by Blake Ferre
“Chevalier?” A man stepped into the room. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” Henri couldn’t take his next breath for fear he might somehow give himself away. Guilt and fear consumed him. His lungs burned.
The black marble floor glistened in the sunlight through a large spread of windows framed with emerald damask. He turned and squinted at the intruder. “Lemaire, is that you?” The guard from La Force. The one he’d helped.
“You weren’t hoping to speak with the capitaine, were you?” Lemaire tilted his head as he strode into the room. “I heard he vacated the office, already preparing to leave.”
“I didn’t realize.” Henri clung to the ornately carved desk in the center of the room. “What brings you to the Committee offices?” He pressed his knuckles to his jaw, eager for the man to leave him alone so he could resume his mission.
“For the time being, the Committee thought it best to place me in a more clerical role, managing the intake of prisoners at the Conciergerie.” Lemaire frowned.
“That sounds awful.”
“Yes. Well, it appears they want me investigating crooked prison guards while I’m there. Give me a chance to prove myself useful again.”
“I see.” Henri nodded and willed the man to leave, all the while glancing at his surroundings.
“I wanted to thank you for protecting me last night.” The look in Lemaire’s umber eyes spoke of undying gratitude. “I won’t forget it. I’m indebted to you.”
“You owe me nothing.” Henri caged a groan over Lemaire’s unfortunate timing.
“I can see you’re busy. But I wanted to express my thanks. Huh, looks like the capitaine left one of his trunks here.”
Once Lemaire was gone, Henri opened the drawers, finding only a ledger with names scrawled on it. Shifting around the room, he discovered that the cabinets and side tables were completely empty. Henri’s stomach sank. The capitaine must have sent the script to the clerks.
Nearing the brink of surrender, Henri dipped his gaze to the dark leather trunk in the corner of the room. The very one Lemaire had mentioned. Henri knelt in front of it and worked the latches.
As he opened the lid, he bit his lower lip to hold back the cry that brewed within his chest. Scripts. Merde, there were too many of them. Henri couldn’t possibly get through them all.
Page after page, he thumbed through back covers and stage directions, searching for anything that looked vaguely like a message from the Scarlet Crest. Though each printed pamphlet held scrawled notes, he saw nothing out of the ordinary.
Fingers sore and eyes weary, Henri spotted something of interest. A loose note slipped from between the pages.
Dearest friend,
You’ve been marked to take your final bow on the Crimson Scaffold. Be careful where you pry. That partner of yours is on to you. A choice must be made, and soon. Or has it already been made?
The Scarlet Crest
Henri crumpled the missive, clutching it to his chest. It couldn’t be for him. It simply could not. And yet…he knew in his heart the Scarlet Crest had been toying with him from the beginning.
Voices rose in the hall, and Henri hastily tucked the script and its damning note inside his waistcoat. After fumbling with the other scripts and setting the trunk back into position, he hurried out of the room.
“Chevalier, there you are.” Luc’s voice shot a bullet straight into Henri’s gut. “You’d better hurry. Floch wants to speak to all of us.”
When Henri reached the briefing, he crept to the back of a group of uniformed officers. Henri’s thoughts strayed to the little piece of paper someone had slipped inside that script. The words in that message were engraved in his mind. He lowered his gaze, evading Floch’s fuming rant.
“Chevalier, are you listening?” Floch snapped, drawing all eyes to Henri.
Henri cleared his throat. “I apologize, Citoyen Floch. I was thinking about those nasty traitors, the elusive members of the Scarlet Crest.”
The officers around him grunted in agreement. Side conversations sprouted up. Debates intensified over whether the character was a single person or a larger organization.
“Silence.” Floch’s commanding voice rattled across the vaulted ceiling. An odd contradiction to his trembling fingers, though Henri wondered if anyone else noticed.
“Citizens, our fragile republic could be torn from our grasp by this traitorous group. I’m disappointed that no further evidence has been found.”
Floch strode with confidence, though Henri could sense fear in the man’s dark, haunted eyes. The capitaine didn’t look like he’d had a good night’s rest.
“Seditious pamphlets fill the street, praising these Scarlet Crest miscreants,” Floch snarled, for a moment almost looking like a child throwing a tantrum. “Claims that they are saving innocent lives. That their leader is the people’s savior. We’re their savior! We need to smother this counterrevolutionary uprising, imprison these traitors, and send them to the guillotine. I won’t stand for one single treasonous thought.” His eyes blazed. “I expect all of you to do your jobs and find this fiend. We need to slice treason off at the neck so we can protect our society of free men.”
Floch spun on his heel and stormed out of the room.
Henri mindlessly palmed his waistcoat, where the treasonous items were hidden. Luc’s eyes set upon the motion, and Henri froze, silently cursing himself.
Luc, damn him, leaned closer. “When I’m in charge, I won’t stand for an officer who brings shame on his fellow citizens.”
Henri’s breath caught.
“I’ve been investigating a certain prying Englishman. That man who escaped our pursuit at the confiscated theater.” Luc’s words drained the blood from his veins. “It’s amazing what street rats are capable of. No one notices them. Especially the aristos.”
“I could imagine.” Henri held his gaze on the crossing patterns of the parquet floor.
“Recall that man from that club, whatever it was called.” He waved his bony hand. “There were three obnoxious aristos. We saw the men again, leaving Paris the day we nabbed Duclos. I can’t stop thinking that it might all be related somehow.”
The Scarlet Crest’s warning blazed at the forefront of his mind. This was Henri’s choice. Save Perrin or remain true to the Committee and watch his demise. The answer was so clear in his head.
Henri’s heart pounded in a throbbing beat, drowning out Luc’s words. “I hadn’t thought of it.” He twisted his fingers behind his back, interlocking his hands into a tight grip.
“Of course you haven’t,” Luc snipped. “That’s why I took the opportunity to ask around.”
The items in Henri’s waistcoat poked at his side.
“De Vesey’s his name. A wealthy viscount from England. It seems suspicious. Why has he stayed in this city, given his position?” Luc paced the room. “I took it upon myself to watch his home.”
The Scarlet Crest was right. Henri needed to get Perrin out of Paris. With Luc on Perrin’s trail, his mission would fail. Henri couldn’t lose Perrin. Not now. Not ever.
“Even better, it dawned on me that Ashford used to live in London. De Vesey must have been trying to grab something of Ashford’s from the theater. Why else would he have been there? I intend to find whatever it was.”
Henri swallowed. How could he warn Perrin without Luc noticing? Anyone on the street might be in league with him.
Luc sported a smug grin. “You see, this is why you were never meant to have this promotion. It takes a sharp mind to sniff out threats.”
“I could only be so lucky.” Henri wiped his slick brow. Maybe he could send a message… Non, he needed to see Perrin immediately. Couldn’t risk one moment with Perrin out of his sight.
“Tomorrow morning, I plan to bring a group of officers to the bastard’s home. You’re welcome to come along and se
e how true capitaines work.”
“Y-yes. I’d like that.” A searing pain cracked Henri’s chest. He still had time to bring Perrin to his senses. He could convince him to flee Paris tonight. Henri would go with him. There was nothing left for him here.
“Are you sure you want to serve under the Committee?” Luc sucked on his teeth.
Henri glanced around the room, realizing they were now alone. Still, he suddenly felt as if he were facing the Tribunal’s judgment. “Of course.” The words came out like more of a question.
“Be reasonable, Chevalier. You’re not sturdy enough for this career. The squeamishness. The inability to take firm action. I’m surprised you’re even here.”
Henri nodded, though bile climbed his throat. “I hope I can learn to overcome my weaknesses.” His unquestioning dedication to the Committee, his hatred for the aristocracy, his failure to forgive the man who’d wronged his family…those mistakes had restrained him from seeing the truth. Though neither side was completely without its shortcomings, Henri would never regret his inability to accept the horrendous executions at the guillotine.
“I’m asking you to consider this for your own good. You waste sympathy on those who don’t deserve it.” Luc strode out of the room, the click of his heels piercing Henri’s ears.
Fear dug under Henri’s skin as he hurried out of the Committee offices. With Luc planning to infiltrate Perrin’s home in the morning, Henri wouldn’t have much time to convince the aristo to flee.
When he finally reached Perrin’s estate, Henri waited in the shadows. Across the street, a little urchin no more than twelve years of age sat on a nearby stoop, eyes locked on Perrin’s front gate. Maybe Henri could pay him off. But then the fiend might tattle anyway and take the money from Luc as well. Non. He’d have to try the servants’ entrance and weasel his way inside.
The maid who opened the door crossed her arms over her chest. “What do you want?” She eyed his cocked hat with its nonsensical cockade.
“It’s urgent I speak with de Vesey. Immediately.”
“What’s the ruckus all about?” A younger woman wiped her hands on her apron. “Why are you back here? Use the front entrance if you want the master.”
Henri had half a mind to push past them, though he’d rather not cause more of a scene than he already had. “Philippe. Let me see Philippe.”
“Chevalier?” Philippe poked his head out from behind the other servants. “I thought I heard you back here.”
“Please. We must sneak Perrin out of the city. My cohorts are on to him. We have to flee tonight.”
The other servants cried out and sputtered a number of frazzled questions. Henri winced; he’d made a mess of this rescue.
“Come with me.” Philippe waved him inside. “Ladies, keep quiet about this.”
“Yes. Of course.” The older woman closed the door behind them.
Henri raced up the winding staircase ahead of Philippe. “Perrin!” He huffed a few breaths when he reached the top of the stairs. “Luc’s coming for you. We must leave.”
“Leave?” Perrin stood in a doorway at the end of the hall, chest bare and dripping with water. “Calm yourself. Let’s discuss what you know.”
Henri’s jaw gaped at the sight of Perrin’s beautiful body on display. He was so enraptured by the sight, he nearly tripped as he stepped past Philippe. Glancing away, to focus on the task at hand, he noticed the unexpected gaps in decor along the walls. A great many paintings had been removed. “Has someone robbed you?”
“There was one incident. Some sneaky bastard, a few nights back.” Perrin clicked his tongue, stepping toward him. “But if I’m correct, the only thing he stole was a kiss.”
Henri’s cheeks flushed as he closed the distance between them. “You’ll always hold that against me, hmm?”
“I can’t stop thinking about it.” Perrin’s voice grew deep. “You’re blushing. The truth is, I’m ridding myself of the clutter. Donating objects I no longer need.”
“Charity?” Henri rubbed his forehead. The man continued to confuse him. Henri wanted to know more about the confounding viscount who made his heart race, but now was not the time for chatter. “Enough. You must leave Paris with me.” Henri grabbed his wrist, trying to ignore the bare skin that glistened in the low amber lamplight. “My cohort, Luc, is angling to search your home in the morning. He knows you were the one he chased at the theater. We must clear any evidence of the Scarlet Crest. The letters.” Henri stopped. “I nearly forgot. We need to hide the artwork. The drawings you received from Duclos.”
“It’s all right. We have until morning, right? Come with me.” Perrin slid his palm down the length of Henri’s sleeve. His other hand clutched Henri’s, sweeping him into the nearest room. “You know I can’t leave Paris. Not with Ashford and Duclos still imprisoned.”
Perrin’s face was darkened by shadows. Tiny embers glowed at the bottom of the fireplace, hidden beneath thick, crackling logs. Henri savored the remaining warmth as it tickled his skin.
For five years, Henri had been alone in the world. Now that he was back in Paris, he found himself unable to voice his newfound concerns over the Revolution, making him feel all the more alone. Yet in Perrin, he’d found someone who might care for him. Someone who wouldn’t judge him for his fear of blood, nor demand he take joy in the guillotine’s wrath. Henri nearly laughed at the fates. An aristocrat.
“Tell me what’s happened. What roused this fear in you?” Perrin softened his voice.
Kindness. The fundamental nature of Perrin contradicted everything Henri had once believed about aristos.
“I don’t understand how it turned into such a mess. I’ve only been back a month, but I can’t stomach the executions. You asked me once if I believed the Terror was working, and the answer is no. But I don’t know how we can stop this wild rage it has cast upon the city.” He exhaled the words in a rush, finally accepting his feelings.
Perrin grazed his fingers along Henri’s chin, drawing it up so that Henri couldn’t escape the depth of his eyes. “And there’s the man I thought I might find behind the cockades and tricolored sash. A man made stronger by his compassion.” He lifted his chin and gently trailed his lips over Henri’s.
They didn’t have time for this. Couldn’t…and yet…Perrin’s warmth, that cleansed scent of sandalwood, the dripping water on his bare skin. Henri’s thoughts muddled.
Perrin drew his lips away. “I’m beginning to see the real pieces of you, and I want more.”
Henri leaned close to Perrin’s ear. “Perhaps I’m a traitor for helping you. But you must allow me to save you.”
This time, when Perrin’s lips met his, Henri opened his mouth. As their tongues entwined, the finery of the room merged into a swirl of colors around him. Crystals, gold, velvet. Every pleasing shimmer and tantalizing texture struck him all at once. If someone were to paint this moment, Henri imagined it would be a chaotic sweep of vibrant colors warring for attention, lovely and addictive. Maybe too much at once.
A loud crash came from downstairs. Henri pressed his palm to his mouth and shoved Perrin away. “Quick, dress yourself.”
“Open. By order of the Committee of Public Safety,” Luc’s voice called from below.
“Mon Dieu.” Henri scoured the room for someplace to hide while Perrin reached for a shirt.
Turning in a circle, Henri wrapped his arms around his waist. There was nowhere to hide. Not from Luc and his officers. They’d surely find him, and that would look all the worse. Henri knew he’d have to come up with a better plan.
Inhaling a deep breath, Henri aimed for the door. “Stay right here, I’ll…handle this.”
“What are you doing?”
“Saving our necks… I hope.” He pushed the door open and stood face-to-face with Luc.
“Chevalier,” Luc sneered as he stormed toward him. “I sensed you
were involved with this aristo. Despicable.”
“Citizen.” Henri strode toward Luc, blocking Perrin’s bedchamber. “You’ve caught me. But not for the reason you think. The aristo isn’t my lover.” He belted a laugh. “I wanted to catch him first, but I should have known you’d outwit me. I yearned for that promotion. I’ve been using him.”
Henri cast his emotions aside, numbing the fear that churned within him. It was a damn good lie. Plausible enough that he could see the twitch in Luc’s lips as he considered the explanation.
Luc wagged a finger at him. “Dammit, Chevalier, if you’re lying to me, I’ll see you to the guillotine myself.”
“Come. I know your morals won’t allow you to seduce a handsome fellow to advance our cause. But you can leave that particular task to me.” Henri winked, using Luc’s own tactics against him. “Let’s see if we can’t find some evidence to convict this rich bastard.” Henri strutted past Luc like he held no concern for Perrin. But his heart ached with each word.
Another set of officers barreled up the steps. The remaining valuables were tossed to the floor, vases shattered. Henri resisted the urge to flinch. Instead, he made his way across the hall to the study.
Luc braced his arm on the doorframe, blocking Henri’s entrance. “My eldest brother was like you, Chevalier. Sneaking off with men. Avoiding marriage. He was weak. When he took ill…” Luc’s jaw set.
Henri pushed past him into the room. Leaning against the desk, he subtly hid Duclos’s artwork. “I’m sorry. That must have been difficult. I lost my father and sister.”
“I’d heard about that. You arrested the aristo responsible for their deaths.”
“As well as my nephew’s.”
“Ah. Yes. Your sister died in childbirth with that aristocrat’s bastard, hmm?”
Henri winced. Luc didn’t deserve to speak of her or the child. But Henri simply nodded, hoping the sorrowful tale would strengthen his deception.
“Terrible crimes. You did well, didn’t you? Had his whole family executed. You must think me daft. Accusing you of having a dalliance with one of them. Aristo scum.” Luc spat upon the floor.