one eye to peer through the door crack.

  The two guards staggered nearer; their fumbling legs would only assist in the scheme.

  “Now,” Perrin called as he tugged his side of the twine.

  “What in the—?” one of the guards stammered before his leg struck the trap.

  Both foul-smelling guards caught themselves on the twine, the frayed length straining in Perrin’s hold. Though the men flailed their arms, grasping for each other, their useless attempts only helped propel them with greater momentum, headfirst to the floor. The guards lay motionless.

  Perrin cracked the door open and held his hand out for Philippe to wait. There was a chance the guards were merely feigning their injuries. Fortunately, from the raising and lowering of their chests, it appeared they were still alive.

  He crept through the doorway toward the unmoving bodies, basin clutched in his hands. If the guards happened to spring an attack on him, he’d be ready. But when he tapped the basin lightly upon the nearest guard’s cheek, there wasn’t so much as a flinch. Setting his makeshift weapon upon the floor, Perrin rolled the nearest man onto his backside, thankful there didn’t appear to be any bleeding. The steady breaths assured the guard wasn’t a threat.

  “I think they did the task for us,” he whispered.

  Sure enough, when Philippe checked the other guard, it was confirmed. “That’s rather convenient, my lord.”

  “Let’s drag these unfortunate fellows into hiding before someone catches us.” Perrin canted his head to the first room and adjusted his false nose. “We can use their sashes to gag them and the twine to restrain them.”

  Philippe chuckled. “Good thinking, my lord.”

  Soon, the two guards were posed back-to-back, arms bound. “Let’s lock them in the room.” Perrin winked.

  When the guards were perfectly set, he followed Philippe out of the small room.

  “This’ll have to do for now, my lord.”

  Perrin locked the door with a firm click. “Onward. We’ve only so much time to reach the top floor, free Ashford, and find Duclos.”

  They immediately headed toward the staircase. But as they ascended the stone steps, voices echoed from the upper floor. “Do you hear that?” Perrin hurried toward the top landing.

  “My lord, always acting before thinking.” Philippe’s hushed voice trailed him. “You do realize if we’re caught, they’ll send us in a cart to the guillotine.”

  “Don’t speak like that. As far as anyone knows, we are the guards,” Perrin murmured as he pointed to a haggard figure that stood at an open cell door, taunting the group of prisoners within.

  “Sorry, my lor—”

  “Shush.”

  The officer was about to shut the door when he spotted Perrin. “Didn’t realize they’d sent new blood already. You came with Chevalier?”

  A prickling fear shot over Perrin’s skin at the mention of that all-too-familiar name. He grunted an affirmation. Surely, there had to be other officers who went by Chevalier. “You know where he wandered off to?” Oh, if it was Perrin’s revolutionary, this wasn’t good. Not at all.

  “Aye. He’s probably in the infirmary, tending to that despicable traitor, Duclos.”

  “He alive?” Perrin choked in a gruff baritone.

  The guard barked a laugh. “Barely.”

  Perrin dug his fingers into his palms, itching to punch the guard in the jaw. He couldn’t believe Henri would harm anyone. It wasn’t in him. Not that Perrin knew him all that well. Damnation. They’d shared a few intimacies, and Perrin already believed Henr— No. Chevalier wouldn’t stoop to drastic measures for his cause.

  “It’s a shame this lot will be transferred to the Conciergerie tomorrow.” The guard left the door unlocked and strutted away. “Have your fun while you can. That smug actor, Clyde Ashford, is in there.”

  Inhaling a deep breath, Perrin puffed his chest. You’re imposing and proud of your stench.

  The sizeable room’s vaulted ceilings spread out before him. If it hadn’t been filled to the brim with weary-eyed men, he might have found it impressive. As it was, the filth and misery clawed at his heart.

  The inhabitants were clad in withering garments. Silks, brocades, or common weaves, the fabrics were mere hints of the lives these people had once known.

  Perrin’s fingers twitched when he spotted a familiar face. Ashford’s blond hair stuck out in wiry tufts, but beneath the dark circles under his eyes, there was a specter of the proud actor he’d been before.

  “Citoyen Ashford,” he grunted. “Come with me.”

  Ashford glared at Perrin and Philippe until a tiny flicker of recognition ignited deep within his dark pupils.

  Perrin performed a particularly good sneer for anyone watching and said, “Come on. Move along.”

  The other inhabitants shared worried glances as Ashford struggled to his feet.

  “Now,” Perrin snapped. His insides hollowed when the other prisoners startled from the sound. Those poor souls likely feared they’d be next.

  As if he could read Perrin’s thoughts, Philippe whispered, “There’s nothing you can do for the others. Not if you want to help Duclos.”

  Ashford kept his head bowed until they cleared the threshold. Once through, Perrin pulled the door shut. “Thank God you’re all right.”

  “They took Duclos?” Ashford asked in a hurried beat.

  “He’s in the infirmary.” Perrin glanced over his shoulder, fearful the other turnkey might return at any moment.

  “I’ll find him.” Ashford rubbed his jaw. “Get yourselves out of here.”

  “No, I’m coming with you.” Perrin turned to Philippe. “Fetch Quill. I have a feeling we’re running out of time before those guards wake up and untangle themselves.”

  “Or someone finds them.” Philippe grimaced before hurrying off.

  After Philippe disappeared down the cavernous stairwell, Ashford and Perrin examined the map. “It’s in the next building,” Ashford said in a haggard whisper.

  They snuck down the hallway, tucking behind pillars and watching every corner and alcove for a guard to appear. In his mind, Perrin fabricated a number of scenarios in which he’d pull Ashford into his grip, enacting a cell transfer. Or he’d spout stories about needing to question his prisoner. Fortunately, the weak excuses weren’t necessary. They reached the adjacent building and found it void of guards. Even most of the lights had abandoned the eerie space.

  Through one of the closed doors, a wailing moan twisted his insides. “Over here.” He pointed toward the source.

  Perrin pushed his shoulder against the heavy wood door, barging into a small darkened room that was lined with pallets. At the far corner, beneath the only torch, Chevalier crouched in front of Duclos. Perrin’s poor friend lay unconscious on a pallet, knees curled to his stomach. From what Perrin could see, his skin was badly bruised.

  “Damn you to hell.” Perrin rushed to Chevalier and pushed him against the wall.

  “What in the…?” With a huff, Chevalier struggled to stand, pushing Perrin off of him. Hand on the hilt of his sword, he narrowed his eyes. “P-Perrin? Is that you?”r />
  Perrin staggered to his feet and grabbed both of Chevalier’s arms. He’d forgotten how damned solid the man was. But firm muscles aside, the scoundrel had been hurting his friend. “What have you done to Duclos? First you burned those papers, now this?”

  Chevalier opened his mouth, shaping his lips as if trying to speak. “I…” He glanced at Duclos and shook his head. “No. I didn’t. I was trying to help.”

  Perrin thrust a finger at Duclos. “You call that helping him?”

  “Let him go. We don’t have time for this.” Ashford placed a palm on Perrin’s shoulder, then turned to the roguish officer. “But I’ll take that blade off you.” He slowly unsheathed Chevalier’s saber.

  Perrin gritted his teeth but stepped aside as he tried to make sense of what he’d seen.

  Ashford held the tip of the blade toward Chevalier. “You’ll be good and not sound the alarm, right? I’d hate to drive this through you.”

  Chevalier nodded, then shook his head. “I won’t. I wouldn’t. And I d-didn’t hurt your f-friend. I swear.” He stammered the meaningless declaration.

  Perrin cursed and crouched at Duclos’s side. “As if we can trust your lies.” He glared at Chevalier over his shoulder.

  “My colleague, Luc. W-wanted n-names. Scarlet Crest.” Chevalier’s voice trailed into a high-pitched wheeze. “I had…n-no idea.” Tears tainted his eyes to the point where Perrin almost believed him. “The conditions. The t-treatment.” He sucked in several breaths.

  Though Perrin wanted so very much to believe him, the circumstances were too damning. He’d caught Chevalier with his hands on Duclos. “Liar. You’re a better actor than Ashford.” Perrin turned to Duclos.

  “I resent that,” Ashford grumbled. “Word to the wise: never insult an actor when he holds a weapon.”

  “You. Sent m-me t-to a b-butcher shop.” Chevalier spat through each word. “Blood. So much…”

  “What the hell are you babbling about?” Perrin glanced back at Chevalier. He didn’t have time to deal with this nonsense.

  “The m-missive. You s-sent me to a butcher shop and then lured me to the d-damned guillotine.”

  Perrin’s stomach dropped. “The letter?” For a smidgen of a moment, he felt bad. But then he recalled what Chevalier had done. “The letter you stole? Oh wait, it was the second time you stole from me. Let’s not forget those citizenship certificates—the ones you tossed into the fire. It’s your own fault if you got sent to a butcher shop.”

  Chevalier opened and closed his mouth.

  “Nothing to say to that? No witty retort about your wonderful leaders?” Perrin taunted.

  “What are you two going on about? We haven’t the time for some lover’s spat.” Ashford pointed the blade between Perrin and Chevalier. “Well?”

  “Who else knows about m-my affliction?” Chevalier’s lips curled into a snarl.

  “I’ve run dry of pity for you.” Perrin didn’t bother looking at him.

  “The m-man on the scaffold…looked j-just like you. It…destroyed m-me.”

  “Destroyed you?” Perrin laughed out of spite, but his heart swelled, the stupid yearning inside of him wishing Chevalier did care enough to regret it if Perrin should…perish. But he still couldn’t bring himself to trust the scoundrel. The warring sides nearly crushed him.

  “C-can’t lose you.”

  “No, you’re lying. You’re pretending…” But was Chevalier pretending? Perrin wasn’t certain. He gazed at Duclos and tugged the sheet away from his chest. Purple welts covered his skin. “How can I trust you when you sneak around at every turn? I find you hovering over my poorly treated friend, yet still you side with them, don’t you?”

  “I give up.” Ashford nudged Perrin with the hilt of the sword. “Here, you take Chevalier… I’ll help Duclos so you can settle whatever this is between you.”

  “There’s nothing… He’s not…” Perrin begrudgingly took the blade at Ashford’s insistence. He set his gaze to Chevalier’s.

  Though Chevalier could have called for help, the once-confident officer merely stood there, hugging himself across the waist. “How c-could you think—?” Chevalier’s eyes were swollen and red, glistening with fresh tears as he pointed his finger at Duclos. “This is n-not m-my doing.”

  Perrin strode to him so that their chests nearly touched. “Is this an act?” Deep in those eyes, he saw the tender soul within. Perrin realized he’d made a dreadful mistake.

  Ashford cut in impatiently, “De Vesey, tie him up or something. We’ve got to grab Duclos and get out of here.”

  Perrin carefully sheathed Chevalier’s sword in a slow motion that felt far too intimate. Still, the officer neither protested nor made a grab for the sword. Against all reason, he believed Chevalier to be good.

  The lack of resistance almost made him think that Chevalier wanted to be punished. “I really do hope you’ll learn that your leaders are no better than the men who ruled before. In fact, they’re worse. For all your distaste for bloodshed, you’ve aligned yourself with the most bloodthirsty men in all of Europe.”

  “You’ve n-no idea what I’ve endured. What that comte did to my family.” Chevalier leaned into Perrin, and for a moment Perrin yearned to console him, which was absurd. He didn’t have the luxury of time.

  “For heaven’s sake, bind him,” Ashford urged.

  Perrin stared at Chevalier’s weakened stature and simply could not do it. Instead, he wrapped his arms around the man whom he once believed to be his enemy. “He’s no threat.”

  Duclos’s wail bounced off the walls, a noise so loud it would surely draw every guard within range. Perrin glanced over his shoulder and saw Ashford tending to the worst of the wounds with some sort of salve.

  “You d-didn’t know about the butcher shop?” Chevalier’s voice softened against his neck, the larger man putting more of his weight against Perrin.

  “Of course not.” Perrin stroked his backside. And then he realized the bottle of salve in Ashford’s hand must have been in the room before they’d arrived. Dipping his gaze to Chevalier’s hands hanging at his sides, Perrin found remnants of the same ointment. “You truly were trying to help ease his pain?”

  “Of course I was… I’m so sorry for your friend.” Chevalier’s regret resonated with truth.

  Ashford grumbled. “We’re out of time.”

  “You can’t move Duclos.” Chevalier drew away from Perrin. “You’ll hurt him,” he warned as Ashford snuck his arms beneath Duclos’s trembling form.

  A thud came from beyond the infirmary walls.

  “Chevalier’s right.” Ashford sighed, gaze set on Duclos’s trembling form. “We’ll never get him out like this.” He pulled away and stood, wiping his hands on his breeches.

  “I’ll help in whatever manner I can. I’ll distract the guards. Keep them away from Duclos.” Chevalier’s vow tugged at Perrin’s heart.

  A shout echoed from the hall.

  Chevalier staggered forward, a newfound determination in his eyes. “I swear to you, I’ll do what I can for Duclos. Please go. I need you to be safe.”

  Ashford urged Perrin toward the door. “Get out of here, de Vesey. You won’t help anyone if you’re caught. There will be another chance.”

  “I can’t.” Perrin refused to give up. They could still escape. “Not without you and Duclos.”

  “I’ll stay with him,” Ashford assured. “Think of Philippe and Quill. You must get them out of here.”

  “Please, listen to your friend. No matter what you think of me. I won’t have you die at the guillotine.” Chevalier’s plea nearly crushed the wall around Perrin’s heart. “The Committee won’t stand for a broken man to face the Tribunal.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Perrin exhaled, accepting their failure. The best he could hope at this point was for Ashford and Duclos to survive the night…under Chev
alier’s watch.

  Another shout rattled through the door.

  “Ashford, we need to work quickly.” Chevalier spoke to Ashford with hurried words. “We’ll sling your arm and bind your ribs to make it look like you’re meant to be here… I’ll give the guards some excuse. You’ll be safe here. For now.”

  “Thank you.” Perrin didn’t know what to make of this turn of events, but he put his faith in Chevalier.

  “Be safe.” Chevalier set his gaze on Perrin’s, then lowered his head.

  Before Perrin opened the door, Ashford squeezed his arm and whispered in his ear, “To Stand and Shield.”

  “Halt! Stop right there! Stop, I say!” A deep voice echoed from the corridor, and footsteps thudded past the infirmary.

  “Be safe, my friends.” Perrin risked one last glance at Chevalier, wishing they had more time.

  “You as well,” Chevalier said, the words holding a deeper affection behind them.

  Perrin raked his fingers over his tousled hair and pushed into the hallway.

  A dark silhouette of someone in a gown barreled toward him. “Move, you fool!” Quill hiked his skirts higher, rushing past Perrin.

  Perrin looked in the opposite direction and spotted two officers bursting through the door that separated the two buildings of the prison.

  In an attempt to portray himself as a convincing guard, Perrin waved his arm in the air, shouting theatrically for Quill to stop.

  “Kick your shoes off,” Perrin hissed under his breath as he caught up to Quill. “They’re slowing you down.”

  Quill grumbled but obeyed, leaving the slippers in the middle of the floor. “You’re not the one who has to run around barefoot in this filth,” he pouted under his breath.

  “This way.” Perrin’s lungs burned, and every muscle threatened to collapse, but he continued on until they reached the first turn. He pulled Quill with him.

  The voices grew louder as Perrin and Quill cleared the corner. He could hear Chevalier address the guards. “Woman? I didn’t see a woman. I’m sorry. But I think I heard a crash in that direction.”

  The guards’ footsteps clomped toward them. Perrin pushed onward, hoping the pursuers wouldn’t notice them. He jolted when he heard a hefty thump followed by a curse. “A shoe?” one of the guards growled.