by Simon Hawke
All around them, the crowd was surging in all directions as people ran in panic from the shooting, shoving each other and trampling those unfortunate enough to have lost their balance in the melee and to have fallen. Only one soldier remained from the small squad assigned to escort the Marquis de Leforte, and he had no desire to join the others. He dropped his musket and ran for the shelter of a building across the street. The horses, wearing blinders and by now long used to such cacophony, remained standing where they were, but they sensed the fear around them and pawed at the cobblestones skittishly. Leforte stood in the tumbrel helplessly, his hands bound, not knowing what to do.
“Up there,” said Lucas, pointing to a window on the second floor of a house across the street.
“Let’s go,” said Finn.
They pushed their way through the mob and rushed toward the house from which the shots were coming. By now, however, they were not the only ones who had marked the room on the second floor and they made it through the doorway of the house just ahead of several other men, one of whom was brandishing a pistol. The door to the room they sought was open and they all burst into the room to find not a gunman, but a small boy of about twelve or thirteen years with jet black hair and piercing dark eyes. He sat slumped against the wall beside a man’s corpse and as they entered, he began to cry.
“My father!” he wailed. “That man killed my father!”
At the same moment, a cry went up outside and they heard the sound of horses hooves upon the cobblestones. One of the men who had rushed into the room behind them ran over to the window, with Lucas just behind him.
“It’s Leforte!” the man shouted. “Leforte is escaping!”
As Lucas reached the window, he saw the tumbrel being driven down the street at a furious pace, the horses being whipped up by the same old woman who had only moments ago tried to climb up into the cart.
“Stop him!” cried the man, leaning far out of the window. “Stop him, he’s getting away!”
The boy kept wailing about his dead father. The men who had rushed up into the room behind Finn and Lucas ran back outside, after the one armed with the pistol let off a wild shot in the direction of the escaping tumbrel. Finn and Lucas remained behind with the boy.
Lucas kneeled down beside him, putting one hand on the youngster’s head. “What happened, son?” he said.
“My father,” sobbed the boy, “that man came in here and killed my father!”
“ What man?”
“He killed my father!” the boy wailed. “He killed him! Then he hit me and said that if I made any noise, he would kill me, too!”
Finn bent down over the father’s body. “Shot through the head,” he said. “From behind.” He stood up. “Look here,” he said, as Lucas tried to comfort the boy. He pointed to a pair of pistols lying on the floor beneath a table by the windowsill. “He had several pistols, already loaded. That’s how he was able to shoot so quickly. There’s only two here, I figure he had at least two or three others. He heard us coming up the stairs, grabbed up the pistols that he could carry, jumped through the window down into the street, and lost himself in the crowd while his confederate made off with the tumbrel.”
“You don’t think that one of—”
Finn held a finger to his lips. “Not in front of the boy,” he said. Finn had noticed that the boy had stopped his wailing and was only sniffling now, watching them fearfully. “It’s all right, son,” said Finn. “Nobody’s going to harm you now.”
“Come on,” said Lucas, helping the boy up. “Where is your mother, do you know?”
“No,” the boy said, pulling away from him as Lucas tried to help him to his feet. “No, don’t touch me!”
“It’s all right, “ said Lucas, pulling him up by the arm as the boy struggled with him. “We won’t hurt you, I promise you. Don’t be afraid. There’s nothing—”
Something fell to the floor with a thump and Lucas glanced down to see a pistol lying on the floor.
“What….”
The boy jerked away and pulled another pistol from inside his tattered jacket, swinging at Lucas with it. Instinctively, Lucas blocked the blow, but the boy had twisted free from his grasp and he quickly made for the door. Finn leaped across the room and brought the boy down with a flying tackle.
“Merde!” screamed the boy. “Let me go, you big ox! Let me go or else I’ll kill you! Let me go, I said! “
He squirmed in Finn’s grasp like a little fish, kicking and clawing at Finn’s face in an effort to get at his eyes.
“I’ve got him,” Lucas said, grabbing the boy by the scruff of the neck and hauling him to his feet. “All right now, you little hellion, you’ve got some—HUHHH!”
He doubled over as the boy brought his knee up hard into his groin. The blow made Lucas release his hold upon the boy and he tried to run again, but Finn kicked his feet out from under him, sending him sprawling to the floor. Immediately, the boy was up again, but this time Finn brought him down with a right cross to the jaw and he fell to the floor again, unconscious.
“Little bastard,” Delaney said. “You all right, Lucas?”
Still doubled over and clutching at himself, Priest looked up and nodded, his eyes wide with pain as he fought to get his breath back.
“How do you like that little son of a bitch?” said Finn. “There was never anybody else in here, he did it all himself.”
“I hope you didn’t kill him,” Lucas wheezed.
“If I did, it’d serve him right,” Finn said. “Don’t worry, I didn’t hit him very hard. He should be coming around in a little while. We’d better get out of here, though. I think we’ll take this little sniper with us.”
He picked the boy up and threw him over his shoulder. “Come on,” he said. “Straighten up and let’s get out of here.
If anybody says anything, my ‘son’ here got knocked down in the crush outside. We’d better get word to the boys waiting in the square that the whole thing’s off and have them get back to the boat.”
“I’ll take care of that,” said Lucas, still feeling the effects of the knee to his essentials. “Where will you be?”
“At Fitzroy’s safehouse. I want to ask this kid a few questions. I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that I know who that ‘old women’ was.”
“You shouldn’t have brought him here,” Fitzroy said.
“Relax, Major,” Finn said. “He doesn’t even know where the hell he is. Besides, I was in a hurry and there wasn’t any time to make other arrangements.”
“I sent you to rescue the Marquis de Leforte, and not only did you let him get away, but you beat up a little boy. I’m very disappointed in you two.”
“If you’ll recall,” said Finn, “the whole idea was for Leforte to get away.”
“As for your disappointment in us, Fitzroy,” said Lucas, “you know what you can do with that. This wouldn’t have happened if you had provided proper mission support. If you had issued us the right equipment, we could have—”
“Impossible,” Fitzroy said.
“Look here, Major,” Finn said, drawing himself up to his full height and glowering at the Observer, “in case you’ve forgotten, this isn’t a standard adjustment anymore.”
“If you’re referring to Mongoose,” said Fitzroy, “I already gave you your orders concerning him. He’s to be left to the TIA team that will—”
“And where the hell were they just now?” Finn shouted.
“They should already be here,” said Fitzroy. “They have nothing to do with this adjustment mission. Their target is Mongoose. Your orders are to—”
“I’ve had about enough of this,” said Finn, grabbing Fitzroy by the throat and slamming him against the wall.
“Have you lost your mind?” Fitzroy croaked. “I could have you court-martialed for this!”
“So what? It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“He’s coming around,” said Lucas.
Delaney shoved Fitzroy into a corner and went over to
the bed, where the boy was beginning to stir.
“All right, kid, wake up,” said Finn, slapping the boy’s face lightly.
“Get your filthy hands away, you dogfucker!” snarled the boy, sitting up quickly and slapping at Finn’s hand.
Finn grabbed him by his thick black hair and jerked his head back so that it hit the wall behind the bed.
“Now listen here, you little shit,” he said, “I don’t give a damn how old you are. If you’re old enough to kill grown men, you’re old enough to be killed like a grown man, you understand me? Now you shut your mouth and do as you’re told or I’ll break every bone in your scrawny little body!”
The boy glared at Finn malevolently, but he kept his mouth shut.
“Good,” said Finn. “I’m glad to see we understand each other. Now what’s your name?”
“Jean,” said the boy, sullenly.
“All right, Jean,” said Finn. “You behave yourself and you might live to get out of this room. You helped an enemy of the Republic to escape. You know what the penalty for that is. France is—”
“You are not French,” the boy said with a sneer. “You are English spies! I heard you talking.”
“You speak English?” Lucas said.
“Only a little,” said Jean. “I did not understand all that you said, but I know English when I hear it spoken!”
“You see?” said Fitzroy. “I told you you should not have brought him here. This place is useless now.”
“I do not care whether you are French or English,” said the boy. “It is all the same to me. Under the aristocrats, I starved. Comes the Revolution, still I starve. It is all the same to me.”
“Then why did you kill those men to help Leforte escape?” said Finn.
“Because I was paid well to do it. He gave me fifty francs! For such a sum, I would kill Robespierre, himself.”
“Bloodthirsty little savage, aren’t you?” Finn said. “Who gave you the fifty francs?”
“I do not know his name,” said Jean. “He called himself the Scarlet Pimpernel.” Suddenly, the boy looked alarmed and he clapped his hand to his waist, his bravado gone for the moment.
“We didn’t take your money,” Finn said.
“It is for my brother and myself,” said Jean, submissively. “Please, monsieur, Pierre and I have not eaten for days.”
“Where are your parents?” Lucas said.
“Dead.”
“And your brother?”
“I will not tell you! You can kill me, but I will not tell you where Pierre is!”
“Relax,” said Finn. “We’re not interested in you or your brother. I want to know about the man who gave you that money.”
“There is not much that I can tell you, monsieur.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” said Finn. “What did he look like?”
“About his size,” said Jean, indicating Lucas with a jerk of his head. “Not thin, not heavy. Dark hair, dark eyes, a moustache like so,” he said, indicating by pantomime a generous handlebar moustache. “Thick eyebrows meeting in the center of his forehead. He was dressed like a gentleman and he favored his left side, as though he were injured there.”
“No beard?” said Lucas.
Jean shook his head.
“The kid’s got sharp eyes,” said Finn. “It was him, all right. The hair was probably a disguise, but that injured side is where I got him with the sword cane. Go on,” he said to Jean.
“There is not much more to tell,” said Jean. “I met him yesterday. I tried to pick his pocket and he caught me. He said that he would let me go and give me fifty francs as well if I was not afraid. He said that I could either lose my head for being a thief or do as he said and make some money.” Jean shrugged. “The choice was simple. He took me up to that room where you found me. The man inside was asleep upon the bed. He struck this man, knocking him senseless, then bound and gagged him. He then took out some pistols and asked me if I knew how to shoot them. I told him that I did not. He showed me how and then I watched him load the pistols. He told me to wait in that room until the next day, when the Marquis de Leforte would be brought past the house on his way to the guillotine. He laid the pistols out and told me to shoot out the window and to aim high so that I would not hit the marquis. He said that the soldiers would come and that I was to hide beneath the bed, leaving the pistols out upon the floor. They would see the man tied up on the bed, think that the one who shot the pistols escaped, and not bother to look for a small boy. He said that if I did well, he would find me again and give me more money.”
“But the man inside the room was dead,” said Lucas.
“Yes, I killed him,” said Jean.
“You killed him? Why?”
“It was a good plan, but I thought of a better one,” said Jean. “If I shot high, then the soldiers would come into the room, looking for me. They would have untied that man and questioned him. They might have found me beneath the bed. I decided to try to kill the soldiers or as many of them as I could. I aimed very carefully,” he said with pride. “I made it easier for him. This way perhaps he will give me more money if I see him again. I killed the man inside the room because then I could say he was my father. A dead man cannot be questioned and no one would bother with a small boy, crying for his father.”
Finn glanced at Lucas. “Can you believe this?” he said. “This kid is diabolical. He never shot a gun before and he picked off those soldiers like a pro.”
“I should not have kept those pistols,” Jean said, morosely. “You would not have caught me, then. That was my one mistake.”
“Incredible,” said Fitzroy. “Absolutely incredible. The boy’s a born cold-blooded killer. Look at him! No trace of remorse!”
“And why should I care about them?” shouted Jean. “They are all the same! My father was run down in the street by an aristo in his coach! My mother died of hunger, giving my brother and me what little morsels she could find! Pierre and I roamed the streets like dogs, picking through the garbage. I am not sorry for what I have done and I never shall be!”
“Well, Delaney, you brought him here, now what are we supposed to do with him?” said Fitzroy.
“Hell, let him go,” said Finn. “What else can we do?”
“You are Finn Delaney?” Jean said.
Finn glanced at the boy, then at Lucas. “Well, if we had any doubts about who hired this kid, that takes care of them. Yes, I’m Finn Delaney. He gave you a message for me, didn’t he?”
“He said that if I met a man named Finn Delaney or one named Lucas Priest, I was to give him this,” said Jean, producing a folded up piece of paper.
Finn unfolded the note and read it aloud. “The marquis will be delivered to the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel in Boulogne-sur-Mer. No one will be the wiser, except yourselves. That’s one for me. The game continues. Tell Cobra he’s out of his league.”
“Cobra?” said Lucas.
Finn sighed. “Do you get the feeling that he’s the only one who knows what the hell is going on around here?” He looked at Jean and jerked his head toward the door. “Get out of here.”
Jean jumped up and ran for the door, moving as fast as he could before they changed their minds.
“That kid’s going to grow up to be another Mongoose,” Lucas said.
Finn snorted. “For all we know, he might’ve been his ancestor. Maybe we should have killed him.”
“You can’t be serious,” said Fitzroy.
“That’s right, I can’t be,” said Delaney. “This whole thing’s a joke to somebody. If I could figure out the punchline, I might even laugh.”
Chapter 7
True to his word, Mongoose delivered the Marquis de Leforte to Andrew Ffoulkes in Boulogne-sur-Mer. Ffoulkes naturally thought that it was Blakeney who had done it and the other members of the league believed that the whole thing had been the result of a last-minute change in plans. They were only disappointed that they had not been involved. They had been looking forward to torch
ing the Place de la Revolution.
The arrival of the Marquis de Leforte in London further spread the fame of the Scarlet Pimpernel and both Ffoulkes and Dewhurst found that they had more social invitations than they could handle as everyone wanted to know more about this man of mystery. It became the fashion among aristocratic French émigrés to wear a scarlet pimpernel in their lapels and this practice soon caught on throughout London society. Soon after Leforte’s rescue, Ffoulkes reported to Lucas that Lord Hastings desired to join the league; the well-turned-out scion of one of England’s foremost families was summarily recruited. At a dinner held at the Blakeney estate in honor of the Marquis de Leforte the week following his arrival, Finn was approached by a very handsomely dressed gentleman who looked vaguely familiar to him.
“Evening, Blakeney,” said the man, a tall and broad-shouldered dandy with flaxen blond hair and bright blue eyes. “I’d like to have a word or two with you, if you don’t mind?”
He took Delaney by the arm and gently steered him toward a small and unoccupied sitting room.
“How’s it going, Finn?” he said, softly. “Long time, no see.”
Delaney tensed and stared at him intently. It was a moment before he recognized the TIA agent. “Cobra!”
“It’s nice to be remembered,” said the agent. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Fitzroy gave me that message from Mongoose. Same old Mongoose, eh? I thought I’d touch base with you and compare notes.”
“How did Mongoose know they’d send you?” said Delaney. “I don’t think he knew, I think he guessed. Still, it was an educated guess. The odds were pretty good that they’d assign me to the case. I was the logical candidate. The two of us have worked together often in the past and, after him, I was the senior field operative. I was pulled off another mission for this one. I can’t say I mind it very much. This certainly beats slogging through the New England swamps with Benedict Arnold.”
“Don’t make the mistake of thinking that this mission will be much easier,” said Finn. “It’s rapidly turning into a real nightmare.”