The Song Peddler of the Pont Neuf

by Laura Lebow

  Ahead of me, the door to the cloister stood open. But when I entered and crossed to the corner where I had found Juliette, my heart sank. The space was empty, with no signs that the girl had been there just the day before. Had Aimée found her way here, spoken to Juliette, and convinced her to leave? If so, where had they gone?

  I started as a door across the cloister slammed and a tall, elderly monk holding a broom came out from the convent. He vigorously applied the broom to the stone of the walkway. I crossed over the courtyard and cleared my throat to get his attention.

  “Oh, I didn’t see you there,” he said. “If you are looking for the service, you must go into the church. Go out the door and turn left.”

  “No, Father,” I said. “I’m looking for a girl who was here yesterday. She had taken refuge in the corner over there.”

  “Ah, yes. The poor child. Someone had used her badly. There is so much evil in the world today.”

  “Do you know where she has gone?” I asked.

  “No, I’m afraid I don’t. A few of us have been taking turns caring for her wounds and bringing her food. When I came out to bring her bread this morning, the corner was empty.”

  Perhaps Aimée had been here after all, I thought. “Can you recall what time it was, Father?” I asked.

  “Of course. It was just after Prime,” he said.

  I swallowed my disappointment. My sister would have still been in bed that early. “Has another girl come by today, looking for the first one?” I asked.

  “I’m sorry, my son,” he said gently. “I’m afraid I haven’t seen anyone here today.”

  My stomach was churning as I crossed the Île de la Cité on the way to my lodgings. It was now late in the afternoon. Dark clouds had blotted out the sun. If it turned out that my sister had wandered off somewhere on a whim, I would not be able to contain my anger when she finally returned to Madame Garsault. But I was fooling myself, I knew. Madame had been right about Aimée—while my sister had fanciful dreams, she understood the dangers of the city, and knew to stay close to the workshop. I tried, with little success, not to let my imagination run wild with speculation about what might have happened to her. I pictured her small body lying broken under the axle of a carriage; or a group of young dandies surrounding her in the street and pulling her into an empty alleyway; or a ruffian with a knife snatching her bag and slashing her lovely face when she attempted to run after him. Stop it, I told myself. She is probably back at the workshop by now, safe by the fire, listening to Madame’s scolding.

  When I reached the rue Saint-Jacques, I stopped in a coffeehouse and scribbled a message to Madame Garsault, reporting on my search and asking her to let me know if Aimée came home. I called to a boy and gave him some coins to deliver it to the workshop in the rue Plâtrière.

  Back in my room, I hung up my cloak and sat on my bed. The room seemed eerily quiet and lonely without the little bird. I could sorely have used his company and cheerful chirping right now. Outside the sun was setting, and my beloved sister might be lost in the city. I hated not having anything to do. I wanted to comb every street in Paris and knock on every door to find her, but I knew that would be a fruitless endeavor. I must be patient. Madame Garsault would send a message as soon as Aimée returned.

  I rose and went over to my table, where I lit a candle. I would work on my letter to the lieutenant of police while I was waiting. Perhaps the struggle to organize my thoughts about my client’s murder and the disappearance of the song peddler might distract me from my worries. But after I had scribbled just a few notes, I crumpled the paper and threw it aside. I could not concentrate. I went to the cupboard and pulled out my cloak. I was not doing myself any good here. I would go over to Madame Garsault’s to see if my sister had returned, and if she had not, perhaps Madame would allow me to sit with her as we waited.

  I blew out the candle and went to the door. When I opened it, my landlord was standing on the landing, about to knock.

  “Oh, I didn’t know you were going out,” he said. He stuck his head in the door and looked around my room. “So the little one has left us, heh? Too bad, he was a charming fellow. You know, I’ve been thinking that I should buy a bird to keep in the shop. There are some evenings when I am washing up, listening to some of the ridiculous conversations taking place around me, that I wish I had someone intelligent to talk to.” He laughed.

  “Was there something I can do for you, Guy?” I asked.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. A boy just brought this for you.” He handed me a sealed message. “He seemed in a hurry. He told me he had a lot of other messages to deliver, so I said I would bring it up to you.”

  Finally, I thought. Madame Garsault has sent good news.

  I tore open the message as Lacombe noisily descended the stairs. As I scanned the few lines that were written on the page, my jaw clenched. The message was not from Madame Garsault after all. I should have trusted my instincts this morning when Aimée and I had parted. I had felt that we were being watched, and I had been right.

  Gastebois:

  You have a possession of mine that must be returned. Bring it to the Samaritaine tonight, at an hour past midnight. Come alone and unarmed. Do not attempt to find me before then, or your sister will die.

  M.É. Duval

  • •

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  At half-past midnight I slipped my knife into my boot, donned my cloak, and tucked Duval’s journal into my pocket. I tiptoed down the stairs and quietly let myself out of the wineshop, locking the door behind me. The rue Saint-Jacques was deserted, its shops locked up tightly, their owners fast asleep in the apartments overhead. I glanced down the rue Saint-Séverin. In the dim light, I could make out the shapes of beggars huddled outside the door of the church. Off in the distance, toward the Pont Saint-Michel, I heard the rattling of a carriage, probably taking a wealthy gambler home to the Place Vendôme after an evening in Saint-Germain.

  The Seine plashed gently below me as I hurried across the Petit Pont. The night was cold and dry, with a bitter wind. A full moon lit my way, but the sky was full of clouds that threatened to extinguish its glow. I struggled to keep my thoughts on the confrontation ahead, and away from my sister and the terror she must be feeling. My professional life had been uneventful until now, and I had never faced such danger before. I had to keep all my wits about me.

  The streets on the Île de la Cité were empty, but as I turned into the rue de la Calandre I heard footsteps, followed by sharp laughter. I slipped into an alley and held my breath as two members of the Watch went by, rattling the locks and door latches of each building on the street, checking that they all were closed up for curfew. When I heard them reach the end of the street, I counted to one hundred, then stepped out and continued into the rue de la Barillerie. The tall stained glass windows and spires of Sainte-Chapelle, the medieval royal chapel, towered in the darkness as I hurried by.

  My ears perked as I caught the sound of a slight rustling and then the sound of footsteps behind me. I turned and peered down the street, my ears straining to listen. Nothing. No one. Just a stray dog or a beggar, I told myself. Nevertheless, I picked up my pace.

  Duval would probably expect me to come along the quai des Morfundus at the northern edge of the island. Determined to grasp any advantage I could against him, I walked past the quai and over the Pont au Change to the Right Bank. On my left was the quai de la Mégisserie. Had it only been less than two weeks since I purchased the cage for the little bird in one of these shops? It seemed as if I had been wrestling with the disappearance of the song peddler for ages.

  “Hey!”

  I froze as I heard a shout, followed by a low whistle, coming from somewhere on my right.

  “Jean-Luc! Hurry it up! It’s freezing out here and I’m ready for a drink!”

  I squinted into the darkness and saw two night soil collectors disappear around the corner, toting their pails and shovels. I took a deep breath and turned left onto the quai. The river gl
istened in the moonlight. Except for an occasional squawk or whoop from the birds, the oiseleur shops were still as I hurried by.

  A few moments later I reached the Pont Neuf.

  An icy wind whipped across the empty bridge. My eyes watered, blurring my vision. I wiped my hand across them and stared down the bridge to the statue of Henri IV. Even the beggars who usually lived around the base of the statue seemed to have sought shelter elsewhere on this frigid night. A few vendor carts stood empty in front of the Samaritaine. The ground was strewn with brown cabbage leaves and frozen apples. The little café across the street was locked tight, its tables and chairs chained together and weighted down against the wind with large stones.

  There was no light in any of the windows of the Samaritaine. The building seemed sinister in the dark night, lurking over the bridge. The great pump was hushed, probably turned off due to the cold. I leaned over the edge of the bridge and looked down. The lowest story of the building rested atop the pump apparatus, below street level. The two upper stories, which I had heard contained the residence of the pump keeper and various equipment rooms, rose above the bridge.

  I turned away from the edge and headed toward the door of the Samaritaine. My heart jumped as I heard a scream. Aimée! Then I heard the sound of wings flapping. I looked up to see a hawk streaking through the sky, its small prey gripped in its talons. I shook my head, took several long breaths to calm myself, and went to the entrance.

  The door creaked as I pushed it open and stepped inside. I was in a small foyer. Directly on my right was a tall window. Moonlight poured in, illuminating a rough wooden staircase that rose along the same wall. Ahead of me was a closed door.

  “Duval!” I called. “Where are you?”

  There was no response. I moved forward to try the door. As I turned the knob, there was the sound of a scrape, then a small whimper. I strained to listen. The whimper sounded again. It was coming from the level above. I leaned over to feel the reassuring steel of my knife in my boot, then slowly climbed the stairs. When I neared the top a cloud passed in front of the moon, and the light suddenly vanished, leaving me in darkness. I waited, my heart pounding, as my eyes grew accustomed to the dark. I heard a body fall, and then another whimper, much louder this time.

  A tinderbox was struck, and in its flame I saw Duval leaning over to light a lantern sitting on the floor. A long hallway with three closed doors stretched to my left. Behind me, another staircase rose to the attic under the building’s roof. My sister, her hands bound behind her back, a gag in her mouth, was slumped on the floor. Her cloak was missing and the bodice of her dress was torn. As the lantern flame strengthened, Duval grasped Aimée and dragged her to her feet. He wrapped his arm around her neck. In his other hand, he brandished a large hunting knife. The ring on his left hand glistened in the lamplight.

  Aimée stared at me, her eyes wide with fear.

  “What have you done to her?” I shouted. “If you even touched her, I will kill you.”

  Duval laughed. “You will? With what? Your bare hands?” His grin showed sharp white teeth. “She is unharmed. Although I will admit I was tempted.”

  “I’m here now,” I said. “Let her go.”

  “Not until you give me what belongs to me,” he said. His laugh was harsh. “You thought you were clever, breaking into my rooms. You were a fool. I have spies all over this city. One of my neighbors saw you leave the building. I easily matched her description to the man I had met at police court a few weeks ago.”

  “Untie her and let her go,” I said. “Then I will give you what you want.”

  “You think you can give me orders?” He sneered. “I would happily cut her beautiful throat right now, like I did with the old man. Another fool who considered himself more intelligent than I. He threatened to report me to the lieutenant of police if I didn’t leave Geneviève alone. I laughed while I cut his throat.”

  Aimée’s eyes widened.

  Keep him talking, I thought. Distract him while I think of a way to get his knife. “Who is Geneviève to you?” I asked.

  “A girl I had once, years ago when I was stationed near the border. She was fifteen, just a stupid farm girl. She panted after me. Of course I gave her what she wanted. When I was transferred to Paris she followed me. I soon tired of her, though, so I cast her off.”

  He moved his arm down, to circle Aimée’s waist.

  “I hadn’t thought about her for years, until I returned to Paris last winter. There she was, my little whore, her face in every shop window, the most famous actress in the city. When I discovered that she was spreading her legs for one of the richest men in France, I knew she’d be useful to me someday. I hadn’t spoken to her yet—I had only just located her address when the old man threatened me.”

  He brought the knife up and ran it lightly across my sister’s neck. Her eyes blinked rapidly. She moaned. Cold air wafted from the top of the stairs behind me.

  “I don’t allow men like him or like you, Gastebois, to stand in the way of what I want. Now give me my journal.”

  I didn’t dare try to jump him, not with the knife at my sister’s neck. I drew the journal from my pocket.

  “Put it on the floor,” Duval said, nodding toward the space between us.

  I threw the journal down. “Let her go,” I said. “That was our bargain.”

  He laughed. “You’ve been all over Paris asking about me,” he said. “You should know by now that I never honor a bargain. No, I’m afraid I’m going to have to kill you both.”

  Aimée moaned again. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

  “Let us leave,” I said. “You have my word. Neither of us will say anything.”

  “Your word?” Duval smirked. “I don’t trust the word of any man, especially one the likes of you. Now turn around and go upstairs. Your sister and I will be right behind you.”

  Think. Try to stall for time. Distract him.

  The lie sprung easily from my lips. “You can’t kill us here. I left a note with my landlord telling him where I was going, that I was meeting you. I told him that if I didn’t return he was to take it to the Châtelet.” Stupid of me to just come here alone. I should have thought to leave such a note. “When our bodies are found, you’ll hang for murder.”

  He tightened his arm around Aimée’s waist. Her face was frozen with fear. “Ah, you still believe I am an idiot. The police will not find any bodies here. You and your sister will be somewhere in the Seine. Who knows where you’ll finally wash up?” He pointed the knife at me. “Turn around and climb.”

  I slowly turned. He leaned over and extinguished the lamp. I started up the first step. I felt him behind me, pushing Aimée in front of him.

  Now! “Damn you!” I shouted. I fell to my knees. I pulled my knife from my boot and whirled around, pushing Aimée to the side. She stumbled and fell. I lunged at Duval. He dodged to the right, leaned over, and jerked his knife to Aimée’s neck. Her screams were muffled by the gag.

  “Drop the knife or I’ll kill her right now!” Duval shouted.

  I took a step backward. I would have to find another way to save her. My knife clattered to the ground.

  “Let her go, Duval. Your fight is with me. She is innocent.”

  A creak sounded downstairs, as if the door was swaying in the wind. Had I left it ajar?

  Duval pulled Aimée up and pushed her behind him. “Climb,” he ordered, prodding me with the knife.

  I obeyed. He stayed a step behind me, his knife at my back, dragging my sister up the steps with his other hand. My heart thumped loudly in my chest. I had one more chance to trick him. Be patient. Wait until you reach the top.

  When I was on the next to last step, I stopped and peered ahead. The stairs ended in a low attic, its ceiling tall enough for a man to stand upright at its highest point, then sloping to a mere crawlspace at the lowest. At the far end, a short ladder was propped up against an uncovered hatch. A frigid wind whistled through the opening.

  “Keep movin
g,” Duval said in my ear. “Up and then back to the ladder.”

  I turned and kicked him hard in the groin. He shrieked and dropped the knife. Aimée rolled down the steps.

  “Run, Aimée!” I shouted.

  She pushed against the wall to pull herself up. She hesitated.

  “Go!” I yelled.

  She turned and stumbled down the stairs.

  Duval grabbed my leg and pulled me to the floor. My head banged against the edge of the step. Stars filled my eyes.

  “She won’t get far,” he gasped. “I’ll kill her later.” He rose and climbed over me. He grabbed me under the arms and dragged me across the attic. He mounted the first rung of the ladder and pulled me up after him. My eyes watered with pain as my body banged against the wood. Grunting, Duval lifted me through the hatch onto the roof. The jagged edge of the pantiles that lined the sloped surface tore at my cloak as Duval shoved me aside and stood.

  From where I lay I could see down the slope of the roof to the edge, which was surrounded by a two-foot-high railing. Three low eyebrow windows, set back a short distance from the railing, were evenly spaced over the length of the roof. The wind howled in my face. I squinted to clear the tears in my eyes. Beyond the railing, I could see the dim shapes of the short towers of the Louvre.

  I made a fist as Duval reached over to grab me. My arm shot up. I punched him in the groin.

  He stumbled backward. “You are dead!” he screamed.

  I pulled myself up and lunged at him. I skidded down the slippery tiles and crashed into him. He pushed and grabbed at me as we tumbled down the slope of the roof. Our bodies thudded into the hard, metal frame of the middle eyebrow window.