by Blake Ferre
“There’s a cart waiting to take us to the church. We’ll plan Henri’s rescue together.” Philippe tossed Perrin’s breeches at his head.
Perrin danced one leg through, then the other, while Philippe draped a shirt over his head and urged him to the door. “There’s a group of prisoners who escaped because of the ruckus Henri caused. They’re waiting for us. They want to help.”
“Escaped prisoners?” Perrin rubbed his forehead as he staggered toward the door, grabbing his waistcoat and overcoat along the way.
“They owe their lives to the Scarlet Crest. Henri’s become something of a legend to them,” Ashford called from the hall. “You should have seen him. He was magnificent!”
Perrin gawked. His squeamish officer, a hero? A warming sense of pride filled his chest. Though he was still mad at Henri for acting in such foolish haste, he couldn’t help but admire his bravery. Perrin suddenly laughed, imagining his uptight revolutionary turning against his own men. “He must have lost his mind.”
“Or he realized his mistakes and tried to make amends.” Philippe raised a brow. “I don’t think we have much time to act.”
“All this time you’ve chastised me to think before I act. Now you’re begging me to act without thinking. The world must be coming to an end,” Perrin murmured.
Fear shot through him, as if someone had launched a trebuchet at his chest. His mind conjured nightmarish images of what Henri could be enduring, and tears rushed down his face. Dammit, he needed to make this right.
Under a slight trickle of rain, Perrin climbed into the cart after his friends, his heart set on rescuing his lover. “I can’t let him die.”
When they arrived at the church, Perrin assessed the haggard troop standing before him. Twenty or so escaped prisoners scratched their bottoms and coughed, all huddled together around the crates of military provisions. The stagnant air stank of bodily odors and musk. They were a motley crew of varied statures—hardly an army. The only thing unifying them were the makeshift scarlet capes they’d pieced together. Perrin could only surmise they’d created the uniforms from Crimson Rose’s draperies.
On the floor in front of him rested a measly assortment of items that could be used as weapons. It wasn’t the best lot to infiltrate a highly guarded prison. He glanced around the church, wondering if there weren’t better weapons hidden within the supplies surrounding them.
He turned to Philippe, who motioned for him to speak. Splendid.
Perrin sucked in a deep breath as the strangers stared at him expectantly. “I hear you’ve all been through quite a bit.” He coughed in the resulting silence. He was the worst orator. “I presume you’re all aware that you’re putting your lives at risk to help the Scarlet Crest?”
“He saved us,” a larger man in the back corner of the room said in a deep voice. “He’s going to free Paris from the Terror.”
“Yes. We’re gathered here today…” Dear God, this wasn’t a wedding. “We’ve banded together to come up with a plan. Storming the Conciergerie won’t be easy. They’ll be on high alert, now that someone’s breached their gates.”
“Wait! I’ve an urgent message.” Face covered by a hooded cloak, Lemaire dashed into the room. “It’s for you.” He handed the letter to Perrin with a wink, leaning forward so his lips came close to Perrin’s ear. “Don’t worry, my friend; we’ll save Chevalier. And all these people believe he is the leader of the Scarlet Crest. See that it remains so.”
Perrin glanced around him before opening the parchment. “Yes, of course.” He read in silence, sensing the urgent curiosity in the people around him.
Dearest friend,
I know you’re eager to free our foolish hero. Do not act tonight. The prison is heavily guarded. Your efforts will fail. Our one saving grace is that Robespierre wants him alive. Tomorrow afternoon, he plans to visit the Conciergerie.
In the morning, I’ll escort any volunteers back into the prison, posing as the batch of escaped prisoners I’ve managed to capture. My cohort and I will take them to the prisoner processing room, where we’ll relieve the recordkeepers from their posts. Once inside, we’ll take them by storm and find our man.
I’m still working on a means for sneaking him out. Expect word from me soon.
The Scarlet Crest
“My friends, we’ve just received notice from a trusted source who warns the prison is too heavily guarded. We’ll wait until morning.” Perrin folded the letter and tucked it inside his waistcoat.
“No! We can’t wait. The Scarlet Crest saved us. We need to move now.” One of the women in the back of the room cursed.
“They won’t kill him tonight. And if we act in haste, we’ll fail.” Perrin raised his hands, quieting the room. “We have a plan.” He explained what the letter outlined for them to do, which seemed to settle them.
“I’ve brought food for everyone. We’ll rest and gather our energy for tomorrow.” The butcher and her helpers entered with crates filled with meat and bread.
The promise of food, at the very least, calmed their anxious crew.
Once a fire was set and the new cohorts were huddled in groups, eating and recounting the day’s events, Perrin snuck away from the crowd. With the shock worn off, his hands trembled at the thought of what Henri had endured—for Perrin. A boulder of guilt and fear was lodged in his stomach, a growing weight he couldn’t endure. There would be no rest for him tonight.
“De Vesey, don’t worry.” Lemaire stepped toward him. “I’ll not let him die.”
“You can’t promise that.”
Lemaire rested his hip on a large barrel. “I won’t lie to you; tonight will be rough for Chevalier. Luc’s furious. The capitaine has publicly chastised his failures.”
Settling on a crate beside him, Perrin pulled his hair away from his eyes, though the tendrils only fell back into position. “What if Luc seeks out vengeance, regardless of Robespierre’s wishes?” If only Perrin could see Henri. Just to know he was alive.
“Luc wouldn’t dare. Not unless he wants a similar fate. The man’s a disgrace to the Committee and has been demoted. They’ll not let him anywhere near Chevalier.”
“This is all my fault. I never should have said the things I did.”
Lemaire’s eyes softened. “I haven’t known Chevalier well, but before he met you, he rarely smiled. That day in the capitaine’s office, when he stole the script, I saw the depth of his feelings toward you.”
“Did you… When you pulled Henri aside the other night, did you ask him to declare he was the leader of the Scarlet Crest?” Experiencing a sudden jolt of anger, Perrin pushed off the crate and strode to the nearest window. The glass, caged by iron bars and coated in grime, emitted only a dull light.
Lemaire carefully stepped toward him. “You must understand— I never wanted Henri to be captured. He wasn’t supposed to act on his own, which made his sacrifice all the more dangerous…and yet also heroic.” A glimmer of admiration shone in his umber eyes.
Though Perrin understood the strategy in principle, he turned away. He had no doubt that Henri’s act would benefit their league, but Perrin abhorred the thought of him suffering on their behalf. “I think I need to be alone right now.”
“Of course. You have my word, I will do everything I can to ensure his safety.” Lemaire placed a palm on Perrin’s shoulder, but the gentle squeeze did little to comfort him.
Perrin huddled in the corner of the room, glancing at the rain trickling through a hole in the roof. If only he could go back to this morning and strip the words from his mouth. He ought to have held his tongue and given them both time to process what they’d learned.
“Henri, I’m so sorry.” Perrin planted his palm over his forehead, leaning against a stack of barrels.
Images filled his mind. The stories people had spoken about Henri battling the guards with his saber. The sacrifice he’d made.
All for Perrin.
Stifling his tears, he prayed that Henri would endure—that he could feel even a slight comfort amidst the misery of the prison. Losing Julien had shattered Perrin, but the thought of losing Henri was impossible to bear. He whispered a vow to the heavens that he would save Henri, even if it cost Perrin his life.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The morning sunlight brought no warmth to the church. Perrin lay curled against a group of barrels, a single blanket draped over his shoulders. Someone must have placed it over him while he slept.
“My lord, Lemaire’s ready for us,” Philippe said, offering Perrin a cup of warm coffee.
Perrin savored the heat on his palms as he sipped the bitter liquid. “Where is he?”
“He gathered our new recruits along with our other friends to discuss the plan. You and I are going to sneak inside a different way.”
Perrin glanced about the church. “Where’s Quill? Ashford?”
“They’re watching over Duclos at Crimson Rose. Safe.”
“Good. That’s good.” Pushing to his feet, Perrin followed Philippe to the main area of the church, where Lemaire addressed their group of disheveled soldiers.
“Now, I realize it might be tempting to try to release the other prisoners, but I must beg of you not to. If you want to free the Scarlet Crest and ensure he can continue his work, we must control where the guards are. We want to create an orderly disruption, not wild mayhem.”
“How can we do that?” a younger man with scraggly brown hair asked from the front of the room.
“By working in groups and calling out that you are the Scarlet Crest. Stay far away from the northwest side of the prison. Ensure that the area is clear to allow the real Scarlet Crest to sneak out. Once he’s freed, we will band together and storm out through the main entrance.”
“How will we know he’s safe?” several recruits asked in unison.
“We shall whistle in three consecutive beats.” He demonstrated the signal. “Try it.” The group echoed his pattern, albeit not in unison and each on their own time. “Excellent. When you hear that sound, you will repeat it to alert our retreat.”
“How will we defend ourselves? These pieced-together weapons will fail.” The larger man in the back of the group pointed to the pathetic assortment scattered about the floor.
“I thoroughly agree with you. Two things. First, due to last night’s rainfall, an unfortunate flooding of the prison’s entire stock of gunpowder has left them at a disadvantage…as they’ll soon discover.”
The room erupted with laughs and cheers, but Perrin surmised there was a bit more to that flooding than Lemaire had let on.
“And second…” Lemaire motioned to the back of the room, where the former comtesse stepped forward. She and three other women carried covered parcels in their arms. When de Lévesque swept the top layer from the bundle, a collection of sabers and small swords glistened in the light.
The group of recruits murmured their satisfaction, some of them gathering around the offering.
“Don’t worry. Everyone will receive a decent weapon,” the former comtesse assured.
Lemaire canted his head in Perrin’s direction and stepped away from the main gathering. “Ah, de Vesey. You’re here. I’ve worked a deal with our butcher friend—the one who supplies the prison with discarded meat. You and Philippe will sneak in with the delivery crew, carrying a large sack that holds better-quality meat for the guards. Once emptied, you’ll stow our man within the sack and sneak him through the staff entrance.”
Perrin choked. That was the plan? To sneak Henri out of the prison in a soiled butcher bag?
“Would you rather we lose our friend’s head to the guillotine?”
Perrin winced. No. He couldn’t stomach that.
“Because it’s a foul method of transport, no one will believe we’ve stooped to stowing a person within grimy butcher wrappings.”
Perrin only wished he shared Lemaire’s confidence.
“Take this.” He handed Perrin a small parchment with an address. “It’s the location of Giraud’s shop. Move quickly so they can prepare you for your duties.”
“Thank you.” Perrin clutched the note and hurried to Philippe, who’d chosen two small swords for them.
“Are you ready, my lord?”
Sword in hand, Perrin twirled the blade to test its weight. “I’m not sure I trust that this is the best plan, but it might just be crazy enough to work.” Butchers and escaped prisoners prancing around in crimson drapes for capes… The guards of the Conciergerie wouldn’t know what struck them. Or so Perrin hoped.
The ride to the butcher’s took them nearer to the home of the guillotine than Perrin would have preferred. It was also a good distance past the Conciergerie. Taking a side street to the back of the shop, Perrin and Philippe came across a large wooden cart that was partially filled with paper-wrapped meat.
“You’re late.” The butcher frowned as she stepped toward them, her arms crossed over her grime-covered chest. “Time to put you two to work.”
“Yes, right.” Perrin shared a glance with Philippe, wondering what kind of work she had in mind for them.
“Haven’t got all day.” She strutted toward the back room, pulling a massive carcass that hung from one of the crossbeams in the storage area. She hoisted the thing into a large canvas and wrapped it. “You’ll deliver this directly to the kitchen. Follow the apprentices. They’ll know where to go.”
She heaved the package into her arms and plopped it in front of Perrin. “Move it along.” She waved them away.
Perrin and Philippe exchanged glances as they knelt before the stinking slab of meat.
Perrin slipped his fingers beneath the carcass and found himself unable to move the blasted thing. “It’s too slippery.”
“My lord? Allow me.” Philippe’s arms shook as he struggled to lift it. “Goodness, she’s strong.”
“Aristocrats. It’s a wonder anything gets done in this world.” The butcher cackled as she strutted to the main sales counter.
It took both Perrin and Philippe to carry the parcel to the back alley, where the apprentices loaded the remaining packages. Though the work was rough and their transport to the prison gruesome, Perrin would face a hundred such obstacles to save Henri.
“Come on. Get in the back of the cart.” One of the boys ushered Perrin and Philippe amidst the stocked parcels.
“After you, my lord.” Philippe winced as Perrin lodged himself into the back.
The boys drove the cart across the Pont Neuf, guiding it toward the backside of the Conciergerie. Just as they’d been warned, the security of the prison had multiplied. Guards stood around each entrance, some patrolling the bridge itself.
Perrin waited as the young lads leaped off their mounts and headed to a discreet wooden door on the northwest side of the prison. They spoke with a cook, who stepped out and nodded at the cart.
“Get to work.” The boys chuckled, clearly pleased with their newfound authority.
Perrin and Philippe wormed their way out from the wet packages, deciding it best to leave their swords on the cart. They hoisted the larger parcel into their arms and waddled into the kitchen.
Large firepits adorned each corner of the room. A vaulted ceiling provided the illusion of space, though the heat of the flames made it nearly impossible to breathe. Perrin’s eyes burned from the smoke, the wide chimneys failing to purge every lingering plume.
“Over here.” The head cook pointed to a wood table along one wall, seated behind two large columns.
Perrin and Philippe set the carcass upon it and awaited their instructions.
Unwrapping the meat, the cook sniffed the air. “Yes, that’s a fine specimen. The guards will be delighted.”
Perrin tugged the cloth from beneath the carcass and hurried to help the apprentices unload the r
emaining goods. Through a small doorway, he could see Lemaire and his cohort on the opposite side of the prison, guiding the group of the returned prisoners into the main entrance. They’d already sent the bookkeepers away and busily scrawled false names in the registry.
“Stop your sneaking.” The cook jabbed Perrin’s bottom with a wooden spoon.
Perrin hastened to carry more packages onto the table, assisting the apprentices as they unwrapped their individual parcels.
“I am the Scarlet Crest!” a deep voice yelled from the main hall.
An eruption of shouts echoed through the walls. Perrin dropped the meat from his arms.
“You’re useless.” The cook shoved Perrin aside and picked up the package, ignoring the calamity beyond the kitchen.
Perrin waited until the cook left the room before waving for Philippe to follow him out. Once free from the kitchen, they hurried down a tight, winding staircase to the lower level and maneuvered around an unusually large cell holding a great number of men who clanged on the bars and cheered for the Scarlet Crest to come for them. The mayhem drew two guards toward Perrin and Philippe.
“What are you doing here?” the shorter guard with red hair asked.
Philippe held up the stained meat wrappings. “We were…in the kitchen. Heard a noise.”
A gunshot rang out and thankfully stole the guards’ attention. Though it was disguised by the hood of her red cloak, Perrin caught a quick glimpse of the former comtesse’s face. She stood amidst the chaos, pistol raised at the ceiling and a cloud of dust swirling around her. As the guards raced toward her, two other women in scarlet capes leaped at the guards from behind, tips of their swords pressed to their necks.
“I am the Scarlet Crest!” the women shouted.
One of the guards attempted to fire his pistol, but failed. The comtesse laughed and bound the guards with rope.
A well-disguised Lemaire slipped past Perrin and Philippe from behind. “Follow me.”